In Driver's Ed., we had to fill out the report card (except grades, of course) and a transcript card. I didn't know what to do with it, since I had graduated. Under school, I put down North, and for grade next year wrote college freshman (Barnard). That felt good.
We gathered in the car after class. L was talking to his friend in the car ahead. R came and suggested we have all the cars blow their horns to make the teachers come out. L told his friend and we began. Looking back, I saw N follow suit and soon a lot of the cars joined in. The teachers appeared - a motley group they are. Mr. R asked if we were honking, and L was all innocence. We were giggling in back though.
We went on the Expressway again, but it was much better this time - a BEAUTIFUL day. [After others went,] I took the wheel. Things were fine - I had some control and there wasn't much to louse me up. "No trouble," said Mr. R after I got on. Occasionally Mr. R had to warn me I was going 70 (the limit is 65). In the regular school year classes, he said, Glen Cove is the very farthest they can go. Talk of college choices and reading courses went on in back. "Good," said Mr. R as I made a too fast exit at, I think, Huntington.
[That night, there was a party next door at E's.] Amazingly, I don't think one record was played that night. In the den, E's grandfather [who lived to be 103 http://www.amesgallery.com/ArtistPages/Lieberman.html] watched loud and often awful TV, while we talked mostly of television in the living room - "The Prisoner" with an incredible plot including strange number identities and a balloon named Rover, which no one, even its faithful followers, comprehends; a special on rock with a gold lame guy and his bruisers, and Lulu, most famous for Gentle Care commercials. R chided Mrs. M's shaming know-it-all attitude toward hippies - her husband once drove thru Haight-Ashbury.
S came and left, taking J and K with him, almost immediately afterward. "I saw more of you when I bumped into you at the supermarket," claimed R in farewell. They promised to return but didn't. The dining room held homemade punch of citric acid and water, which N termed "urinade" (I decided not to partake), salami, party rye, mustard and potato chips.
E took R and I upstairs to show us her immensely practical and sumptuous wardrobe - 2 pairs of velvet pants, a long velvet skirt, blouses that didn't fit, ancient dresses, and tight pants. It was very homey up there - girlish and dormitory-like.
A, true to hippiedom, is going to make the Woodstock scene. He said something about writing a "Seventeen" article [he did!]. He has a theory that the Verrazano Bridge is a mirror, only 1/2 a bridge. Nobody, the theory goes, has ever been to Staten Island, where a little man controls various convex and concave reflectors for Manhattan (which REALLY contains 1 building), because the full bridge doesn't exist.