40 Meet Katheena, My Star

Joey and I arrived at the Ipumbel Cay, which sat off Cedar Street on Dakota Avenue. I’d never eaten Thai Cuisine before, and Joey told me he’d watch out for me.

“You Maine boys don’t get much spice up there, do ya?” he said.

I nodded. “Nothing but lobstah with buttah, every day.”

Joey studied me. “No shit? Wow, man.”

I laughed. “Dude no. C’mon. You’d get sick of it. Other days we eat steamers and shrimp.”

He smiled. “Well, Thai food has a lot of seafood in it, so you should be happy. But I’ll help you keep away from the really hot stuff.”

He opened the door for me, a trait that he would always do for his friends, even after he became a Punk, and a mean one at that.

A young lady approached us. Her black hair was swept up from the back into a high shock of sleek sculpture that swept forward and came down into some sort of pompadour.

What in the hell?

Her eyes were done up to show off their Thai lines, with that 80’s style where it would be too much on a white chick, but just enough on an ethnic girl.

She wore black leggings that showed off lean, shapely legs with small ankles that ended in small black ballet slippers. She had a bump on her backside you could set a beer on.

And she looked like she would not be fucked with.

Her pouty, full lips smiled and her eyes widened at Joey’s entrance. “Joey! You with this guy?” She spoke with absolutely no Asian accent whatsoever. Almost Valley Girl, but if I still knew her, she’d kick my ass for saying such a thing.

Joey smiled back at her and nodded, his teeth showing. “He’s Weee-ill. He’s from Maine.”

This way of saying my name would stick, with him. No matter that no one else called me that. He was that sort of person. You probably know someone like that.

But I was immediately taken by this girl. I had never met such an exotic, driven sort of Force of Nature as she appeared to be. She held out her small hand.

I took it, shook it, and got an instant erection. It was like electricity. She was a power house, and I was a blown fuse.

She only wore her silken top with the black button-ties at work, and she had arranged her classes to coincide with the busy lunch rush so that she could help out her dad at his restaurant and not miss any classes. This was the sort of daughter she was.

Her dad bought the first VCR I had ever seen, later on, and on that curious machine we watched Purple Rain together, on her living room floor, pillows on green shag.

She was the first chick out West I knew who got her driver’s license, and of course, she bought a gold Firebird with the black eagle on the hood, with gold tinted windows.

Back in the 80’s she fucking rocked. I wonder what she is doing today. I most likely will never find out. But this is the start of the Punk Ideology. Katheena did this for me.

++++++++++++++++++++++++

I wish I had links for you. When I get back to the Rez on Sunday, I will post them for you.

God Help You.

God Help Us All.

---willies out.