It was a night just like any other night; a night of good times, a night of bad times, but mostly just a night of times. It was a night to remember, but more over, a night to forget. It was a night of endless ribbing and poking at one another’s blemishes and shortcomings, a night of mundane inebriation and quick fixes, another night of bonding amongst futile friends and worthy adversaries; another night of explosive mediocrity.
It was the last night of the season that anyone would hang at The Rock, and also the last time that many of these people would be together as a group at The Rock. December was rushing in its cold winds and, with most everyone having a car now, there was less of a need to assemble at this particular place anymore; at least during the winter months. While The B.U.R.N.O.U.T.S. were still under age to drink at bars, they could safely meet at any number of the parks in the Norford area and drink there.
For those who went, The Rock had been a source of nirvana, an escape from everyday troubles, a place to call their own and to hide from the world; regardless of the fact that the world was sometimes less than fifteen-hundred feet away. And, except for the one time, no parents or cops ever came to The Rock and, except for an occasional canoe or kayaker….and Moon, there was never any other signs of humanity at The Rock. It was their safe zone, and would forever be remembered as a peaceful haven in their memories.
© 2011, 2014 Mark Rogers