Next Stop: Not Where You Live

I was going to do another installment of the 5-Song Shuffle but instead I'm going to talk about the time a strange man drove me home. This is a story I've told to people before but this is the first time I'm going to tell what actually happened.

It was 1985 and I was a dorky 15-year-old kid who had gotten into collecting comic books (wow, I bet you never saw that coming). My friends and I would travel to Allston from Malden to go to New England Comics (which at the time was on Brighton Ave in an office building but now they're around the corner on Harvard St. They later opened a store right in Malden Square in the old Jordan Marsh building. That store was the shit. They're still in Malden on the same street but further up). Every Saturday we'd take two separate buses and spend all our money on comics. I was obsessed with Daredevil and I was trying to get all the back issues (especially the Frank Miller ones from the early 80's). Usually after we had all our comics we'd then go over to Herrell's Ice Cream to get a "smooshed-in" ice cream. For those not in the know, a smooshed-in is the ice cream flavor of your choice with any number of other goodies folded into it. I know that now there's Cold Stone Creamery but back then this was a revolutionary idea to a fat kid like me. Basically those Saturdays when we went into town were all kinds of awesome.

That being said, it also took all goddamn day to get to and from Allston on public transportation. None of us were old enough to drive and in the winter, it was a real bitch to be standing on the bus platform at Sullivan Station waiting for the bus to show up. That place is like an evil wind tunnel. So when on a lovely summer afternoon my oldest sister Theresa (a.k.a. "Tree") invited me to go with her and HER friends into Boston to go buy records and comic books I jumped at the chance. Not only for the fact that my college-going older sister was acknowledging my existence (which was cool enough) but also cuz they were going to Newbury St., specifically Newbury Street Comics. Up until this point my record-buying experience had been limited to places I could either walk or ride my bike to without too much effort. This meant my choices were pretty limited. Going to there would mean that not only could I buy comics but also music!

Growing up in Malden meant that most of my MBTA experience was limited to buses or the Orange Line. And not even the whole length of the Orange Line either..I'm talking just from Malden Center to Downtown Crossing. My friends and I used to jump on the train to go to this cheesy store called "Stairway to Heaven" (no, they were not kidding) where we would buy posters of our favorite musicians and/or half naked women. The store also sold other things like bumper stickers, rock t-shirts, incense sticks, crappy skull rings and the like. In other words: we loved it. But it was a rare thing for me to transfer to other train lines. I stuck with what I knew. My navigation skills were terrible and I didn't like new places (they have improved now but I still get very nervous if I'm going somewhere unfamiliar).

In order to get to the store it meant we would have to transfer from the Orange to the Green line. Yikes! The Green line has a buncha different trains that went to god-knows-where and if you hopped on the wrong one, you would be raped by horrible people and end up dead in a dumpster behind a sex shop. Or at least that's what my mother had led me to believe. But I was with my sis and she'd been going this way for ages so I'd be totally safe! I just tagged along and tried to not be annoying which for a 15-year-old boy is really hard to do. We got to the store with no drama and it was better than I had hoped. I'm all jaded and curmudgeonly now but I can still remember going into what (back then anyway) was a for-realsies record store. Now-a-days Newbury Comics has a bunch of locations and is leaning more to the mainstream than they used to, but back in 1985? It was my new favorite place (side note: my 11-year-old nephew Cam has recently discovered Newbury Comics himself. He loves going in there because for a kid that age, it's like heaven).

I spent all of my money (this will come into play soon) on comics and some cassette tapes of local bands who's names I liked (I can't remember the names now though). I was totally over-stimulated. We all left the store and spilled out onto the super busy street. There were people everywhere and all of them were way cooler than anyone I'd seen in Malden. I was totally having the best day ever and all because my sister wanted to hang out with me. Awesome! We walked down the street a bit and I was talking to one of her friends about the cassette I just bought. He was telling me how he'd seen that band (!!) and how I should get this other band's tape cuz he thought I'd like it better. Wow! Thanks! I'm being included in a college-age conversation! Then Tree came over and told me that they were going to go grab some lunch and it was time for me to go home. I'm sorry, what?!

I was crushed. I don't mean to sound like a big baby but c'mon now people...I'm TOTALLY a big baby. Have you not learned this by now? She asked me if I had enough for train fare which I did but .. can't I just come with you guys? No, I don't have any money left for lunch. Ok, fine. I'll go. Just point me in the direction of the train station and I'll be on my way. Hmph. And she did. She told me EXACTLY what to do and where to go. I went to the train station and looked at the signs. Tree had sent me to the Inbound side and to me that made absolutely no sense. I knew from my years of experience on the Orange line that when I'm in Boston and I want to take the train home, I should get on the Outbound train. Perfect logic no? No. Not really.

What I failed to understand that in the mysterious and wondrous world of the Green line is that in order to get back to my beloved Orange line and ultimately the apartment in Malden, I would need to go inbound to get to the outbound train. I know. It's totally fucking counter-intuitive. This is why I said to myself there is NO WAY I should get on the inbound train. I went over to the outbound side of the station all confidently, thinking Tree doesn't know what she's talking about. She's so out of touch with Boston (she had been going to college in Pennsylvania) that she doesn't even understand how to use the T.

The trolley pulled into the station and I got on board. I found a place to stand near the doors and off we went. Everything was going smoothly. I had some new comics to read, I had a couple of cassettes to listen to and I was on my way back home. I had even gotten over being dismissed from lunch. Let me just check to see what station we're at here...hmmm, that name doesn't look familiar. I'm sure it's fine though. Park Station must be the next one. I'll get off there and go catch the Orange line train to Malden. The train continued on and suddenly we came out of the tunnel and we were on the surface street. Whoa! What the fuck is this all about? I certainly don't remember seeing this on the way INTO the city. None of this looks familiar. I stood there unable to think about how to fix the situation. The train made stop after stop and finally I thought "get off the train now!!" So without saying a word to the trolley driver (are they called engineers?) I jumped off at the next stop which was Brookline Village. It didn't occur to me until years later (seriously) that I could have just talked to the driver and told him that I had gotten on the wrong train. I'm sure he would have just given me a transfer or something to get back onto the correct train.

Instead of walking over to an MBTA employee, or a fellow commuter or anyone really, I just started walking. Where was I? Where am I going? How am I supposed to get home now? I literally had no money on me. Not even enough to use a pay phone. I just started walking down the street and tried not to panic. I also didn't have a watch so I could only guess as to what time it was and that's when I realized that aside from my sister Theresa, no one knows that I'm in Boston. My mom would be coming home from work soon and she'd flip out if I was gone with no explanation. There was a couple of people walking towards me and so I asked them where the nearest police station was. That's a good idea right? I'm a lost kid miles from home, I should totally go to the police. They'll sort this out for me. The people I chose to ask were not from Brookline and one of them said that he thought the police station was behind me on Washington St. (it is). I thanked them and went in the complete opposite direction up Harvard St. No, I don't know why. I just did. I wonder what they thought about that.

I continued up Harvard St. not really understanding why and not having any idea of what to do next. I was in full panic mode by this time. And then, at the corner of Harvard and School streets. I lost my shit. I just started blubbering. Imagine that you're walking down a lovely tree-lined street in a busy area bustling with people and shops and you come across a chubby 15-year-old kid standing on the corner crying. You'd totally cross the street to avoid him right? You might even think some less than progressive thoughts about his masculinity (or perhaps you aren't an ass like me). But one brave soul did just the opposite of that. This guy in a business suit came right up to me and said "Hey, what's the matter?" I fucking unleashed all my panicky freak-out sobbing on him. "I-I-I'm l-l-lost! I don't k-k-know where I am! I have no m-money to get h-home! My m-mom is g-gonna kill me!" And this dude, rather than laughing in my face at what a total bitch I was being, said "Hold on. I can take you home. You want to call home first and let them know you're all right?" I nodded with tears rolling down my face."Ok, my office is right in this building. Let's go in and you can call your mom. Then I'll take you home." Did I mention that I was a sophomore in high school? Yea...

I'd like to take a second here to point out that I had no fear of this guy and no red flags came up. What I don't get is he did not offer to take me to the police station or anything like that. If I was confronted with the same scenario as an adult, that is the number one thing that I would have done. Actually, the number one thing I'd have done is to keep on walking the fuck by the kid in the first place. I just don't like drama y'see. But this guy was totally into helping me. We went into his building and he let me use a phone to call home. I called and my sister Mary picked up. My mom wasn't home from work yet (it was probably around 3 o'clock or so I'm guessing). I said to Mary that I'm coming home now and she was like "Ok, whatever." Ah, sibling love. See, she didn't react how I wanted her to react (something along the lines of "OMG! I'm sooooo glad to hear that you're safe after all you've been through! When will you be home dearest brother?! Hurry!!") because she had no idea about the terrifying adventure that I had been on all afternoon. I ended the call and my new hero said "Are you ready to go?" Yessir, I sure am.

I don't remember what kind of car he had but I do remember that it was a new one. It was so much cooler than the cars my family had (a 1973 Vega and a 1978 Plymouth Volare station wagon that used to be a Boston cab...sweet rides indeed). We got in and he said that he knew how to get to Malden but I'd have to direct him to the house. It was at this moment that I first realized I was now in the car of a complete stranger. This stranger had promised that he would be taking me home but I really had no idea if he was lying or not. We drove off and the combination of having no idea where I was and my own poor navigation skills left me really disoriented. I'm sure we talked about stuff but I can't remember a word of it. We drove and drove for what seemed like a really long time but suddenly I started to recognize stuff. Hey! There's that place that's kinda near my house! I was able to direct him right to my front door. He pulled up and we said our goodbyes. I got out and went into the apartment. What? What'd you think happened? The dude just took me home, just like he promised. He didn't even ask to meet my parents or anything like that. He just dropped me off, and drove away. I don't even remember his name.

Here's where I caught hell. My mom was furious at me and my sister Theresa for "abandoning" me in Boston (she really didn't but there was no arguing with mom). She asked me how I got home. I thought about it for a second and figured that telling her I willingly got into a car with some guy that I don't know would have pushed her over the edge. She was looking at me waiting for my answer and I said "A Brookline cop drove me home. He lives in Medford." It was as near perfect an answer that I could muster and she believed me. The thing is, I've been telling people that very same lie for 25 years. That includes the Wiff. So, this is me clearing up a story that no one cared about in the first place except me. There was no Brookline cop who lives in Medford who drove me home in a cop car. I happened to stumble across an honest-to-goodness good Samaritan who took pity on me and helped me.

So why lie about this for so long? I don't know. Why come clean about something so innocuous after all this time? Well, believe it or not, that lie has been bothering me for years. I don't like lying. I try my best to be upfront and honest with my friends and family and this relatively small lie seemed to undermine my whole philosophy. Sounds a little corny or perhaps disingenuous but I'm serious. It's important to me that the stories I tell are truthful and that one wasn't.