by Frankie Barrios

Created on: March 15, 2009

Memoirs: Betrayed by my best friend

It was the weekend prior to Valentine's Day in 1973. On a whim, at the last minute, I decided to purchase a dozen red roses (in a vase filled with water, no less) and make the trip down to New Orleans where my parents lived, from Natchitoches where I was attending college, with four friends in a Volkswagen Beetle! Don't ask what must have possessed me to do this, as I had my own car, a Chevy Impala, which would have held all five of us rather comfortably, roses and all.

But, alias, I know why I left my car parked in the dorm parking lot and crammed into that tiny Beetle that particular weekend. One of my dorm mates (there were four of us who shared a dorm suite and we became very close friends) convinced me that it would be best to make the trip in the most economical car, since gas prices had recently rose again, now to a whopping $.39 per gallon. The four of us always sought each other's opinion and advice in a variety of matters, and we held the upmost trust and respect for each other, or so I thought. I had no reason to believe that there may have been an ulterior motive behind her recommendation.

I was always broke, and this particular weekend was no different. I had spent my last $20 on the roses (yes, $20 for a dozen roses was a lot of money in 1973) that I was bringing to my parents for Valentine's Day. I mused over what she had suggested and thought to myself that it probably was not a bad idea since I had been running my car on empty all week. I wasn't even sure if I would make it to the nearest gas station; I had so little gas in the tank. But that was not to be my concern this weekend. I was off to New Orleans with my four friends, roses and all.

Well, for those of you unfamiliar with the roads in Louisiana, there was no north to south interstate highway system in place back in those days. It was a long drive, mostly on single lane, winding, rolling highways. Traveling those two hundred fifty miles today, with interstate highways the entire trip, only takes a little over four hours, but back then it took at least seven hours or longer.

Needless to say, we did not pull into to my parents' driveway until close to midnight on that Friday night. And, low and behold, I could not find my keys! Now that was not like me. I always kept my keys in my purse and was not one to misplace anything, ever! So what became of my keys? I was forced to ring the doorbell until I was able to roust my parents (quite annoyed I must say) out

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