Sneaking out

#sol18

I woke up this morning to a sweet text message from my childhood best friend, Erin. She'd heard that my grandpa had passed away and wanted to send her thoughts. Erin's name always transports me back to the summer we were fearless, in 7th grade.

That night we were sleeping in the backyard in Erin's family tent. It was a perfect summer night and we had started plotting earlier in the day. We dragged out sleeping bags and pillows, flashlights and bags of chips. And bars of soap and rolls of toilet paper we'd pilfered from our hall closets. That night we were on a mission. We were going to soap some windows.

Once the sun set, Erin and I hung out, watching the time until it reached midnight. Who knows what we did to fill the time. When you're with a good friend, you talk for hours about everything and nothing.

Erin's dad worked third shift, so if we were going to sneak out, we had to wait until Mr. F. left for work. Once we heard him pull out, we quietly unzipped the tent. We loaded up with bars of soap, and crept out into the yard. The alley way that ran behind Erin's yard was our gateway to the rest of the neighborhood. There's nothing I've ever felt as an adult that matches that thrill of being 12 and living in a small town and being out in the middle of the night.

We headed two streets over. We had a target that night -- the older teenage boys who tormented us in the light of day. We soaped the windows of their mother's cars. We scribbled messages and nonsense. We covered the windows, rubbing the bars of soap to nubs. We stifled our laughter, keeping an eye out for headlights and lights in windows.

When we finished, we sprinted through the alley and dove back into our tent,  falling asleep on top of our sleeping bags.

The next morning, my dad decided to stop by on his way to work. At about 7:30, he unzipped the tent (I realize now he was probably making sure we weren't stowing any boys in there). 

"Good morning," he whispered, sticking his head into the humid tent.

"Hey, dad," I crawled over to give him a hug. As my dad squatted in front of me, facing away from the alley, a car crept by. A car covered in soaped windows. The car.

"You guys have fun?" my dad asked. I tried to keep a straight face. To not freak out.

"Um, yeah, we just hung out and feel asleep early," I managed to respond.

"Ok, well, be good. I'll see you later," my dad backed out of the tent. As he shut the door to his truck, I turned to Erin, my eyes huge.