This isn’t really one specific memory, but one in a series of events that took place that summer when Nora started to get invited to high school parties.  Miles and I were never invited, but we always ended up being driven there by one of my parents when Nora called us to pick her up because the friend that drove got drunk.  At least that was her excuse most of the time.  Considering the crowd she was partying with, it was entirely plausible.

Sometimes she’d spend the weekend at my house for a “sleepover” with Miles (he slept in the living room, and Nora and I slept in my room) and end up sneaking out.  Then she’d make us open up the back door for her so she didn’t have to climb back in the window.  My parents knew what was going on and figured it was better under their roof than my Grandparents’.  They were in their early 70’s and weren’t up for how Nora was acting out.  There were times she’d spend weeks on end at my house, usually after she brought home a bad report card.

Anyway, she was usually drunk, occasionally stoned, and often disheveled.  We’d take her back to my house and set her up on the bottom bunk in my room.  She’d switch between thanking us and telling us how stupid and immature we were.   We’d usually stay quiet and get her settled in bed as quickly as possible.  I’d always make a mental note of what she said, even though most of the time it was the exact same thing.

When Miles was there, he’d grab bedding, his portable radio headphones, and head for bed.  I’d climb the bunk with my matching headphones and listen to exactly what Miles was listening to before falling asleep.

Breakfast was always awkward.  Nora would be hungover and hungry.  She’d rave about my Mom’s cooking.   Then we’d go back into  my room and she’d tell me what happened at the party.  Once she was finished, I’d tell her everything she said the night before.  “I’m a mean drunk.  I’m sorry.”  was always her reply.

Once high school started, my parents started to become a bit more strict about her going out to parties.  She responded by having sleepovers with her gymnastics friends, who had parents who didn’t care much about what their daughters did as long as they did well in competition.  But those are stories for another day.