Personal Essay: A Fictional Narrative
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We loaded up the trunk of the 450 SL Mercedes; it was large enough to hold all of our diving gear, and to my surprise, the three of us were more than comfortable in the champagne convertible. I certainly was. Mark, my older brother, was in the front seat, even so, the better view of Giselle was all mine and – damn, if she did not look hot driving that car.
Only Southern California could offer the fantasies that came to life for us on a regular basis. We had backstage passes to rock concerts - everyone had a father who either was somebody, or at the very least knew a somebody; Giselle’s father was an artist for album covers for all the big rock bands. Parties across the street from The Bel Air Hotel, where we’d jump the brick wall to go swimming, even though our friend’s pool was much nicer. We’d drive down to Mexico for the weekend back when you could do things like that without worry that you'd wind up in a docudrama airing around dinnertime on cable at best, at worst being someone’s bitch. Our invincible hubris loved that we could do …show more content…
For the last three miles before our exit, the morning light hit the lovely driver’s highlights brushing across her right shoulder with every angelic lane change. Forever in my mind is that image, in slow motion too. At the time, you’d have miss it if you blinked, I didn’t blink much around Giselle.
No, I didn’t feel the least bit guilty for talking Giselle into taking Mark and me diving, even though both of us had only one dive to complete before getting our PADI cards and becoming certified scuba divers. I know, “One dive short of a certification.” Waiting one more week for our certificates was just too long of a wait, and diving in a spot the government had banned made it sexy enough to make it worth the
We loaded up the trunk of the 450 SL Mercedes; it was large enough to hold all of our diving gear, and to my surprise, the three of us were more than comfortable in the champagne convertible. I certainly was. Mark, my older brother, was in the front seat, even so, the better view of Giselle was all mine and – damn, if she did not look hot driving that car.
Only Southern California could offer the fantasies that came to life for us on a regular basis. We had backstage passes to rock concerts - everyone had a father who either was somebody, or at the very least knew a somebody; Giselle’s father was an artist for album covers for all the big rock bands. Parties across the street from The Bel Air Hotel, where we’d jump the brick wall to go swimming, even though our friend’s pool was much nicer. We’d drive down to Mexico for the weekend back when you could do things like that without worry that you'd wind up in a docudrama airing around dinnertime on cable at best, at worst being someone’s bitch. Our invincible hubris loved that we could do …show more content…
For the last three miles before our exit, the morning light hit the lovely driver’s highlights brushing across her right shoulder with every angelic lane change. Forever in my mind is that image, in slow motion too. At the time, you’d have miss it if you blinked, I didn’t blink much around Giselle.
No, I didn’t feel the least bit guilty for talking Giselle into taking Mark and me diving, even though both of us had only one dive to complete before getting our PADI cards and becoming certified scuba divers. I know, “One dive short of a certification.” Waiting one more week for our certificates was just too long of a wait, and diving in a spot the government had banned made it sexy enough to make it worth the