When we were in the 7th and 8th grades, my best friend Wes and I had girlfriends who were, themselves, best friends. We had our motorcycles, but no license, so we were not allowed to ride them to the girls' neighborhood. Because of that, we had a hard time getting together with the girls, except on "date nights".
One day, Wes was at my house (he lived on the other side of the river, so we spent a lot of weekends at each other's houses), and we struck upon a plan to go see the girls. We got Joy's bike out of the storage building, and aired up the tires. Then, we went over to Jeff Holland's house to borrow his 10-speed.
Jeff was fine with it, so we took off, with Wes on Joy's bike (this was before I destroyed it, riding off-road) and I on Jeff's. We told Jeff that we would back in about three hours.
As we rode, Wes and I were goofing around like we alays did, and the 2 or 3 miles to the highway went quickly. It would have been a lot closer, but we sort of wound our way through the neighborhoods to stay off of the "busy" roads.
After we crossed the highway (which was why we couldn't take the motorcycles: we weren't allowed to cross the highway on them), we entered the parking lot of a grocery store.
Suddenly, Wes, on my left, pointed to the right, making the universal sign for "Look at that!", and I turned my head to look. Unfortunately, Wes was trying to tell me to turn right, not look right, and he turned across in front of me, whereupon I ran right over him.
He went down in a heap, on the pavement, scuffed his jeans up, tore his shirt and bloodied his elbow.
Wes was very picky about his appearance. He was a good-looking kid, and always had his clothes just so. He was so upset about his torn shirt that he wanted to turn around and go home. I, however, was really in the mood for a little snogging with the girlfriend.
"Trade shirts with me," I said.
"Yeah. I can deal wit the torn shirt. Nobody will even notice, on me." And, that was true. I was as bad, then, as I am now about wearing stuff well past its usable life...
So, we swapped shirts and headed over to his girl's house, where both of our sweeties were waiting.
That was probably my first official action as a wing-man.
Tomorrow: The ride home!