The past, present, and future are all happening at once. It's just a matter of perspective.

-some pothead-

"Suspicion yourself, suspicion yourself, don't get caught
Suspicion yourself, suspicion yourself, let us out
Wilder lower wolves
Here's a house to put wolves out the door
In a corner garden
Wilder, lower wolves
House in order
Down there they're rounding a posse to ride"

REM

The Bellaire Inn motel sign shone through the windshield, diamonds of rain shattering the light, creating the illusion of illuminated lines leading from cold, anguished, suburban street to the warmth and solace of their favorite second floor room.

Gravel crunched beneath his tires. Friday night. Eight p.m. December, 1986. This solitary, cookie-cutter, battered 2 story building definitely did not belong in the middle of an affluent Houston suburb. Three or four expensive, well-cared for vehicles were parked in the back, hoping to appear inconspicuous. Each of these vehicles was able to disappear next to similar cars, making his 2 year old, battered Chevy S-10 even more glaringly incongruent.

Karen knew this routine well. She and Chris began dating in the summer of 1985 (her last day of 9th grade). She had a pact with David H. to lose their virginity to each other on that particularly stifling afternoon in May. She had not counted on seeing Chris at the Metro stop. He was so shy, small, and disheveled; one year ahead of her. He must have weighed 100 pounds fully clothed and dripping wet. 5'6'', with huge, clear, brown eyes literally the shape of Mediterranean almonds. He was wearing his requisite concert shirt (The Kinks Come Dancing tour), which covered what she imagined to be a flat, brown abdomen. His Levis 501 jeans were faded and ripped at the knees, fashionable, yet she knew fashion was the last thing he would consider. She had been watching him all semester. He had worn the same red, battered Converse high-top sneakers all year. They looked so big supporting his tiny frame. His full lips were continually pouting, begging to be licked. As he spoke, she imagined his pink tongue sliding across her sharp, silver braces. She would bite his lips, the warm blood flowing down her throat, while he fumbled between her legs, paper-thin cotton panties unable to contain her girl-goo, which had begun to slowly drip down her thighs.

She had to shake her head to clear these thoughts and look him in the eye.

"Hey, Chris. What brings you here with the underprivileged kids?"

"Oh, hey. My stepmoms' car is in the shop. What's up?"

"Well, I'm really glad you're here. You know David, right?"

"Yeah, he lives pretty close to me."

"I didn't know you lived in Montrose?" Karen asked hopefully, as her home was in the heart of the neighborhood.

The Montrose was a midtown area known as the local Haight Ashbury, and the center of gay/lesbian culture in Houston. A refuge for liberals, students and the gays; basically anyone with no conception of the reality of living in the Southern United States in the last quarter of the twentieth century.

"No, I live in Afton Oaks, near the Galleria." He replied, quizzically staring at her, seemingly seeing her for the first time, even though they had eaten lunch together for the past week.

David approached, breaking the spell between Chris and Karen.

"Hi, Chris. We are actually going to my Dads' house on Indiana Street. My mom lives in Afton Oaks. And this is our bus."

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Watch this space for chapter 2 (if anyone likes it) All constructive criticism welcome