1975

For most of my life, I struggled with my emotions and I was anxious in my relationships. In the good times I waited for the other shoe to drop and in the worst of times I feared abandonment and had fits of jealousy that would tear my life apart. I suffered from low self-esteem and a deep fear of trusting my voice. I carried around a lot of anger and dissatisfaction with the world in general. It gnawed in my belly all the time. So to keep myself safe, I got quiet. I became a watcher and a listener. By doing this I learned a lot about people, their needs, and their desires. I tried to mirror them, to give them what they wanted but by doing this I became lost. My personality shattered and I no longer knew who I was.

I had a pretty ordinary family. They were the kind that wanted me to blend into the background of their lives, go along with “the program,” and often let me know that my emotions were too much and that I should swallow my pain and “just get over it.” They taught me to give those things to God and pretend that they didn’t exist and if I couldn’t control myself, I’d surly go to hell.

I grew up in a time when divorce became a thing, “everyone was doing it,” and Gen X became the lost generation because of it in my opinion. Divorce broke me and there were no safety nets for kids going through the destruction of their families back then. It happens all the time now and you may have gone through this yourself. It’s sad to think of this as normal but it’s these little traumas that change us and perhaps break us.

Just think of it now, what it’s like to be shoved in front of a stranger and told that this is your new parent. And to make it worse for a lot of us, this stranger was going to abuse you, in whatever way, emotionally or physically. Trauma is all felt the same way in the nervous system.

Even though I was very broken from this experience, I tried to be the girl they wanted because I wanted to be loved. But It wasn’t who I was. I was messy, emotional, angry and could see through their spiritual hypocrisy and called them out on it. I was the outsider, the black sheep, the liar, the thief and the one that would amount to nothing. When I was kicked out of my family home at seventeen, I was desperate to find people who understood me. I yearned for love, connection and belonging.

Looking back after doing some inner child work, I remembered that little girl that I once was. I was born with so much joy and light, a natural love for people, animals and the earth.

Healing took time because I wasn’t sure how to do it. It required years of unraveling the rage that was inside of me, facing truths and remembering who I truly was. I learned to forgive myself as well as the ones who couldn’t accept me. I had to stop hiding from the parts of myself I was afraid no one could love. And when I allowed myself to do these things I blossomed.

When I was four years old, I had a recurring dream.

Alone in a vast desert, walking barefoot through jagged rocks and rolling tumbleweeds. The wind tore at my dress and stung my cheeks. I walked and walked until I found a deserted shack. Once inside I settled into a sunlit corner facing the open door. I felt safe there.

Then they appeared.

Three giant tumbleweeds, tangled and breathing. Swirling and flickering like fire. They blocked the doorway and the light. They writhed and expanded, growing larger and denser as they floated toward me. As they approached, I could hear them whispering hateful things about what a disgusting, horrible and vile child I was.

Just as they were about to touch me, I closed my eyes and screamed.

That’s how I always woke up.

Then one morning after waking from the dream, I opened my eyes and looked toward my bedroom doorway.

Six miniature tumbleweeds, each the size of a tennis ball, were lined up across the threshold.

I froze, unsure if I should jump over them or call out to my parents.

But something inside me said: Be brave.

So I backed up, took a running leap, and landed in the hallway.

When I turned around, they were gone.

I never had the dream again.

For years, I didn’t understand it.

But when I started writing this book, the symbolism came into focus. The three towering tumbleweeds were my mother, my father, and my stepmother—the very people who were supposed to protect me.

They didn’t mean to hurt me. They were projecting their own fears and unresolved trauma onto me, tangled in the storms of their own battles.

But children don’t understand intention.

They internalize the impact and the impact leaves a mark.

Somewhere inside that girl, the instinct to leap, not retreat, had already taken root.

This is the beginning of my coming-of-age journey where I am stumbling along making mistakes and learning big lessons. At fifty-four, I’m still peeling back the layers and learning who I truly am. The self I was always meant to be. In many ways, I stand on the edge of something new, and telling my story is part of stepping fully into it.

One of my favorite things to do when I was a kid was to make mix tapes. They were my way of capturing emotions, moments, and memories. It was my way of making sense of the world through sound. At the end of each chapter, you’ll find a song. That is my mix tape for you, the reader. The soundtrack of the first part of my journey back to myself.

-Peter Gabriel- Mercy Street-

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I actually cried when I found out there was no recess. Recess had been the best part of my day, my one guaranteed escape, and I wasn’t ready to let it go.

Still, I had other problems.

I had zero control over what I wore to school. Linda picked out all my clothes and wouldn’t allow me to wear makeup of any kind. I looked like I could be Anthony Michael Hall’s girlfriend. We’d be the perfect pair. It was 1984 and and the coolest girl in school dressed just like Madonna in her music video “Lucky Star.” Parachute pants where all the rage and breakdancing became a thing. Back then, your clothes determined your social status. Wear the wrong thing, and you were doomed. The way I dressed tagged me as total loser. I literally had no chance of being cool.

I was coming to terms with having no real friends when I met a new girl on the bus. Her name was Susan. She was big-boned, with brown hair, brown eyes, and if she were an animal I imagined she’d be a bear. She loved to talk, and I guess I was a good listener, so it worked. I wasn’t sure if I actually liked her, but she was entertaining, especially on the long bus ride to and from school.

As the year wore on, we grew closer. She invited me over once, but her house had a dark, unwelcoming vibe, and her parents gave off a weird energy. After that, I did everything I could to avoid going back.

Instead, we spent our time riding bikes around the neighborhood, sometimes venturing to the old-fashioned candy store a few miles away. But the moment that truly solidified our bond came when Susan saved me from getting my ass kicked.

There was a rumor going around that someone wanted to call me out. That was slang for beat the crap out of me.

Apparently there was an eighth-grade girl, that had it out for me. I had no idea what I’d done to offend her or who she even was. For a week, I kept my head down, heart pounding every time I turned a corner, dreading the moment I’d run into her.

Then it happened. I looked up and found myself face to face with her hateful, sneering expression. The surge of kids hustling to their next class pressed us together, separated only by her towering height and the bulk of her stomach. My heart slammed inside my chest, pounding so hard it felt like it had leapt into my head to hide. My vision blurred, and my body locked in place. She radiated heat, and I could smell her sour breath as she exhaled.

“I’m gonna kick your ass,” she growled, shoving me hard on the shoulder.

“Why? What did I do?” I stammered, my knees buckling beneath me.

“Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?” Susan’s voice cut in as she stepped between us, giving the girl a slight push.

“She thinks she’s better than me! Thinks she can steal my man,” Her words sprayed from her fat lips like venom.

“No! I swear, I don’t even know who he is!” My voice cracked with panic.

Susan stepped in, keeping her cool. “Come here, let’s talk in private,” she said smoothly, leading the girl away toward the lockers. I watched as Susan worked her magic, striking some kind of deal. The girl kept shooting angry glances at me, but whatever Susan said seemed to be working. Then, as the bell rang, she stormed back toward me.

“You, skinny little bitch. Stay away from my man, or I’ll really get you. You hear me? I’ll kill you!” she snarled in my face.

“I promise! I’ll stay away from him,” I blurted, shaking.

The problem? I had no idea who the hell her boyfriend was.

When things calmed down, Susan and I did a little detective work. Turns out, the KKB, had fed her this lie just to watch me get my ass kicked. What bitches. I had never done anything to them. I guessed they were mad that I wasn’t hanging out with them anymore.

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Thank you for reading a little piece of my life.

© Girl on a Downtown Train

From my mixtape to you <3

-The Cutter- Echo and the Bunnyman-

Just when I thought life might finally settle into some kind of normal, Dad sat us down and told us we were moving again.

He’d been offered a job in San Francisco he couldn’t refuse, and just like that, everything shifted again. We couldn’t afford to live in the city but a small town north called Napa looked promising. It was nothing like where we lived in East LA and Dad was very proud of that, said we were moving up in the world. I didn’t understand at all what he meant, but I guess I would soon find out.

I was in the sixth grade now and the first day of school was tough, as it is for every new kid, but what struck me most was how different these kids were from the ones at my old school. There the sixth graders were still kids and had a rough-and-tumble innocence about them even though some were bullies. But here, in Napa, they looked like miniature high schoolers, especially the girls. They wore tight designer jeans, feathered their hair, and expertly applied makeup. Some even had boobs already. I felt like I had stepped into an entirely different world.

Determined to find my footing, I did my best to navigate this new reality.

Then, while hanging upside down on the monkey bars, I struck up a conversation with a fair-haired girl named Nancy.

Nancy was more like a normal kid, like me but more of a tomboy. She wore her hair short and even dressed like a boy. She was amazing on the monkey bars and could spin really fast and do other cool tricks that I’d never seen before. She taught me a thing or two about the monkey bars that day that really surprised me. She was sweet and smart, and I liked her instantly. We weren’t in the same class, unfortunately, but we found each other each day at recess and lunch.

Alongside my budding friendship with Nancy, I also caught the attention of three girls in my class. Their names were Krissy, Kristy, and Barbara. They were the popular ones, more like high schoolers than sixth graders. I never expected them to notice me, but I could feel their eyes following me whenever I walked by. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

Then, one day, when Nancy was home sick, they made their move.

I was heading to the swings when Krissy called my name. I turned, and suddenly, I found myself cornered in the narrow alleyway between two school buildings. My pulse quickened. Krissy stepped in close, close enough that I could smell her bubblegum lip gloss. Without warning, she reached out and ran her fingers through my hair, twisting one of my homemade barrettes between her fingers.

“These are cool,” she said casually. “Did you make them yourself?”

I nodded, my throat suddenly dry. Kristy and Barbara stood slightly behind her, one on each side, as if to block my escape.

Krissy smiled, but there was something unsettling about it. “You’re kinda pretty,” she said.

I swallowed hard. “Thanks.”

She glanced at the other two. “Don’t you guys think so?”

They nodded in agreement, eyes flicking over me like I was being appraised for value.

For a second, I let myself believe this was some kind of initiation, that maybe they actually wanted to be my friends. Then Krissy’s voice dropped into something lower, silkier, but with an undeniable edge.

“You wanna be popular?”

“yeah.” I said.

“Look, if you want to hang out with us, you gotta drop that nerdy girl, Nancy. You’ll never popular with that ugly thing as your friend.”

The words hit like a slap.

I opened my mouth to argue, to say something, anything but no words came out.

Krissy leaned in, lowering her voice even more. “And if you really want in, you gotta prove it. Fight her at recess and then when she’s down you have to spit on her.”

I stared at her, stunned.

“We’ll set it up when you’re ready,” she added smoothly, like this was a business deal. “Just let me know.”

My heart pounded in my ears. My stomach twisted. The only thing I could manage to say was, “Okay.”

The girls left me standing in the alley, my mind spinning. My heart pounding in my chest as I played their words over and over again.

Becoming friends with the popular girls was something I had dreamed of, but not like this. Not at the cost of betraying Nancy. At my old school, things had been so much easier. I never had to think about these kinds of things. I just hung out with who I liked. But here, the rules were different. It was survival of the fittest.

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He was talkative, eager to share an idea to keep us connected once he left.

“Would you like to help me with that Levi’s project I told you about?” he asked.

“Um, yeah, I mean, that would be great. I’ve never owned a pair, but I think I could figure it out,” I said. I would’ve said yes to anything if it meant staying close to him.

“Great,” he said with a grin. “It’ll be wonderful to have you as my partner.”

When he called me his partner, I flushed. I’d make this work.

We talked about the plan while waiting at the terminal. But beneath the surface, reality was creeping in. He was leaving, And even with our little business venture in place, the finality of it hit me hard. Would I really ever see him again?

Peter turned to me, his eyes soft with emotion. He brushed a strand of hair from my face and kissed my forehead. I blinked, and tears spilled down my cheeks. He kissed me again, this time on the lips, and handed me a black and white photo of himself.

“Keep this close,” he said.

We kissed once more before he turned and walked toward the gate that would take him away from me.

“Thank you for everything, Heather,” he said softly.

I nodded, unable to speak.

I watched until he disappeared from view.

The drive home was a blur. I felt a mix of sorrow, gratitude, and something almost like hope. Grateful for what we had shared, and hopeful that this wasn’t truly the end.

When he got home, Peter called me every other day.

We were going to stay connected.

Then came our first order.

“Heather, I need a pair of 501’s high-waisted acid wash and a pair of 505 button-fly jeans,” he said, his voice clipped and businesslike.

I scribbled it down, trying to keep up.

“Got it. I’ll make sure everything’s perfect,” I said. “I miss you… How are things back at home?”

“They’re good. I miss you too. Let me know when you’ve ship the order,”

His tone caught me off guard. It was cool, all business. I wasn’t sure I liked this.

“I will,” I said my shoulders tightening with a pang of worry.

“Okay, gotta run… Talk to you soon,” he replied.

“K. Bye, Peter.”

I sat there staring at the note, feeling oddly hollow. The order appeared to be written in a foreign language. What did I get myself into. I wanted to prove my worth to Peter.

Could I pull it off?

I didn’t know where to start and Napa didn’t have much to offer, not even a mall. I ended up wandering the aisles of denim at a mall in Fairfield. Scanning the endless shelves and stores until a clerk at Macy’s came over to helped me decipher the words on my list.

She could read them! I was so relieved to be finally pointed in the right direction.

I had to get this right. I sifted through stacks of SilverTab, Button-fly, 550 and 560’s, it seemed, I was doomed to never find the right pair of jeans.

Then to my surprise I found one, then, another and another. My list was complete. I felt confident that I had it and Peter would be proud of me.

When I got home, I carefully packed them up and sent them to Denmark.

Then waited.

Peter and I talked often while we waited for the jeans to land. Making plans to see each other again. Him, telling stories of friends and family in Denmark and me telling him about all the silly things people did at last nights party.

I started to see my self living there with him.

Then the day arrived, the Jeans made it to their destinations. Buyers were excited.

The phone rang.

“Hello, Heather. We received the package,” Peter said.

“Oh, great! Everyone was happy?” I asked, excited to hear what a great job I did.

“Yeah… not great, unfortunately. The Levi’s you sent were wrong.”

My face flushed and I froze, unsure of what to say.

“I can’t afford mistakes like this,” he continued. What was so hard about the order? It was clear, wasn’t it?”

His frustration was understandable, but I didn’t know how I’d gotten it wrong.

“I’m so sorry, Peter. I searched everywhere. I had to go out of town just to find what I could. I’ll take the loss and try again. I’ll go to San Francisco next time.”

“No, let’s forget this idea. I’m very disappointed. I’m not convinced that you can handle this.

“Please… give me another chance. I promise I’ll get it right,” I pleaded, panic rising in my chest. I could feel him slipping away.

“I don’t think this is a good idea. Let’s just drop it.”

We went back and forth like that for a while, but he wouldn’t budge. When he hung up I knew it was the end. He didn’t respect me anymore. My heart cracked open. I must’ve sounded so pathetic, begging him like that.

To numb the ache, I sought solace in the never-ending party around me.

Thank you for reading this little piece of my life. Song below from my mixtape to you. Be well my beautiful readers. May the Force of Love be With you.

Music by The Irrepressibles

Everything slowed down the night two new characters walked onto the scene.

Jan was talking with one of them in the kitchen. He had a lithe frame, tousled sun-kissed hair that shimmered like strands of gold, even in the dim light of the smoke filled rooms. His style was simple but cool, radiating a quiet confidence and a free-spirited ease that made him utterly captivating. He could easily have been a model.

When Jan finished talking to him, I seized the moment.

“Hey Jan, who’s that guy you were just talking to?”

“That’s Peter… The Dane.”

“The Dane? Why ‘The Dane’?”

“He’s Danish.”

“Oh yeah. Got it… thanks.” I said walking away.

Talking with Jan was like talking to a rock.

If I wanted to meet Peter, I’d have to work up the nerve and do it myself.

I was about to make my move when the front door swung open and a girl that I recognized from high school walked in. She made a b-line straight to Peter, threw her arms around his neck, and kissed him.

My stomach sank.

Her name was Laura. I didn’t know her well, but I knew enough. Rumor had it she’d slept with half the guys in school, and from what I’d seen firsthand, she wasn’t exactly the sharpest tool in the shed. Poor guy, he had no idea what he was getting himself into.

Still, I wasn’t going to let her stop me from getting to know him.

In the meantime, I turned my attention to the friend he came in with.

I got up from the card table and walked over.

“Hey, How are you? I haven’t seen you hear before, is it your first time?”

“Hi,” he said. “No, it’s just been a while…”

“Oh okay it’s nice to see a new face…my name is Heather.”

“Thanks, I’m Dan,’ he said, offering his hand.

He was tall and lanky, with a slump to his shoulders, like a guy who was self-conscious of his towering height. He moved slowly and thoughtfully and reminded me of the beat poet William Burroughs. Maybe they were related, or most likely got his mellow vibe from his own use of heroin. I don’t know but liked him right away.

Dan told me that both he and Peter had gone to Vintage High and met their senior year when Peter came over as a foreign exchange student. They’d graduated a few years before me. Now Peter was back for a couple of months to help Jan with some vintage car exports.

Then, Peter walked up.

“Dan,” he said, giving him a hearty pat on the shoulder, “Introduce me to your new friend.”

I already loved his accent.

Dan hesitated. “Oh—uh, sorry….”

“Heather,” I said, smiling. “Don’t worry about it,” I said to Dan.

Peter turned to me, offering his hand. “I’m Peter. Some call me The Dane.”

I laughed inside myself, and giggled on the outside. Seriously. I mean, “The Dane.” A little pompous I thought, but he owned it.

I shook his hand, feeling the warmth of his skin against mine. My heart pounded, and a slow heat spread through me.

 “I know,” I said.

“How long are you in Napa?” I asked, reluctant to let go of his hand.

“A couple of months.”

“Cool,”  I said.

Dan picked up on the shift and excused himself.

“So,” I asked, “what brings you back to Napa?”

“I’m helping Jan deliver a few cars to Denmark. They’re going mad for anything American in Europe these days,” he said with a smirk. “It’s great timing for this because I’d been wanting to come back to see some old friends.

“Wow, I had no idea Europeans were so into American cars.” Like I cared about cars!

“You’d be surprised. American cars are so rare over there. And you know what’s even hotter than the cars?

“What?”

“Levi’s jeans,” he said, grinning.

“That’s wild. We take all that for granted here.”

“Exactly. But People will pay good money, so, here I am.”

“Have you had time to see any of your old haunts while you’ve been here?”

“Not yet. I’ve only been back a few days, but I’d love to start having more adventures. Got any recommendations?” 

His eyes locked onto mine. There was joy and friskiness dancing in his blue eyes, something inviting too.

“I know a few places,” I said, smiling. “I’ll show you some of mine, if you show me some of yours.”

“I’d like that.”

I hesitated, then asked the question burning in the back of my mind. “How do you know Laura?”

Peter chuckled. “Oh, Laura? She was a fling back in high school. I think she wants more now that I’m back, but… she’s not really my type anymore.”

Relief washed over me. “Good to know.”

“So,” I said, testing the waters, “what’s your type?” 

Peter laughed softly, tilting his head. “I guess I’ll know when I meet her.”

Peter and I talked for the rest of the night. He was intelligent and sensitive, and endlessly curious. He questioned everything and was ready to make a difference in the world.

He told me about Denmark, where every citizen was required to complete civil or military service after graduating. He planned to join either Amnesty International or Greenpeace when he returned. His passion for the planet and human rights lit something in me.

He spoke of Denmark with reverence, describing the cobblestone streets of Copenhagen, the long summer nights where the sun barely sets, and the sense of community that wove through everything. I could almost see him biking along the coast with his friends, camping under the stars, listening to the sound of the northern seas.

His stories were vivid and grounded, but it was his fire and the belief that one person could make a difference. That stuck with me.

We talked until the sky began to lighten.

And what happened next…was off-the-charts hot.

Let’s just say, I know you get it.

When we weren’t in bed or working, we were exploring the valley, wandering in the foothill trails, discovering hidden spots where we could be alone for hours. We shared our dreams, our fears, and the fragments of ourselves we hadn’t told anyone else.

Was I in love? I don’t know. But I was intoxicated with a dizzy rush of something I had never known. I wanted to be near him always. We didn’t speak of love. We didn’t need to. It was enough to exist in that shared orbit, to let the moment hold us.

Two months flew by in a blur, and suddenly, it was time for Peter to go.

The day before he left, we went for one last hike. At the top of a hill overlooking the valley, we sat in silence mixed with a lot of hugging and kissing. We watched the sun melt into the horizon there like that. It wasn’t awkward or heavy. It was full with everything we didn’t need to say. The truth was resting there between us. This had meant something. And it was coming to an end.

-a-ha- The Sun Always Shines on T.V.-

Thanks for reading a little piece from my life. © Girl on a Downtown Train by Heather Pastore

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Series 3 - 1st installment

Series 3 - 2nd installment

Series 3- 1st installment

Series 3 -2nd installment

December 1989

I sat on a worn wooden bench, sipping my coffee and waiting for my friends. It hadn’t taken me long to get myself into trouble out in the big, wide world. 

Jen spotted me first and called my name, her voice filled with concern. I turned toward her and waved as she jogged over from the parking lot across the street. The moment she reached me, she pulled me into a warm, tight hug. It was just what I needed and filled me with a sense of relief and hope.

I started to cry in her arms.

“Oh my God, Heather, are you alright? You sounded awful on the phone,” she said, searching my face. Her care for me was more than I could handle.

We walked arm in arm to a bench facing the river. She handed me a tissue. “Talk to me, girl. What the hell happened?”

Before I could answer, the familiar rumble of Ads’ noisy Jeep filled the air. He pulled into a spot and climbed out, his expression already serious. His dark curls fell into his face as he hurried toward us, brushing them back behind his ear.

“Hey, guys. What’s going on?” His voice was steady, but I could see the worry in his eyes.

I took a deep breath. The last thing I wanted was to relive the night before, but I needed their help. So, I told them everything.

When I finished, silence stretched between us. Jen shook her head in disbelief. “Jesus, Heather… are you sure you’re okay? Do we need to call someone?”

“Yeah,” Ads agreed. “That guy… Jenner, or whatever the fuck his name is. Are you sure he didn’t force you…rape you?”

I shivered at the thought. “No,” I said firmly. “I don’t want to deal with all that. I just need to get out of my apartment. I think Laurie was trying to recruit me for some kind of prostitution ring or something.” Saying it out loud made it feel even more real. I swallowed hard. “I just… I need a place to go.”

Jen and Ads exchanged a look, both of them clearly disturbed. Then Ads said, “You can stay at my parents’ place tonight. I know they’d be cool with it. Then tomorrow, we’ll go talk to a friend of mine… he’s got a house, and he might have a room for you.”

A wave of relief washed over me. “Thank you, Ads. Seriously.”

Jen pulled me into another hug. “You’re not alone in this, girl. We got you.”

I hugged her back, holding onto that moment of safety. For the first time since last night, I felt like I could breathe again.

“Let’s go get your things out of your apartment,” Ads suggested.

“Yeah, okay,” I said.

Jen and I got into the K car and Ads followed behind. Thank God she wasn’t home. I didn’t want to explain anything to her. We packed up my stuff quickly and got out of there.

At Ads’s parents house, I felt safe. I curled up in bed, letting the warmth of their home settle around me. I fell asleep, looking forward to the next chapter of my life.

I woke to the sun streaming in through the window. After a quick breakfast, Ads and I drove out to his friend’s house to see if I could crash there for a while. As we drove, he filled me in on the guys who owned the place.

“The house belongs to this Norwegian guy, Jan, and his dad,” Ads explained.

“They buy old classic cars, fix them up, and then export them to Europe.”

I raised an eyebrow. “So international,” I mused, trying to picture it.

We pulled up to an old ranch-style house, its front yard littered with beat-up vintage cars waiting for their restorations. The whole place had a forgotten, mechanical graveyard vibe. My stomach twisted slightly when I realized that this was the place I was going to live. We were deep in the industrial part of town, far from anything that felt familiar or safe.

“Are you sure about this?” I asked, eyeing the surroundings.

Ads gave me a reassuring nod. “It’ll be fine. I’ll stay here with you as much as I can.”

That was enough for me. We got out and walked up to the house. As we approached the door, it swung open, and Jan (pronounced Yawn) appeared. He was in his mid-twenties, with thick glasses that magnified his eyes in a way that made them seem almost cartoonish. He and Ads’ said a quick hello and he welcomed us into the house.

Ads quickly explained my situation, and Jan barely looked up from the stack of paperwork spread across a dining room table covered in beer cans. “Yeah, there’s an extra room,” he muttered. “You can use it till my dad gets back in town.”

That was it. No questions, no conditions. His casual indifference was strange, but I wasn’t about to question my luck. I had a place to stay for free, and for now, that was enough.

The bedroom was at the front of the house, down a long hallway off the living room. It had a twin bed and a small chest of drawers—simple, but exactly what I needed. Ads helped me settle in.

“Thank you for thinking of this. It’s perfect until I can find another place,” I said.

“Not a problem. I’m just glad he was able to take you in,” Ads said with a reassuring smile.

“Oh my god, I can’t imagine what I’d be doing if he’d said no.” My voice wavered, and tears threatened to spill. I took a deep breath and wiped at my eyes.

I was now officially living in the most infamous party house in Napa.

Thank you for reading a little piece of my life. © Girl on a Downtown Train

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November 1989

I’d been out on my own for a couple of months, and my eighteenth birthday was just around the corner. I was working at a second-run movie theater downtown with my ex-best friend’s brother, Rob. He was throwing a party a few days before my birthday and invited me to stop by.

Rob was an artsy musician with a literary wit that kept people entertained all night. The crowd he drew was just like him, creative, a little offbeat, and exactly the kind of people I wanted to be around. I dreamed of being a writer, an artist… something more than what I had known.

That night had a certain energy to it. Music drifting through the house, conversations overlapping, people leaning in close like everything being said mattered.

Ads played guitar while Jen and I sat nearby, soaking it all in. The music, the mood, each other’s company.

Something clicked between the three of us that night.

We didn’t know it yet, but we were about to become inseparable.

I was also getting to know my roommate Laurie pretty well. She was a party girl. Guys came and went with a frequency that made me feel a little uneasy. Other than that, we never stepped on each other’s toes and had some good laughs when we spent time together. I was sitting in my room one evening, reading and listening to music, when Laurie knocked on my door.

“Hey Heather, can I come in?” Laurie asked.

“Sure, of course,” I said, closing my book and sitting up on the bed, legs crossed. She opened the door, and I patted on the bed, inviting her to sit down by me. “What’s up?”

Laurie sat down and put her hands on my knees. “‘I have a favor to ask of you,” she began.

“Yeah what is it?” I asked cautiously.

“I have a date tonight, but he’s bringing his friend, and I don’t want him to be a third wheel. Would you mind coming along with us to even things out? They’re hiring a limo and everything! It’ll be a super cool night, I promise.” She took her hands off my knees and put her hands to her chest in prayer.

“Um, I guess so… but I don’t have anything to wear,” I said, hoping this would get me out of it. I didn’t want to disappoint her, but I was having second thoughts as soon as I said I would go.

“Oh my God! Thank you so much, Heather. Don’t worry, I’ll find something for you to wear.” Laurie was elated and ran to her room to rummage through her drawers for something I could wear. “Aha, here you go,” she said and threw a tiny little black dress at me.

“Thanks,” I said, holding the dress, wondering how I would ever get myself into it. Laurie was thin and small-chested. I was curvier and big-busted. Thankfully, the dress was spandex and had a lot of stretch to it, but I knew it would show off every part of my body that I was insecure about. But like the people-pleaser that I was, I squeezed myself into the dress, feeling basically naked in it. When I walked out of my room to show Laurie the dress, I hoped she’d realize that it looked terrible but her reaction wasn’t what I’d hoped for.

“Wow! Honey, you look amazing in that!” Laurie said. “I’ll do your makeup and hair for you too. If you’d like?” She said, teasing her hair into a blond rat’s nest.

“Okay, but just do something simple,” I said, hoping she wouldn’t torture my hair like she was doing to hers.

“Will do,” she said with a wink. When she was done with me, I went to check myself out in the mirror. I looked like one of the girls from a Robert Palmer music video. Oh my god, was I going to survive this?

*Picture from a Robert Palmer video above

I felt uneasily sitting with Laurie on the couch, waiting for the limo. She tried to calm my nerves by talking these guys up but it didn’t work. I still couldn’t get over the sickness that I felt in my guts. The limo pulled up outside the apartment. The driver honked the horn a few times to signal us out.

“What the hell! They aren’t even gonna come to the door to say hello first?” I asked.

“Don’t worry,” Laurie said. “I’ve got your back. Come on,” and she took my hand and pulled me off the couch and out the door we went.

When we got in, the first thing I noticed was the porn playing on the limo TV. Oh my god, I thought, what shit did I just step into? Laurie’s date, Eddie was a tall ex-college football player with a shock of blond hair and small, beady eyes, which made him look like a Neanderthal. The guy she set me up with was thin, in his mid-thirties, early forties; he had slicked-back dark hair and a vibe that reminded me of Jenner, the manipulative and power-hungry rat from the movie ‘Rats of Nimh.’ I gulped and went along for the ride.

I had no idea where we were going, and I didn’t ask. The men poured us vodka and cranberry juice cocktails as we drove up Valley. I let Jenner talk as the cocktail calmed my nerves, and I began to relax a little. The conversation and the spectacle of Laurie with the big blond ape was interesting, and I was relieved that Laurie’s date wasn’t mine.

Jenner didn’t grope me, and I was glad about that. I finished my drink, and soon after, we pulled up to a house. It was dark at this point, but the house was a stylish modern home that was lit up dramatically. Impressive, I thought, feeling warmed by my cocktail. Walking into the house there was a dining table filled with catered food: veggies and dips, shrimp cocktail, and other tempting delicacies. The guys asked us to help ourselves to the food and make ourselves at home. Eddie turned on some music as Jenner made us some more drinks. We ate, danced and drank…a lot. It was fun, to my surprise, until Eddie and Laurie made their way to one of the bedrooms. The mood and energy completely changed and an expectation hung in the air like smog.

I sat down on the couch, feeling awkward there alone with Jenner, and asked “What time will we be heading home?”

“Not until morning.” Jenner replied. “I’ll make a nice breakfast, and Eddie will take you home after that,” he said trying to make me feel more relaxed. “Would you like another drink?”

“No, thanks,” I said.

My heart was pounding in my throat. I couldn’t believe I was stuck there for the night. That’s when I felt Jenner’s hand on my shoulder. He was scanning me, my body, his breathing got deeper. He moved his hand down my arm and he pulled me closer. Kissing me gently as we sat together on the couch. I tried to fight him off by voicing my worries and concerns about getting home, hoping he would take pity on me and drive me back. But he just answered me with vague sighs and nods. I knew I was doomed to ride the night out with him. After a while, he took me by the hand and lead me to his bedroom. I lied to him as we walked there.

“I’m still a virgin… I don’t plan on losing it here tonight,” I said softly.

He assured me that he wouldn’t go that far. I lay in the bed and allowed him to touch me until he fell asleep. I didn’t sleep, waiting for the sun to rise. In the morning, Eddie took us home like Jenner said he would. As we drove, I looked at all the houses we passed along the way. They appeared quiet and peaceful, but they were witnesses to the fucked-up night I had just endured.

Thank for reading a small slice of my life!

© Girl on a Downtown Train by Heather Pastore

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-Duran Duran-The Chauffer-

Hearts pounding

Life is born, knowing no crime.

Angels cry, clouded sky,

Scatter fly.

For these moments,

flesh and bone,

Breath coming home.

Smoke lingering from fingertips and lips.

Heaven’s here in little bits.

Sip from the cup of destiny,

Blushed with energy.

A litany of grey skies,

Take us away

On wings.

Giving freedom from shadows in the atmosphere.

Passed down fear.

The clock chimes.

Time change,

Is in your mind.

From the daydream

Sitting at a table,

By a window,

Looking out,

Cut off

Protected by its pane.

~HAP

Thank you for reading. Have a beautiful day!

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Series 2 installment 4

1989

As I approached the front door of my home, my hands began to sweat. My heart rate kept time with my increasing anxiety. I knew she’d be upset. My stepmom Linda always had her eye on me. Finding any opportunity to punish me for something. I wished I was invisible so I could sneak into the house without her knowing. She was a large woman, tall and broad, with blond waves and blue eyes. She ran the house like a manic general, high strung and emotionally fragile. But everything was always in its place and dinner was always promptly served at six, just the way dad liked it.

I’d endured ten years of living with her shit, but today, my resolve was slipping. My hand trembled as I slid the key into the lock, it clicked and I stepped into the house. Shutting the door behind me, I turned around to face her. Without saying hello, she stared at me for a moment. I knew her so well, she was going to yell. But she didn’t say a word. Instead, she violently whipped out a paper lunch bag and held it in front of my face. What it had in it? I guess I was soon to find out.

“What’s this, Heather?” her voice boomed. She turned the bag over and dumped the contents on the floor in front of me. Out spilled the contraceptives I had hidden carefully in my desk.

“What do you think they are?” I asked.

“Just wait until your father sees this! Go to your room until he gets home,” she said, with the venom she clearly felt for me.

In my room, I waited for dad. I turned on my record player and put on my Ramones album. I moved the needle to the most inappropriate but perfect song for the occasion—Happy Family—a true classic. The best part of the song was the lyric, Daddy likes Men. It jived so well with how I saw him in these moments, weak and completely dominated by his wife. I felt so angry inside. I’d done the right thing by going to the clinic and asking a professional how I could protect myself before having sex. And here I was being punished for it. I sat there, thinking about the injustice of it all, stewing in my own self-pity.

I heard the garage door open and my father walk into the house. I listened carefully, waiting for the moment that Linda would pounce on him. She told him what she had found in my drawer. I should have known better than to hide something that controversial in such an obvious spot. She loved to snoop through my things, hoping to find something she could use against me.

Things got quiet in the kitchen where Linda and Dad argued over what they needed to do with me next. Then, after a long pause, I heard my dad walking heavily towards my room. I knew what was coming. It happened all the time.

He knocked on my door and I opened it.

“Linda showed me the contraceptives. What were you planning on doing with them?” he asked.

“I was planning on sleeping with Eric. I wanted to be responsible, so I went to a clinic to make sure I was protected. I don’t want to get pregnant, and I didn’t think this was something I could come to you about,” I said, tears coming to the rescue as always.

“A good woman shouldn’t have sex before marriage. You’re no better than a whore if you do. There is no reason for a man to commit to you if he can have you without commitment. If you act like a whore, a man will treat you like a whore, and you’ll be left with nothing,” He lectured.

I listened, but the last thing I’d do is to take advice from my dad about relationships. I was determined to do the opposite of anything he advised on the subject. Being divorced from mom, and his relationship with “Number Two” being a loveless and hateful thing. Anyway, no thanks, I just zoned out for a while.

“God has someone special in mind for you, and you don’t want to spoil yourself by having sex with just anyone,” he said. “Is it too late for you? Have you spoiled yourself?” he asked, with a monk’s look on his face.

“Yes,” I said defiantly.

I didn’t want to hear what he had to say; I’d heard it all before. I wondered where this was all going. Would he punish me? What could he do? I wasn’t a kid anymore. I was exhausted and like always, these conversations made me feel like a caged, tortured animal, sitting on my bed with my knees pulled up to my chin, waiting to lash out and bite. What’s wrong with me? What I did was normal. Why do I always feel like a criminal? He went on and on about things, and I zoned out for a while, waking again when he got to his point.

“Linda and I have talked about this, and we feel like this is the breaking point for us. This situation is beyond my ability to handle, Heather. I can’t deal with the idea of you having sex and living under my roof,” he said. “You have one month to find a place of your own.”

Thank you for reading a little piece of my life.

© Girl on a Downtown Train by Heather Pastore

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https://girlonadowntowntrain.substack.com/p/a-nightmare-in-the-desert

Second installment of series 2

Third installment of series 2

1979

It had been almost a year since my parents divorce. I wanted to live with Dad but he said that I couldn’t until he found a new wife. I’d been patiently waiting for the good news. I missed him so much it hurt.

Then, finally, the call I had been dreaming of came.

“I’ve met someone,” he said. “And I want you to meet her.”

I could hardly contain myself. My heart was bursting with excitement. He was coming for me just like he promised.

I hoped my new mom would be nice, I thought while gathering my things. She had to be.

When Dad came to pick me up, I jumped into his arms, holding on tight, not wanting to let go. He laughed and hugged me back before gently setting me down so he could load my bag into the car.

Once buckled in, he walked back up the porch steps to talk with Mom. Their conversation stretched on for what seemed forever, voices rising and falling in waves. I wished they would stop fighting and get back together.

While I waited, I wondered why Rachel wasn’t coming with me. Maybe it was because she was too little. Or maybe Mom wouldn’t let her go.

Once Dad finished talking to Mom we took off down the winding mountain roads to the valley.

Dad told me all about his Fiancee. Her name was Linda.

“She’s beautiful,” he said, glancing at me with a smile. “She looks like Cybill Shepherd. You know who that is?”

I shook my head.

“She’s an actress,” he explained. “You’ll see when you meet her.”

He went on, his voice warm and hopeful. Linda had a daughter named Katie, a year older than Rachel. And he told me that Linda was a teacher and taught the third grade.

“Wow!” I said, wide-eyed. “That’s my grade. She won’t be my teacher, will she?” The idea made my stomach tighten.

Dad chuckled. “No, honey. You’ll be at a different school.”

“Good. That would be weird, having a new mom and a teacher all in one.” I let out a nervous laugh.

It all sounded perfect. She was good with kids. I’d have another sister. Maybe this was exactly what we needed.

By the time we arrived at Linda’s house, the butterflies in my stomach were thrashing. Or maybe it was the winding drive down the mountain. Rachel always got sick on these roads. I usually had a strong stomach, but it didn’t feel so strong now.

When we walked into Linda’s home, she was warm and welcoming. A whole spread of delicious food was laid out for us, and we sat together, eating and getting to know one another. Katie barely spoke, only answering when prodded. She was thin and tall for a four-year-old, with wide doe eyes and an impressive head of long blond hair.

After lunch, Linda encouraged Katie to show me her room, but she was reluctant. Linda took her aside, whispering until she finally agreed. I understood, she was just a little girl, and I was an outsider.

Katie hesitated before leading me down the hall. “This is my room,” she announced, standing in the doorway as if she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted me to go inside.

I stepped in and looked around. Everything was perfectly arranged, white princess furniture straight out of a Sears catalog, shelves lined with delicate dolls, and stuffed animals carefully placed on her neatly made bed. It was a picture-perfect little girl’s room.

A twinge of envy prickled at me. My own room was nothing like this. Just a bed, some mismatched furniture, and a mess I never quite managed to clean up.

“Your room is so pretty,” I said.

“Thank you,” Katie replied, blushing.

I reached for one of her dolls, admiring the silky curls and the delicately painted lips, but before I could even lift it, she snatched it out of my hands.

“That’s mine! You can’t have it!” she snapped, clutching it to her chest.

“Sorry,” I said, taken aback. “It’s nice to share with people, especially your guests.” I was feeling very grown-up now, and also annoyed with this silly, shy little girl who wouldn’t even let me hold her doll.

“You can’t have it!” she repeated. “I’ll go tell my mommy on you!” She turned to leave.

“Don’t tell! I won’t touch your things, okay? I promise.” My stomach clenched. The last thing I needed was to get in trouble on my first visit.

She stopped, staring at me, her small hands still gripping the doll.

“Hey, Katie, don’t worry. I promise, okay?” I smiled, trying to make her feel more comfortable.

She studied me for a moment, then softened. “I like to keep everything in order,” she said, smoothing the doll’s dress. “I clean my room all by myself.”

“Wow,” I said, glancing around again. “I hate cleaning my room.”

I was officially creeped out now. Would I have to keep my room this clean too? I had to get out of there.

I wandered back into the living room, where Dad and Linda sat together, drinks in hand, chatting. As soon as I walked in, they turned their attention to me, smiling warmly.

“Come sit with us, sweetheart,” Dad said, patting the couch.

I sat down, and they explained their plans for me moving in.

“Daddy, I have a question,” I said hesitantly.

“Yes, honey?”

“What about Rachel? Will she be coming to live with us too?”

“No, I thought you knew. She’s going to stay with your mom because she’s still so young.”

“Oh,” I said, my voice small. “Okay.”

Dad must have noticed the look on my face because he squeezed my hand. “Don’t worry, Binky. We’ll see her often. And maybe when she gets a little older, she can come live with us too.”

He glanced at Linda, as if checking in with her on this promise. She gave a small, tight smile but didn’t say anything.

Then I realized, my sister and I were being separated too.

Thanks so much for reading a little snapshot from my life. It’s these little moments when we think we are okay. That our childhood was just fine. But when you look a little closer, it’s these little hurts that chip away at our souls. That chip away at our hope and keep us from our light my friends. If you see yourself in my work, give your child self a hug and let them know you have their back. Lots of love my beautiful readers. © Girl on a Downtown Train by Heather Pastore

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First installment of series 1

Second installment of series 1

https://girlonadowntowntrain.substack.com/p/all-in-my-mind

Third installment of series 1

https://girlonadowntowntrain.substack.com/p/under-the-influence

Forth installment of series 1

https://girlonadowntowntrain.substack.com/p/its-too-late-for-that

Series II, Part I

Series II, Part II

1978

I was five and a half when my parents decided to escape LA for the mountains of Big Bear.

It wasn’t the kind of place you moved to if you had big ambitions. Big Bear was a quiet resort town tucked high in the eastern mountains of Southern California, where winters were blanketed in snow and summers smelled of sunbaked pines.

But my mother wasn’t looking for opportunity.

She was looking for open land and room for her horse.

Dad bought us an old farmhouse in the middle of nowhere.

He proudly opened the door into a cavernous living room and to the left of that room was a staircase that climbed sharply upward, lined with deep red carpet. Looking up that staircase gave me goosebumps, as if something unseen lingered just beyond the top step, waiting.

Upstairs was a small room where we’d keep our little TV, and across from it my parents’ bedroom. My room was downstairs, just off the living room, along with Rachel’s nursery.

I thought about our old house, the one with the hillside strawberry patch in the backyard, where the sun warmed the earth and everything smelled sweet.

I wished we could go back.

When the house tour was finished, Dad took us outside to see the rest of the property. The fenced area wasn’t very big, just enough room for my mother’s horse and the pony I had been promised for my last birthday.

The last stop was the barn.

It was dark and dirty, filled with old tools, animal cages, and other strange farm equipment.

“What are these cages for?” I asked.

“They’re for minks,” my dad said. “This used to be a mink farm.”

“What are minks?”

“They’re small animals with beautiful fur. People raise them to make very expensive coats.”

My stomach dropped.

I pictured the animals trapped in those cages, waiting to be killed for their fur. It suddenly made sense why this house felt so creepy.

I never went back into the barn again.

We lived in that farmhouse for a few years, but the house never stopped haunting me. At night the wind pushed through the boards and the pine trees scraped against the roof.

Sometimes I would stare up at the red staircase, certain something was standing just beyond the top step.

I began to dream about falling down those stairs.

Not falling exactly, it was more like floating. Tumbling head over feet, suspended in midair until I hit the bottom and woke with a jolt.

The first few times it happened, I called for my mom.

She never came.

Maybe she couldn’t hear me.

Or maybe something in that house didn’t want her to.

Before long, strange things started happening in our family.

It seemed that more often than not my parents fought.

They fought about money.

They fought about my sister and me.

But mostly they fought about dinner.

It was always about what we were going to eat, how it should be made and who was responsible for making it.

Our ragged little kitchen, instead of being a place of warmth and nourishment, became a battleground.

Dad was traditional. He believed a woman should take care of the household and have a five-course meal on the table when he got home from work, like his mother used to do.

Mom, wasn’t like that.

She argued that she worked just as hard as dad did, and that he should cook half the time. But he wouldn’t hear of it, which only made things worse, and under that pressure she began to withdraw, growing more distant from us all.

On a bright winter morning, while Mom was helping me get ready for school, Rachel decided to take a ride on top of Dad’s record player. She had broken the arm off the turntable and was chewing on it happily, drool dripping off her fat fingers.

Dad loved that record player. It had been a wedding gift from his parents.

All day at school, I worried about what he would do when he found out.

That night at dinner, Dad walked over to play a record and discovered it was broken. His face flushed red as he held the broken piece in his hand.

“Who did this?” he demanded.

“It was Heather,” my mom said quietly, staring down at her plate. “She was fiddling with it this morning and accidentally broke it.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

“Daddy, I didn’t do it,” I cried. “Rachel did. Mommy saw her.”

I looked at my mom, waiting for her to correct the mistake.

She never looked up.

Dad’s voice trembled with anger and heartbreak.

Then he pointed toward my bedroom.

“You’ll go to your room without dinner tonight, young lady. Go. Now.”

That night I lay in bed listening to my parents arguing through the walls. I couldn’t believe my mother would lie about me like that to my father. I felt then that I couldn’t trust her and that hurt me deeply.

Then just a week after, something else happened that confirmed how I was starting to feel about my mom.

About twice a month we would go visit our neighbor. It was a long walk down a dirt road that felt like miles, but it was worth it. Millie always had something warm waiting for us when she knew we were coming.

That day it was oatmeal cookies with raisins and walnuts.

They were delicious.

After we stuffed ourselves, Mom gave us the signal that it was time to go.

It was a hot afternoon and our bellies were full. Rachel, being so little, began to lag behind and started whining for someone to carry her.

Mom didn’t want to pick her up. She just kept walking, occasionally calling back to her in a tone that sounded like she was mocking her.

But Rachel’s fat little legs couldn’t carry her any farther. She sat down in the middle of the dirt road and began to cry.

I waited for Mom to turn around.

She didn’t.

Her figure grew smaller and smaller as she walked away, never once looking back.

I began to panic and sat down in the road beside my sister, there was only one thing I could do.

I picked my sister up and carried her the rest of the way home.

I was seven at the most and she was a heavy two-year-old.

But somehow we made it.

Then one night everything finally broke.

My mom was working a lot of late shifts at the hospital. She had been coming home later and later over the past few weeks.

Dad, lying in bed alone thought about all the excuses mom had given him for being late. It made him restless. He threw back the sheets, he pulled on his pants, and drove to the hospital to see what was going on.

Instead of parking in the front like he normally did, he drove around to the back.

There he saw my mom’s car.

He pulled up beside it and looked through the window.

Inside, he saw my mom was kissing another man.

My dad got out of the car and walked up to the window and knocked.

What happened next I never learned. My parents would never tell me.

But I imagine there must have been quite a scene.

The next day when I came home from school, both of them were waiting for me in the living room.

They looked somber.

“Hi, honey,” Dad said. “Come sit down. Your mother and I have something to talk to you about.”

“Ok,” I said, suddenly nervous.

The last time they were like this was when they told me our dog died.

“There’s no easy way to say this, honey,” Dad began. “So, I’m going to say this as plainly as I can.” He cleared his throat, holding back tears, his voice cracked. “Your mother and I have decided that we are going to get a divorce.”

“What’s a divorce?” I asked, knowing full well that it wasn’t good whatever it was.

“Well,” he said softly, “it means that your mom and I won’t be living in the same house anymore.”

I began to cry.

“Please don’t get divorced,” I begged. “How will we be together? Is it something I did to make you angry? I promise I’ll be a better girl. I’ll be nicer to my sister. I promise.”

“No, honey.” They both said at the same time.

“It’s not your fault,” Mom added gently. “Your dad and I just can’t get along anymore.”

“But I hear you fight,” I said. “Sometimes it sounds like you’re fighting about me. I’m sorry, please don’t get divorced.”

“It’s not your fault,” my dad said again. “But we’ve made up our minds.

I ran into my room.

It wasn’t fair.

First my dog got eaten by a coyote.

Now my parents were getting divorced.

Why is this happening to me? Who would I live with? What would happen next?

That afternoon I fell apart, shattered into a million tiny pieces.

© Girl On a Downtown Train by Heather Ann Pastore

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Thank you for reading my little story. I’m so grateful for your kind words and comments.

Series II Part I

When I was four years old, I had a recurring dream.

Alone in a vast desert, walking barefoot through jagged rocks and rolling tumbleweeds. The wind tore at my dress and stung my cheeks. I walked and walked until I found a deserted shack. I walked Inside and settled into a sunlit corner facing the open door.

Then they appeared.

Three giant, tumbleweeds, tangled and breathing, swirling and flickering like fire. They blocked the doorway and the light. They writhed and expanded, growing larger and denser as they floated toward me. As they approached, I could hear them whispering hateful things about what a disgusting, horrible, and vile child I was.

Just as they were about to touch me. I closed my eyes and screamed.

That’s how I always woke up.

Then one morning after waking from the dream, I opened my eyes and looked toward my bedroom doorway.

Six miniature tumbleweeds, each the size of a tennis ball, were lined up across the threshold.

I froze, unsure if I should jump over them or call out to my parents.

But something inside me said: Be brave.

So I backed up, took a running leap, and landed in the hallway.

When I turned around, they were gone.

I never had the dream again.

For years, I didn’t understand it.

But when I started writing my memoir, the symbolism came into focus. The three towering tumbleweeds were my mother, my father, and my stepmother—the very people who were supposed to protect me.

They didn’t mean to hurt me. They were projecting their own fears and unresolved trauma onto me, tangled in the storms of their own battles.

But children don’t understand intention.

They internalize the impact.

and the impact leaves a mark.

And somewhere inside that girl, the instinct to leap, not retreat, had already taken root.

Thank you for taking the time to stop here for a while and read my story!

© Girl on a Downtown Train by Heather A Pastore

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Broken trees

Screams the wind

Shaken leaves nest

Holding

Small grey

Falls from safety’s hand

Unrest

From blinding snow

On wings

Descend

Above unknowing

Crumpled deep

struggling Persian

And Spartan pierced red

Rise howling wind

And pelting ice

Fossil frozen

Entombed till winters end

September 1989

When Ads and I got back to the house, we collapsed into bed together for the first time. I prepared myself for what was inevitably going to come next. Thankfully, exhaustion won, and we fell asleep in each other’s arms instead. A few hours later, he woke me with soft kisses that quickly turned into something more, sealing the deal of our new relationship, born from friendship, a broken heart, and a night of drug-induced Ecstasy.

That morning, I vowed never to take Ecstasy again. It had made everything too beautiful. Too easy. And now, in the light of day, I realized how hard it would be to give my heart to Ads. I was his Venus, but he was not my Mars. In my heart, I was already cheating on him with a ghost.

When we finally got up, it was three o’clock. I was still buzzing from everything that had happened the night before. Famished, we rummaged through the fridge and found nothing, so we decided to head downtown for coffee and bagels. Just as we were about to leave, the phone rang. It was Jen.

Ads asked her to meet us at the park. After he hung up, he turned to me with that familiar expression—the one he wore when something was wrong.

“What is it?” I asked, “Is Jen okay?”

“We have to tell her about us.”

I blinked. “What’s wrong with that? She’s our friend. She should be happy for us.”

He hesitated. “I don’t know… I just have this feeling she’s not gonna take it well.”

When Jen arrived at the park, she was glowing, still riding the high from the night before. She talked about the club, the music, the magic of it all. Then she broke out into a little dance. I laughed and joined her. She attempted a dramatic tango dip and we nearly toppled over before she pulled me upright into a warm embrace. We had a strong bond. I felt optimistic that things wouldn’t change between us.

But even as I thought it, a nervous weight pressed into my chest.

We kept things light, skimming the surface, avoiding the real reason we were there. Ads shifted beside me. I knew he couldn’t hold it in much longer.

“Jen we have something to tell you.”

“What is it? she asked.

“Heather and I are together now.”

Her smile faltered. The joy drained from her face. For a long moment, she just stood there.

I held my breath.

Then, her voice broke through the quiet. “What about us?” she asked, her voice raw. “We can’t just hang out now. I’ll be a shitty third wheel! What am I supposed to do with this?”

Tears welled in her eyes, then spilled freely down her cinnamon cheeks.

“Jen,” I pleaded, stepping toward her. “Nothing has changed. We’re still the same. Just like we were yesterday.”

She shook her head.”No. Everything has changed.”

And just like that, she walked away.

I looked at Ads. Had he known? It seemed he had. He was disappointed, but not surprised. Had there been something between them I didn’t know about? He wouldn’t say.

Whatever it was, I guessed that for him, the prize of having me was worth it.

Love has the power to create and destroy. I felt both forces at work. I didn’t know what the lesson was yet but when life shifts so quickly beneath your feet, the cracks left behind reveal a deeper truth. Answers come in a flash, then fade away, leaving behind a scar.

I watched Jen disappear, my heart breaking.

“This feels wrong.” I said quietly. “Maybe we can just go back to being friends,”

“It’s too late for that,” he said flatly.

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Is that orange spray tan on the shroud of Turin?

What kind of visions have brought us to our knees

As the ones on the top

Wage war and disease

Ripping apart innocent

Limbs of descent

blood runs down Liberty’s leg

An abortion of lies

Give us your money your back and your life

I washed away Mary

with warm suds and lye

No fake orange messiah

Who took over your mother

Leave the mask

Of the dead ways behind

For the new world thats rising

Is ours to align.

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3rd installment of series 1

Summer 1990

Ads was a constant presence in my life, my best friend and the one who stood by me when I didn’t have anyone else. He slept in a sleeping bag on my bedroom floor. Just to make sure I felt safe living at Jan’s place.

One night we were chilling in my room, the conversation turned to Peter again. I felt a twinge of guilt because I still had Peter’s picture hidden under my pillow.

“I don’t want to talk about him now,” I said. “Tell me who you like Ads?” Trying to change the subject. “You never talk about it.”

“There really isn’t anyone,” Ads replied, frowning.

“Come on, there must be someone. Tell me,” I teased.

Ads shifted, his tone sounding defensive. “Really, there’s no one I’m interested in. Guess that makes me lame, right?”

He then switched on the light and glanced at my pillow. “Is it under there?” he asked.

“What?” I replied, acting confused. We’d done this before.

“You know what I mean,” he said, his eyes locking with mine.

“I don’t want to talk about him.” I sighed.

Before I could change the subject, Ads jumped up, reached under my pillow, and pulled out Peter’s picture. “I knew it was there,” he said victoriously.

“Give it back!” I demanded, snatching it from him. “Damn it, Ads… what the hell?”

“I have the perfect idea let’s burn it. You need to let go of him,” Ads insisted, his voice firm.

I hesitated, feeling the weight of my grief at letting him go. But if I just did as Ads said I would probably be better off. I’d been lugging around the grief in my heart for Peter too long. I’ll burn the damn thing.

“Okay,” I said reluctantly.

That night, Ads built a small fire in the backyard. I tossed the picture into the flames and watched as Peter’s face turned black and crumbled to ash. The tiny pieces swirled in the fire like fragile moths before disappearing into the darkness and all I felt was regret.

I’d burned it for Ads. I wasn’t ready to erase Peter’s face from my memory.

Weeks had passed since that night, but the ache of losing him hadn’t faded. I carried it with me like a dull weight, pressing down on everything. But life does go on so I marched forward and while marching, I ran into Ads. I barely looked up. I muttered a hello and continued my journey to the kitchen. I was lost in one of my withdrawn moods and the world around me was on mute. I had no energy to humor him, no interest in pretending to be present. I was fully ignoring him.

“Hey, Heather,” Ads greeted me in a sing-song voice.

“Hey, Ads,” I flatly replied. I certainly didn’t want to humor him at all.

“What’s the matter?” He said.

“Nothing,” I muttered.

“Well, I guess you won’t be interested in the surprise I have for you, then.” He was all full of excitement and joy.

I shot him a sideways glance. “A surprise?” My curiosity got the better of me. “What is it?”

He grinned and opened his hand, revealing three aspirin-sized pills in a little plastic bag.

“What are those?” I asked, intrigued.

“Ecstasy. For the club tonight!” His eyes gleamed.

My breath hitched. “Wait… seriously? We’re going dancing on Ecstasy? Oh my God!” A rush of adrenaline replaced my earlier indifference.

Ads laughed. “Knew that would wake you up.”

I took a closer look at the bag. “Why do you have three?”

“Because Jen is coming with us.” he exclaimed.

“Nice! We’re hitting the city, right?” I asked, praying we weren’t going to some lame Napa club. I’d still go, but I was hoping for San Francisco.

“Yep. The Palladium as a matter of fact!”

“Oh my god, this is gonna be amazing!” I exclaimed. I even remember I jumped around a little for joy. Peter who?

I’d never tried Ecstasy before, but I’d heard all about it. It was supposed to fill you with an overwhelming love for yourself and everyone around you, like pure euphoria in a pill. The name said it all and I was about to experience it for myself.

That weekend, the three of us piled into my K car, I drove, Ads was the passenger and Jen sat in the back. Ads popped in a Dead or Alive tape and rewound it right to the song —You Spin me Round (Like a Record)— and he cranked the volume up high. It was one of our all-time favorite dance albums. It was perfect for getting us in the mood to dance. San Fran was about an hour from the valley, but the drive flew by. The night was ours. A new door was about to open in our minds, one that would change the course of all our lives.

We arrived at the Palladium, and while we waited in line, Ads handed out our Ecstasy along with a quick side-effects warning.

“No matter what, stay hydrated,” he said, passing each of us a bottle of water.

“When you’re done, get another one.”

“Okay,” Jen and I responded in unison.

“Bottoms up!” Ads grinned, popping the pill and chasing it with a big gulp of water.

“Here we come, Get Laidium!” Jen exclaimed.

We all burst into hysterical laughter.

Once inside the club, we scanned the room and claimed a spot of our own. I was the first on the dance floor and Ads quickly joined me, probably to make sure no one else did. Jen, waited for the perfect song before making her move.

I was in my element. The dance floor was where I could completely lose myself. It was like meditation with a pulse.

After a few songs, something shifted. The music wrapped around me like a warm breeze, igniting every nerve in my body. The strobe and mirror ball blurred into glittering fireflies, then into streaks of color that shot around the room like lightning bolts. Liquid swirls melted on the screen behind the DJ, sending chills down my spine. My silk skirt tickled my thighs, sending a surge of warmth upward, and every breath felt like a rush of life-giving energy.

In that moment, I found myself. I fell in love with my body, with the ease and fluidity of my movements. Like the liquid swirls on the screen, I flowed. My limbs felt like extensions of the music, effortless and free.

Then, as if waking up for the first time, I looked into the faces around me. They glowed with radiance, their sweat shimmering like diamonds. I wanted to touch them, to connect. Their eyes were deep pools, revealing luminescent souls I felt it rushing, a surge of love so pure, so overwhelming, it intertwined us all, like I was one with everyone.

And then, there they were. My “real” friends. Their faces were beaming, lit up like children seeing fireworks for the first time. We hugged like we hadn’t seen each other in years.

“Oh my fucking god, this stuff is amazing!” I yelled over the music.

“Right?” Jen grinned, her whole being radiating joy. “It’s a miracle! Why wouldn’t we do this every weekend?”

“I know,” Ads chimed in, eyes twinkling. “But unfortunately, there’ve been studies that say using it too often can cause nerve damage.”

“Oh wow. Well… not doing that then,” I said, a little disappointed.

We stayed until the last song played, collecting moments and making friends we’d likely never see again. It was the kind of night that only happens once, a fleeting burst of magic I wasn’t ready to let go of.

As we spilled out of the club, Jen and I skipped arm in arm, our laughter still mixing with the music in the air. Ads trailed behind, watching us with amusement.

Sleep wasn’t happening tonight.

I wasn’t thrilled about driving home from the club under the influence, but I had no choice. Thankfully, it was surprisingly easy. I knew my car like the back of my hand, and the roads were practically deserted. My senses still felt razor-sharp, my mind clear, my body alive with energy. With Ads and Jen beside me, I felt on top of the world.

As we approached the Vallejo turn-off, Jen spoke up. “Can you drop me off at my mom’s house?”

Ads groaned dramatically. “Oh, come on, Jen. Are you sure? The night is still young! We gotta hang some more… Jeeennnnn,” he sang, in protest.

I laughed. “Yeah, seriously. One more adventure?”

Jen sighed. “I wish, but I really have to go home. I need to take my mom to her appointments tomorrow. It’ll just be easier if I stay there tonight.”

I relented, turning off the highway toward her neighborhood. “Alright, no problem. But we’ll miss you.”

Once back on the highway, Ads and I drove in comfortable silence for a while. My mind drifted in a thousand directions, replaying the night, the music, the lights, the feeling of being connected to everyone and everything. Even now, the world still felt brighter, like I could see every detail in sharp focus. Though the intense sensuality of the high had faded, what remained was a crystal-clear awareness, a speediness that made my heart race with passion. I wished I was still on the dance floor.

Then, inevitably, my thoughts slipped to Peter. I imagined him there with me, dancing under the strobe lights, feeling what I had felt. He would have loved this. A hollow ache settled in my chest, but before I could let it take hold, Ads broke the silence, jolting me out of my daydream.

“It’s such a beautiful night. Let’s go to the park and watch the sun come up.” Ads suggested.

“Sounds perfect,” I agreed.

We were headed to Westwood Park. I loved that park. I wasn’t the kind you’d find in town, with swing sets and paved paths. Westwood was wild with steep hiking trails, thick with old twisted oak trees that were perfect for climbing and mahogany manzanita in the underbrush. The trail we chose that night led to a perch overlooking the valley below, where we could watch the lights from town glow and wait for morning to break over the hills. This place had meaning for me. Some of the most important moments of my life had happened up here.

When we reached the top, we sat on a worn picnic table that I’d sat on a hundred times before. Some of those times had been with Peter. It never got old.

“This was a great idea, Ads. Thank you for such an amazing night. The only thing that would make this better is if Peter was …,” I said, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

Ads turned to me, his face twisting in frustration. “Are you kidding me? I thought you were over him,” his voice sharp.

“No, I’m not.” I admitted, my voice small. “I can’t just magically get over him cause you made me burn his picture. It’s going to take time. I love him. I feel it right now. I don’t know how to stop.” I put my chin in my hands and gazed pensively out to the horizon.

Ads exhaled sharply, shaking his head before turning to me with an intensity that made my chest tighten. “But he doesn’t love you, Heather.” He paused. “I love you.”

His proclamation hung between us as I gathered my thoughts. I knew what I was going to say would hurt him. How could I navigate this situation without losing him entirely? My mind quickly weighing the pros and cons. I was shocked but somewhere deep inside, I had known this was coming.

I couldn’t imagine my life without Ads. His presence was like gravity, grounding me when everything else was spinning out of control.

“Ads, I love you too but it’s different for me…I see you like a brother, you’re my best friend,” I said, I knew I risked losing him. But being his girlfriend? That was not what I’d ever imagined.

We went back and forth like that for god knows how long. He argued the reasons we should be together, I came back with the reasons we should stay friends. It was a dance of pleading and resistance, the sky gradually shifting from ink to indigo as we talked in circles. And I felt the walls closing in. He just would not except my friendship and I knew for sure that I would lose him if I didn’t except his offer of love.

So, as the first slivers of dawn cut through the horizon, I broke.

“Okay,” I whispered, the words sticking in my throat. “I’ll try.”

I told myself I could learn to love him that way. That attraction could grow from the devotion he already had for me. Fake it till you make it, I thought.

Then, he kissed me.

As the sun rose, so did a new version of my life. Hand in hand, Ads and I walked down the hill together, stepping into a reality I wasn’t sure I wanted to be in.

I told myself love could grow. That comfort could turn into desire. That staying was the same as choosing.

I didn’t know yet that some promises we make to survive are the ones that quietly undo us.

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© Girl on a Downtown Train

By Heather Ann Pastore

Santa Cruz 1992

I’d been back in Santa Cruz for a couple weeks when Amber invited me over to a friends house to hang out. It was a smallish get-together—maybe twelve people. Most of them I knew. The air was cool, with the scent of chlorine, weed, and the faint aroma of someone’s cigarette.  Santana was playing on the stereo. The house glowed in shades of brown and orange.

Ads handed me a half-smoked joint. I took a deep drag and passed it back. Santana sounded better than ever, and I swayed to the rhythm, closing my eyes as the notes filled my body, goosebumps rising along my arms. When I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was Chris.

That old familiar feeling sparked to life, just like the first night I met him. I couldn’t believe he was in town and here now.

Chris’s eyes caught mine in that way that always made me feel like something was about to happen.

Then someone announced the hot tub was open.

“Hurry up,” Ads said, nodding toward the water. “Let’s get in before it gets crowded.”

Chris grinned, all warmth and ease. “Hell yeah, that sounds perfect.”

Everyone stripped down to their underwear and climbed in like it was nothing, laughing and splashing as they sank into the steaming water. I lingered on the edge, my cheeks burning. I couldn’t just join them, not with my chest. I was painfully self-conscious about my large breasts, and the thought of being exposed, even in my bra. I couldn’t bare it and started to panic.

I looked around for an excuse, a solution, anything to make me feel less awkward. Without a proper bathing suit or something to cover up, I felt like the odd one out, standing there while everyone else relaxed without a care.

“Ads, can I borrow your shirt?” I asked.

He didn’t hesitate. He jumped out and handed me the shirt he had been wearing. I slipped into a dark corner of the deck to change, then lowered myself into the tub.

Once Inside, the world felt smaller. I sat beside Ads and Amber, and directly across from me, sat Chris. His baby-blues locked onto mine for a moment and he smiled.

The others blurred into the background. My emotions churned in the hot, steaming water. I tried to look casual, but it was hard. I was super high and everything felt intense.

We started out acting like adults—beer in hand, talking about the world and our philosophies and other rational bullshit, but the talk soon turned playful. I let my toes drift under the surface of the water, brushing Chris’s leg to see how he’d react.

He locked eyes with me, his gaze steady and unreadable.

Amber climbed out of the tub, muttering something about needing to cool off. Chris slid closer, and somehow I ended up wedged between him and Ads. I didn’t know what to do with all that tension, so I started splashing and suggested a game to see who could hold their breath the longest. It was just what I needed to shift the energy from awkward to silly again.

In the commotion, my hand found Chris’s leg—or so I thought. My fingers grazed somewhere far more intimate. The secret I’d been holding onto wasn’t so secret anymore.

He smiled. Didn’t move away. Didn’t move closer.

Maybe he wasn’t interested, or maybe couldn’t be, with Ads sitting right there. Still, under the cover of bubbles, I waited for some small sign, hoping he’d give me just enough to know he felt it too.

When he didn’t, I turned inward, beating myself up for misreading what I was feeling. I was looking for an excuse to breakup with Ads. I thought the way to do that was by having someone else to jump to before I did. That it was safer than being alone in this crazy world.

I already tried it once with Jeff. Now here I was looking to Chris to save me. At this point I was beginning to think that I had this unfortunate habit of falling in love with people that weren’t for me. I wish I had the guts to just tell Ads the truth, that I wasn’t his girl.

Ads turned to me. “Hey you okay? You look a little flushed.”

I blinked. “Yeah, I’m fine,” I said, smiling. My pulse hammered in my ears. Chris’s energy pulled at me like a magnet.

Ads frowned. “You should sit out for a while.” He was always looking out for me, and somehow that made it worse. Guilt swirled in my chest, dulling the heat of everything I’d just felt. I tried to shake it all off, trying to convince myself I was being reckless.

I pulled myself out of the water, the wet T-shirt clung to my chest. I hunched my shoulders inward, grateful for the dark shadows that softened my curves. Still uneasy, I grabbed a towel and wrapped it tightly around me.

“I’m going to the shower,” I said, trying to sound casual.

Chris stood and stretched. “Yeah, I’m done too.” With one smooth motion, he stepped out. As if on cue, everyone else followed, and the five of us wandered over to the outdoor shower.

Without hesitation or much thought, we crowded under the spray, taking turns beneath the warm water like kids at a sleepover, laughing and rotating around the single shower head. It was easy to get swept up in the simplicity of it—just friends, and something that felt like love. But even as we splashed and joked, the other half of my mind was somewhere else.

He stood right beside me, water running down his shoulders, close enough that I could feel the warmth of his skin. He made me feel awake in a way that scared me. I knew there was something between us… or maybe I was just dreaming.

Its was getting late, a few of us sat around the sofa. Mike rolled a joint and passed it around. We talked about music, Lenny Kravitz was playing— Mr. Cab Driver— and it sparked a deep political debate. We agreed Clinton was a dick, but he was better than Bush Senior. “What the fuck with this ‘points of light’ bullshit any way?” Mike said, and everyone laughed.

Then Ads leaned in close. “Grant said we could stay here tonight. He doesn’t want us driving.” He’s got an extra room we can use. Let’s go get settled in.”

I didn’t want to leave, I was still waiting for some sort of sign from Chris. Still, I nodded and followed Ads, feeling the moment slipping away.

Before leaving, I glanced at Chris. He caught my eye and held my gaze a second longer than expected. “Good night,” I whispered.

I turned away, following Ads into the room.

Once inside, he closed the door behind us, I looked at him and swallowed hard. It felt like the beginning all over again—reluctant, uneasy, hoping the attraction would grow with time. It hadn’t yet. The air felt heavy with unspoken tension. I didn’t want to be there with him, not like this. When he reached for me, I pulled away.

“I’m not in the mood,” I said, walking to the other side of the room.

“Why? What’s wrong?” he asked, confusion and concern in his voice.

“I don’t know,” I muttered.

He wouldn’t let it go. “Come on, talk to me. What’s going on?”

The truth clawed at the back of my throat, but I couldn’t say it. Instead, I reached for something safer—an old argument about him not going to school. We bickered until the words ran dry.

Finally, exhausted, we called a truce. Ads turned over with a huff, his back to me, and soon, his breathing softened into sleep.

I lay awake in the dark, listening to the muffled sound shapes from the other room. Just steps away, Chris was stretched out on the couch. The thought of getting up and going to him crossed my mind, but the mixed signals he’d sent left me paralyzed. So, I stayed put.

It wasn’t just Chris that had me tangled up inside. It was everything—the confusion, the guilt, the regret. I knew I wasn’t being fair to Ads. He didn’t deserve the half-truths, the emotional distance, the anger I projected onto him from wounds I didn’t yet understand. All I knew was that what I felt was real.

I turned onto my side. Ads slept peacefully beside me, oblivious to the storm inside me.

I didn’t sleep much that night.

Thanks so much for reading. Please enjoy it with the song I shared below.

Heather Ann Pastore

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Fall 1990

The night felt ordinary, cards fanned in my hand, there were a lot of people over that night but the party was pretty chill. The air hung heavy with the ever-present hum of conversation and music. Smoke filled the air giving it a loungey vibe around Jan’s (pronounced Yawn) dining room table. Just as I thought of him he leaned in and told me it was time for me to move out. His dad was coming back at the end of the month and needed his room back.

For a split second, my stomach flipped. But the worry passed just as quickly. Ads and I had been planning for this moment for a while. We only needed a few friends willing to split the rent, and we’d be set. We didn’t know it yet but we were about to create the next legendary Napa party house.

Not long after Jan gave me the boot, I ran into my friend Steve, while hanging at the downtown coffee shop. He’d just returned from New York City, shaken by a rough experience that made him drop his plans and come home. Bad luck for him but perfect timing for us. He needed a place to stay, and we needed a housemate. He said yes, and just like that, we were three. Steve was a force of nature, Once he hooked in to something he liked he would turn it into his passion. He was the kind of guy who made everything feel like an event.

Still, we needed more people. So we started recruiting.

First on my list was a friend from high school, her name was Amber. She wasn’t sold at first; the party-house vibe wasn’t really her scene. But she was itching to get out of her mom’s house, and after a little nudging, she agreed. That made four.

Ads set his sights on Mike, the guy I’d ditched at the boat dance who still hung around Jan’s place. Mike didn’t hesitate, and even sweetened the deal offering up his buddy Dave as another possibility. Dave was fresh from the East Coast, wide-eyed and ready to dive headfirst into the California dream. He was a shoo-in.

Just like that, we had a full house.

With six of us, we landed a ranch-style house on the edge of Browns Valley. It was in a family neighborhood and didn’t seem like the best candidate for a party house but Ads convinced me otherwise and I fell in love with the giant Jasmine vine that grew by the front door. The smell was divine.

When we got settled in, we came together and named the house SHAMAD. The first letter from each of our names: Steve, Heather, Ads, Mike, Amber, and Dave. We thought we were geniuses. Soon the name carried weight around town.

Our place felt like a universe with its own rules. A place where time blurred and the real world stayed outside the door. We worked hard and partied hard. Being in the center of it made me feel alive.

Then the orbit widened.

Dave and Mike took a trip back to Philly and returned with a couple of friends in tow. The hot one was Chris and the other guy, Butch was a big Italian that looked way older than his age. It was easy for Mike to convince them to move, all he had to do was get them high with some chronic green California bud and that was it. There was no comparison to the brown shake in Philly.

There wasn’t room for them at SHAMAD, but from the moment they arrived, they were family, slipping into our chaos as if they’d been part of it all along.

Butch was caricature of an Italian east coast guy. His thick Philly accent was booming, he was tough and at the same time gentle and the jokes he told were always crude.

Chris was different.

He was quiet and intense. His eyes liquid blue, his lips full and expressive. His effortless rock-and-roll vibe was authentic. I could feel the energy in the room tilt in his direction. When Dave introduced us, something shifted in me. It was the first time since Peter that I’d felt that kind of pull toward someone.

I tried to ignore it. I was with Ads, so I shoved the thought away.

Most of us worked in Napa’s restaurant scene, waiting tables at high-end spots where the tips were good and the perks were even better. We had access to some of the best gourmet food and bottles of Napa’s finest wine flowed through our hands.

One night, after a long shift, I came home drained. I’d spent the day listening to a coworker unravel about her cheating boyfriend, absorbing her pain like a sponge until it settled heavy in my bones. All I wanted was a hot bath and my cozy bed.

But as soon as I opened the door, laughter exploded from the hallway.

I followed the noise and found Steve and Dan, another guy who came over almost every night, in the bathroom, dressed in my clothes. Their wigs perched on their heads in weird angles making them look ridiculous.

“Oh my God, Heather!” Steve shrieked.

“Are you mad?” Dan asked, pouting.

“Not at all. You guys look so good in my clothes. You better wash them before you put them back,” I said, with a fake frown on my face.

“We’re going dancing!” Dan declared. “Go get dressed. You’re coming with us.”

“Yay,” I grinned, suddenly re-energized.

I threw on the last thing I had to wear, and we piled into the car. Dan pulled out a glass pipe loaded with weed. We got totally high, we were feeling ridiculous, and we were ready for some good trouble.

Our destination? The cheesiest dance club in town, the Holiday Inn in Browns Valley, where Dan worked.

We stormed in like a scene from A Clockwork Orange but we weren’t ultra-violent, we were ultra-violet.

The club was nearly empty when we arrived, a sad scattering of people nursing their drinks. By the time we were out of there, the place was alive and kicking.

For one night, we turned that Holiday Inn into the hottest spot in Napa.

And that was just another night at SHAMAD.

Thanks for the read friends! This is part of my mixed tape I made for you to enjoy.

Are “Friends Electric? by Gary Numan

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