In the last post you read about my discontent with family and home state of Minnesota, just after the Air Force. In this post you will read about another attempt at college, Priscilla and our emerging plans to escape North Minneapolis.
Since I had completed my stint in the Air Force in 1972 and sewn some oats in Miami Beach that summer, I enrolled as a “late-freshman” or sophomore (the distinction doesn’t seem important, as I write this) in the business school at The University of Minnesota. Five of us shared an old house.
Top Hits of 1973
Priscilla and I first met during a party in that old house. At nearly 23 years old, I was already somewhat “experienced” with girls.
“Want a hit?” Priscilla said, slithering her slender, ingenue body so close to me I could smell the “White Shoulders” perfume she was wearing. A party girl with stunning Swedish-blond looks but crooked teeth, her radiant platinum hair sparkled against her tight, black pants and loose, black halter-top. “No thanks,” I said, “I am on a health kick,” desperate to appear different from Bill and Gary, who were sitting in our small group, completely transfixed with her amped-up, physical appeal.
I had just met Priscilla. And what I was feeling was – nothing new for a guy my age – just horny. Was it something more? It didn’t matter.
Thinking Priscilla just loved to have a good-time, she actually had a serious addiction to white-wine and speed. She also had a 4-year-old girl and a husband, by my account, who wanted nothing more to do with her. Her family seemed nice enough and resided mostly in St. Paul, Minnesota.
I fell hard for this Scandinavian beauty and asking her to go to California with me turned out to be an interesting proposition. I was alive with excitement. I was finally going to leave the midwest and all of the people who seemed so rooted in a culture of leaving things just the way they are.
Did you ever know in advance you were messing up but did so anyway?
Next: Escaping North Minneapolis, Dropping Acid and Living with Nudists