Christmas Dance (pt1)

Kyle, Andre, and I were together again and it was almost like it was when we first met at Fisher. We’d all grown some, change a little, and had experienced different things since I'd left. Andre and Kyle had drifted apart and hadn't seen each other in a couple of months. Now, however, the three of us were hanging out like we had before. This time, I was the glue of the friendship – a roll that Kyle had two years before.

Since none of us had girlfriends, it was no surprise that we were without dates when it came time for the Christmas Dance that December. For sure there were girls in our lives - Kyle and Andre had been hanging out with Julie and her younger sister Janet. Both girls also went to Los Gatos High. I had met a lot of new people since I moved back to town two months ago, but I was too shy to ask a girl to the dance. So we were all going stag and planned to meet up with Julie and Janet at the gymnasium.

At about seven, Andre showed up at the Reynolds home and the three of us walked the few blocks down to the high school. The girls were there before us, and we all went in together to the dance. Once inside, I may have danced the least of anyone there, but it was fun for me to talk to old friends from Fisher. Occasionally, Julie or Janet would drag me out onto the dance floor, but mostly I stayed off to the side talking with different people.

Almost exactly at ten, the girls' father showed up to take them home. Since we’d lost our main dance partners, we decided to head over to the 7-ll across the street to play Mrs. Pac-Man. Playing video games was something new for me and I was liking it and learning quickly.

Sometime around eleven, we realized that it was probably time to head home. Although Kyle’s mom wasn’t the type to get upset with being a little late, especially from a dance, we knew that if we were really late, we’d be in trouble. Anything after midnight would be considered "really late."

We walked quickly up Los Gatos Boulevard toward the Reynolds house - my foster home. We knew Andre still had about a twenty minute walk from there to his house. As we walked, we bragged about our video game skills and talked about the girls we danced with and we talked about the ones we didn't. Just what you’d expect three teen-aged boys to talk about.

Shortly after the intersection for Highway 9, somewhere near Filmer Street, we stepped off the sidewalk and into the crosswalk to get to Kyle's house. I think that I was on the outside and Kyle was next to me. Andre hadn’t yet stepped off the curb when I had this nagging feeling that something was wrong. The cars that were turning off Hwy 9 would normally light us up from behind before flashing past as they completed their turn, but one set of lights behind us didn’t flash past - they kept us framed longer than they should have.

As I turned to look behind us, I saw a pair of headlights coming right at me. It was the last thing I remember before waking up on the pavement a few minutes later. Kyle and Andre told me later that I went up and over the right front fender of the car. Somehow my leg must have clipped Kyle (he had a huge bruise on his leg), knocking him down and away from danger. Andre said he was untouched by either fender or flying limb and, after his initial shock, went running after the car.

He didn’t have far to run, he said later, the car crashed into a telephone pole half a block further up. Just as he got to the driver side door, the woman stumbled out and fell into his arms. Her last conscious words to him were, “I didn’t hit anybody, did I?” She was the definition of falling down drunk.