"You've got about ten minutes, Michael," Vickie said. "I'd suggest you go somewhere and take care of the little bitch, or she's not going to be very pleasant to be around."Vickie's laughing belied her words, as her tone indicated she was teasing Abby."Oh, goody!" Abby thought as I shrugged my shoulders and headed back down the hall to my bedroom, with Abby still hanging on for dear life. I heard everyone laugh at my back as Abby broke our kiss and then looked back at Vickie and the rest of them over my shoulder with an impertinent grin as she stuck her small tongue out at them.I laid her on my unmade bed, and pulling aside her terry cloth shorts and her panties, I lowered my head between her legs."Damn it, Michael!" she cried pulling my hair. "We don't have time for that. Just put it in me!"Abby tugged at my shorts with frustration. I helped her slip then down, stepping out of them to her frantic admonishment of, "Hurry!" Are you sure you're ... ummph!" I said as she pulled me down on. REM was still working for peanuts playing gigs at the 40 Watt Club and living in the old church on Oconee Street, the street where I lived. Peter Buck, their guitarist, had just quit working at Wuxtry, the hippest record store in all of the great state of Georgia. They were going up to Charlotte, NC to record their first album, "Murmur." It would be released the next year. The town was buzzing, things were happening and the University kids, myself among them, well, we were so alive in ourselves, pissed at our parents, of course, but living a life that was at the same time both humble and grand.The summer of 1982 was the beginning of it all for me, really. Summers in northern Georgia are wonderful things. The sun beats down, but it is relatively dry. The bugs chip and whizzle in the kudzu vines, which grows over anything that lays still for a day or so. And things in the Summer, well, they're slow. Lazy. They take their time. Summers in northern Georgia seem to enjoy their own company.
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