Thirty years ago this morning, I woke up in the wood paneled bedroom of my parent's home. Before I opened my eyes, I prayed that it was gray and wild with storms outside. But I could hear the birds singing, and I knew there was no rain. I opened them, and it was as sunny and beautiful and warm as it is today.
Who on earth would wish for a rainy day in July? A freshly turned 18 year old who had made a date with a young man to go waterskiing. Who does that for a first date?
I got ready for work, skipping breakfast as my stomach was in knots. Arriving in downtown Bemidji, I parked my silver Vega hatchback at it's usual spot, in a small parking lot across the street from the Schwartz Junk Yard. Walking the two blocks to Patterson's, I kept asking myself over and over again what I was thinking, and how I could possibly get out of it.