Should I Be Sorry

HAHAHAHA---NO

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There are some things that you do in life that you shouldn’t feel sorry about doing. This story is one of them.

It was way back in the Fall of 1988, you know when times were good, and there wasn’t much to worry about except guys and music. I was 18 at the time and had no set purpose in life just yet.

I was dating this guy who I’d known forever. We went to the same elementary school and lived in the same community. It was a small coal-mining town about 30 minutes north of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.

So, let’s get the story, right, y’all don’t wanna hear about my background.

We’d been dating for about six months, and I thought it was going well…until that night.

The boyfriend at the time called me from work. He said there was an event and he would have to work late. I didn’t mind and said I would chill at home.

An hour later, I decided to go to my sister's; it was a two-mile walk via the railroad track. I could’ve driven, but it was nice out, and I like to walk.

My sister, her husband, and I talked and played with their two young children for most of the evening. I was just gonna crash there for the night and call my boyfriend in the morning to pick me up.

Around eleven-thirty that night, my brother-in-law and I were sitting on the front porch. They lived on a short road with maybe six other houses. A car coming up the little steep hill caught our attention.

Holy shit, it was my boyfriend’s car, and there was a girl snuggled close to him. Our eyes met, and he looked…shocked. I just gave a little wave and kept my anger inside.

My guess is he drove past my parent’s house, where I lived, saw my car, and assumed I was still at home.

Surprise!! I wasn’t.

He went to a house three up from my sisters and dropped off one of his friends. After turning around, he had to come past the house once more since it was a dead-end road. He kept his eyes straight ahead, and the girl was no longer seated right beside him.

So, how would I handle this situation?

Yell…scream…throw a big fit.

Nope.

I was going to wait until morning to confront him…but, fuck it, let’s have some fun now.

I found spray cans of paint in my sister’s basement, then walked the two miles back on the railroad tracks in the dark. I walked through our small community, keeping hidden in the shadows so I wouldn’t get recognized.

He lived across the street from a farm, so I waited down in the first row of corn stalks until the neighborhood was all quiet.

His car, a baby blue, four-door whatever, was sitting in the driveway.

Remember, this was the pre-home security and camera era.

I spray-painted in huge letters LIAR on his car on all four sides and punctured two of the tires.

Then, walked back down to my sisters for the night.

I’m sure he knew it was me…but, hey, no proof.

Only a few other people know of this story, and now, y’all know one of my many secrets.