Assorted Losses Assorted Losses It wasn’t just six-foot ...

It wasn't just six-foot snowdrifts and arctic temperatures that made the winter of 1987 particularly harsh. Any winter in Buffalo can drive a sane person over the edge?having to wake up at dawn to shovel out the car, only to have it buried again moments later by a passing snowplow; the constant gray sky that pervades from late October to early April, the official uniform of silk underwear, turtleneck, acrylic-blend Kmart sweater and thermal socks?all this, plus crushing unemployment, crushing college-town boredom and a crushing Buffalo Bills defeat added up to the usual thoughts of wrist-slitting just to see color.

I was particularly miserable that winter because my college financial aid package had been cut, and I had to once again live at home and commute to Buffalo State College. After two freewheeling years of dorm life, where I could come and go as I pleased, I was, at 21, once again under my mother's roof, and her word was law, no matter how old I was.

Mom and I argued about everything?how I did the dishes, what I wore, who I hung out with?I was in high school all over again, but my two-year taste of freedom made it all so much harder to take this time around. Compounding the problem was I was seeing my first serious boyfriend, Bob, and she hated him on sight. Many furious fumblings in the back of Bob's unheated Chevette were leading to some serious frustration on both our parts. It's not like my mom was a prude; she just didn't like him, and therefore a sleepover in my childhood bedroom was out of the question. Bob had a roommate who pretty much commandeered his dorm room for his own sexual escapades, and made it uncomfortable for me to even visit casually.

After eight months of following everyone else's rules and working like a dog on both my grades and my part-time jobs (three of them, all minimum-wage food-service gigs that contributed to my large and lovely figure), I took the leap forward and got an apartment near the campus.

That summer, I moved into a three-bedroom upper of a two-family house off of Elmwood Ave., about ten blocks away from the campus and about a million miles away from my mom's. I didn't know my roommates very well, but Betsey worked at the college radio station with me and seemed pleasant enough. Our other roommate, Johnny Q., was a local actor around Buffalo and, at the age of 35, a perpetual undergrad in the theater department. Between the two of them there was a constant stream of actors, artists, musicians and club kids parading through the place, crashing on the couch and bellying up to the breakfast table.

One of the more memorable parties we had featured an appearance by the Goo Goo Dolls, who lived in the neighborhood and were always looking for a party with beer and girls. I admit to being totally in lust with the bassist, Robby Goo, who sometimes could be seen walking through campus to a practice room in Upton Hall, his bass slung over his shoulder, the snow sticking to the Dippity Doo in his Manic Panic black hair. I finally approached him as he rummaged in our fridge for a Molson, and told him how much I admired his music. His pink eyes tried to focus on me, and I thought he was leaning in for a kiss, until I felt the wet puke hit my pink Converse high tops.

"Sorry," he mumbled, and shuffled away, his beer in hand. I sighed and cleaned up the mess. Rock 'n' roll, babe.

At first it was a blast?I was out most of the day and evening at my assorted jobs, and then when I got home, there would be music and laughter meeting me on the stairs. Someone would pass a beer, someone would offer a joint, I'd have a sack of sub sandwiches or wings smuggled out of the job. I didn't even mind when the party would continue after I slumped off to bed; I was so tired I slept through most of the noise.

July floated by like this, with everyone on their best behavior and the three of us taking turns scrubbing the bathroom and taking out the trash. Bob had gone home to his parents for the month, so it was with great anticipation that August rolled in on a hot thunderstorm that only served to make the streets steamy and the air crackle with electricity. I dutifully handed Betsey my share of the rent?$100 cash?and toddled off to work and a laundry stop at Mom's, where I was served the "I miss you, you can always come home" speech with the chicken and rice. She was convinced I was living in a small-town Sodom and Gomorrah, that my grades would suffer, that I'd end up dead in a ditch.

"Come home," she pleaded.

"Mom, I'll call you," and I grabbed my laundry and ran back to Elmwood Ave.

August was a memorable month for three reasons?I lost my virginity, I lost my naivete and I lost my apartment. Bob came back to Buffalo under the guise of summer classes so that we could finally consummate our relationship. After 21 years, my maidenhood was less a gift I wanted to bestow and more a noose I wanted off my neck.

I wish I could wax rhapsodic about my first time, but the truth was, we were fooling around in my bedroom at the apartment and I whispered, "Do you want me to get a condom?"

He sighed and said, "Yes."

Eight uncomfortable minutes later, it was over. And he was out the door to the library to study. I spent an hour in a cold tub that afternoon, trying not to feel cheated. As the summer progressed, the sex got better, and Bob and I were together a long time.

I lost my naivete at Betsey's fair hand, and in a rather unusual way. I had always wondered about the spoons in the kitchen, but had never asked why they were bent and black on the bottom. I didn't care, really?they were Betsey's. I also admit to not really paying attention to things like her tv disappearing from the living room for days at a time and books and records being sold off?we were students, after all, and students often hock their stuff to pay bills.

I did wonder why Betsey never took me up on it when I offered to get her a job at the sub shop, but she said her parents in Florida sent her money every month so she could concentrate on school. Dumbass that I am, I never questioned either her request that I give her the bill and rent money in cash or why she insisted on wearing a denim jacket in 90-degree heat.

Imagine my surprise when our absentee landlord, Mr. G., showed up after numerous complaints from the downstairs neighbors about people stopping by at all hours and then using our backyard to shoot up. Mr. G. said we had 24 hours to get out or he was calling the cops, and where was his rent for the past two months?

Johnny and his duffle bag were out in an hour. I crushed my belongings into the back of the Chevette and lived in Bob's dorm room for a week while I found a place of my own?an attic apartment three houses down from my old place. Betsey ended up moving from place to place that winter, crashing on couches and dorm floors, until she finally dropped out of school and headed back to Florida. She gave me her couch, which was a nice gesture. I slept on it for a while in my new place until I bought a mattress of my own.

I never had roommates again after the summer of 1987. It was, and is, my favorite summer, the summer I finally cut loose and enjoyed being young.