She went on to tell me that she felt something was wrong. Mom was sort of psychic. As I tried to flatten out my teased hair and quell the stench of cigarettes and beer, I explained to her what happened. I knew I'd be killed. After all they told me to stay home.
Parents are always right.
And now Mom's premonition too. It was all too much for my lacquered head. Scatter the glass around. Pull the knobs off the stereo. Mess it up good.