two girls, one night to remember

I have a childhood memory that doesn't surface often, but it surfaces with regularity, and when it does, it’s vivid.

It’s a memory of a night I spent at a friend's house when I was in middle school.

To this day it makes me shiver...

here’s how the story goes…

A favorite pastime for young girls everywhere is the sleepover, and I was no exception.

It starts at about third grade and continues until college, and sometimes into adulthood for various reasons.

It’s a time to share dirty little secrets, discuss who we like and don't, bond while our favorite pop star squawks in the background, and ultimately catapult our relationship to BFF status.

This particular sleepover, however, didn't go quite that way.

I had become friends with a girl who I didn't know well, but who had always seemed to be "waiting in the wings" ready and available to swoop in when my "best" friend hated me.

She was the "rebound" friend.

Sounds crazy, but all girls have one.

It's the girl who isn't really popular and kind of keeps to herself praying for (preying on) the day two best buddies will have a falling out so she can step in to sop up all the hurt feelings and insert herself into your life.

It happens all the time with girls.

One day you have a best friend, and the very next day they are sticking their tongue out at you upon your arrival at school – true story.

Well, during one of those times, I gravitated toward this particular girl, and she invited me to come home with her from school one Friday night and stay over.

Sounds great, right?

I honestly don't remember all that the afternoon entailed because it was probably just a normal school day, but that night and the next day are what I will never forget.

It’s a sort of series of happenings that were just weird.

That evening we were getting ready for bed and changing into pajamas. I threw my jeans on the back of a chair in her room and went to brush my teeth.

When I came back from brushing my teeth, I jumped and then froze at what I saw.

There were a couple of roaches meandering about on the jeans that I had just left on the chair.

When I looked to my friend with horror, she irritatedly said, "What?"

I stated the obvious, "There are roaches crawling on my jeans!"

Still no reaction.

Oh good Lord was all I could think.

Here she was offended that I was freaking out about roaches crawling on my jeans, and she wasn’t doing anything about it.

I looked back to the jeans as the little critters (who had invited some buddies to join them) were currently inspecting the pockets.

Do you know how hard it is to stifle a jiggy dance and "yulchk" when you see roaches?

They’re the worst! But I didn’t want to offend her.

I looked back at her, and to my second wave of horror saw more roaches crawling ON THE BED.

That she was now in…

… And I was about to be in.

Holy crap this isn't happening!

Clearly, the roaches were not guests.

They were housemates.

And she was embarrassed and trying to act like she wasn't.

I approached the bed to get in just in time for her to introduce me to her friend, "Fred," that was now crawling on top of her hand.

TRUE STORY.

I stifled more shivers and "yulchks" and slowly (never taking my eyeballs off of "Fred") slipped deep into the covers desperately hoping there were no more "friends" underneath since that would be where my entire body would be residing for the remainder of the sleep portion of this sleepover.

It was a rough night.

But, sleep did take over once the continuous loop of thought about Fred using my ear canal as a nest finally stopped.

When morning came, I eagerly jumped out of bed, quietly gave my jeans a very good shakedown, and covered my entire body with all the clothes I could put on.

I quickly went to the kitchen to call my mother so she could come and rescue me from this critter cage.

When I rounded the corner, my friend greeted me with a much too aggressive demand to, "Make me French toast." (Remember that girl from the Excorcist?)

Sure. Love to. In fact, I was just thinking how much I’d love to whip us up some breakfast. Maybe invite Fred and the rest of his family.

My plan to leave immediately would have to wait.

I was being held captive, and if I didn't do what she wanted, I may never be heard from again.

Clearly, she was crazy.

I just wished I had realized that before agreeing to a spend-the-night party in Lucifer’s den.

I hesitantly looked around the kitchen wondering which roach-infested cabinet to open first, and to my dismay, she went straight to a door that surprise number two was behind.

She reached in and grabbed a lard-covered iron skillet and thrust it into my hands.

As I swallowed back several waves of nausea, I made the mistake of pointing out the fact that we might not want to interrupt the roaches. I mean they were having so much fun at their lard party and all.

She didn’t think that was funny.

Again, she came back with that same indignant attitude saying, "You mean my friends? We don't wash dishes because it takes too long and you’re just going to use them again." (That makes perfect sense... I was in hell after all.)

That was followed by a small laugh and a death stare that had me quickly looking for the eggs and bread.

Oh my gurd.

I made her the French toast and asked her if she would like me to clean the pan.

When she took the pan from my hands and put it back under the counter, I realized that had been a ridiculous question.

After that trauma, I was ever so eager to call my mother, but that wasn't part of the plan just yet since the next show was just about to start.

As I was putting away the last of the dirty dishes, she called me into the living room where I was given yet another command.

This time she told me to find Menudo on TV. Menudo (in case you weren't a thirteen or fourteen-year-old girl in the 80s) was a Puerto Rican boy band that was at its height of success.

It was Saturday morning, and this is when Menudo would come on television and sing their little Latino hearts out—and this girl was obsessed with them.

I quickly started flipping through channels, and when I looked up to see her angry little face I realized she had most likely already done that, so I frantically went to search the TV Guide and (Whew!) found the listing.

I turned to that channel and to my dismay, there were no pubescent singing Puerto Ricans to be found anywhere.

She decided to call her mother at work. The phone conversation went something like this.

Her:  "I can't find Menudo on TV!"

Her mother:  "Wah, wah, wah, wah, wah" (All I could hear was the same sound Charlie Brown's teacher made.)

Her:  "You better come home and fix this NOOOOOOOWWWWWWWW!!!!!"

Her mother:  "Wah, wah, wah, wah, wah"

Her:  "You better figure it out or I'm going to kill you!!!!" (In an ear-shattering scream followed by a fastball pitch of the phone across the room.)

Are you kidding me? I mean, they were cute, but not scream at your mother like a little b!*ch cute.

Me: "Check please."

It was a risky move, but without turning my back to her, I quickly moved towards the phone she hurled across the room, and without ever taking my eyes off her, picked it up and I called my mother.

As I waited eternally for my angelic mother to rescue me from Satan, she had one more surprise for me.

When I came out of her roach motel with my bag on my shoulder, she stood between me and the door with a can of hairspray in one hand and a lighter in the other.

Oh, dear Jesus help me.

She said she wanted to show me something.

"You mean there's more?" (I'm going to die here.)

Then she proceeded to take the can of hairspray and spray a large circle on a wooden door.

She took the lighter, and she LIT the circle.

As I'm watching in wonder the flames licking the door frame mocking and taunting me, telling me I won't ever see my mother again, and seeing her laugh like an evil villain that had just blown up an entire city, I realized that she had not been the best "go to" person when my mean little best friend and I were on the "outs" after all.

Oh, how I missed my mean little friend.

As I feel the tears of defeat welling up behind my eyes, I hear the distant sound of gravel crunching beneath the tires of a car slowly pulling into the driveway.

There may be hope.

This had to be either my rescue wagon or her mother coming to make Satan happy.

It was my mom.

I can't even begin to describe the pure feeling of sweet relief as I rode away in the safety of my mother's car farther and farther away from the sadistic likings of one little she-devil.

And what I realized after that sinister sleepover, was that having no friends at all was better than making a deal with the devil anytime.