Firsts

I practiced being in the moment on the drive home today. I tried to keep my mind only on my driving and the scenery of the Meritt Parkway. Every once in awhile I would glance in my rearview mirror and see Genny and Nick napping.

Genny was excessively cranky at my dad’s, had gobs of drool flinging about and her nose was running. She felt warm to the touch, too. We thought it was probably another tooth coming in, but I took her temperature when we got home and it’s 102.3. No wonder she was cranky. She’s sleeping now and I hope her fever burns itself out tonight.

I was just thinking how whenever I drive past Stamford on the highway I remember my first stripping experience, which happened at a place called The Hideaway. I sometimes think about stopping in and seeing if any of the old gang is still around and then I stop and think, what the Hell am I thinking? It’s a strip club.

But this having been my first club, it has memories. Just how you remember any of your big firsts, taking your clothes off in public for the first time is pretty momentous. And this club was different in the sense that it always felt like family. It reminded me of Cheers on television. Everyone knew my name, Kyrea, even though many of them mispronounced it.

I wonder if it’s still the same owner. Or if the same bartender still tells his junkie monkey story from Vietnam. Or if there’s still a cooler at the back of the bar with saran-wrapped ham and cheese sandwiches for lunch.

Or if anyone would still remember my name if I walked in the door with my duffel bag slung casually across my shoulder.