During the long hot summer of 1986, I sought out Count's company. I would much rather argue who was a better front man for Van Halen: David Lee Roth vs. Sammy Hagar. I was all for Sammy Hagar, Count was a DLR man. "Hagar can't hold Diamond Dave's piss bucket," Count said.
During one of our evening trips to Wally's, David or Sammy was the farthest thought from Shannie's mind; she fretted about the inevitable retaliation against the United States for bombing Qudafi and the Libyans. "He's not going to do a thing. He's toast!" I bragged. "You heard it here," she cried, "Qudafi is not going to sit back and let us rain bombs on his family without some American paying for it." Two and a half years later, when the Pan-Am jet was blown out of the sky over Lockerbee, Shannie said, "I smell a camel!"
"You worry too much about that shit," Count told Shannie in June of 1988, prior to Count's departure to basic training. We were sitting in the maple tree overlooking the junkyard. "I'm telling you, Peace is breaking out all over the place. The Cold War is over!"
"And I'm telling you, It's not the Russian's that we have to worry about, they have their hands full with Afghanistan. If I were you, I would be preparing for a warmer climate." Shannie was more concerned about Count's and my future then we were.
***
In the summer of '86, when both Shannie and I were fourteen, I was entering eighth grade at Beyford Junior High; Shannie was entering the accelerated studies program at the Chester school - a private school she'd been attending since she was eight. She had her eyes on Ursinus College, the same school at which Diane was a tenured professor.
I wasn't a horrible student - failing wasn't a concern, neither was being valedictorian. Like everything else about me, I was painfully ordinary. Even on my report card, I was straight C, except for algebra: I finished with a B.
Although it was waning, the one thing that didn't make sense was Shannie's interest in Steve Lucas. Why did she have any interest in a geek like Lucas? She was Mensa material, Steve Lucas wasn't Community College material.
I would never be mistaken for Mr. Popularity. Despite being in town a year, I still had more friends than the funeral director's only son. I was of opinion the only reason anyone would bother themselves with his presence was that he had two hot older sisters. Janice, a recent graduate of Beyford High, who was entering her freshman year at Ursinus, and was unanimously voted best chest in her yearbook. Marcy, sixteen, like Shannie was also attending the Chester school, and like her older sister, had a great rack.