I was 16 when this memorable missive was found, and I learned of it the next afternoon.
Mom and I had just pulled out of the Burger King drive-through and into Kendall Drive traffic. The A/C was broken; the windows were down; the air hung heavy with pre-rain damp, and with truck exhaust.
Mom set down her Tab and lit a cigarette.
I tore into my cheeseburger. After a couple bites, I put my feet up on the dashboard and tapped them to the beat of the music coming from the next car.
“I think C.’s been going through your things again,” Mom said.
I took another bite of my burger, reclined the seat further. “Oh yeah?” I said. “How come?”
She exhaled a cloud of smoke and then quoted the brilliantly framed allegation in full.
Reader, I don’t think I’ve ever since come so close to choking to death. But I did get a whole lot craftier about hiding condoms.