You ride your banana seat Huffy over to your friend’s house and drop it in the lawn. The tassels are missing on one of the handgrips.
You walk into the house and immediately take off your shoes so you don’t get dirt on the white shag carpeting. On your right is a room that nobody ever uses. It looks like it belongs in a museum.
Your friend’s mom is in the kitchen, which is carpeted and has shiny, geometrically printed wallpaper. It always smells like bacon grease and cigarettes.
She tells you your friend is in her bedroom listening to records on her pink record player which has a handle and closes up like a briefcase.
Your friend’s mom shows you the macramé hanging plant holder she just got at Kmart for her spider plant.
The manager of the local Kmart is also an attorney who you’ll run into 20 years later and wonder why he looks so familiar. He had the Kmart job for the insurance. True story.
Your friend has a bean bag chair in her room, but it isn’t leaking beans all over like yours is. Your mom had to sew yours up after you jumped on it too hard and it exploded, and there’s silver duct tape over the spot where the dog got ahold of it and dragged it down the stairs into the basement.
You decide to watch TV in the rec room, which has wood paneling and the shag carpet in here is orange. It is very dark. It’s where all the action will happen when you’re finally allowed to have parties. There’s also a beat up couch and a wet bar with stools. The air hockey table doesn’t work.
Upstairs is the living room, which is for the adults. Your friend’s dad’s stereo system is up there and sometimes you go and stare at it, but never, ever touch it. He will know. It has 14 thousand silver knobs and seven decks. The speakers are taller than you are.
There’s a rack full of vinyl albums next to it and you can touch them gingerly if you put everything back exactly the way you found it. You like the cover to the record by a band named Wild Cherry. You know nothing about music.