Washington Rock

**Written on Wednesday, published today**

After being stuck at home all day, my friend Megan texted me and we decided to go to Washington Rock in Greenbrook. Megan lives down the road from Washington Rock, and though I had been to her house many times before for fire pits and Rock Band and other things that you do when you're bored in New Jersey, I had never been with her to Washington Rock.

On the way there, I passed a large crowd in front of a funeral home. The man who had died was the uncle of a family friend, and my parents had been at the wake earlier in the evening. Sometimes, a town is so small and your family has been there for so long that you know exactly who has been born and who has died.

As I drove to Megan's house, I couldn't help but remember an awkward moment from a few years ago. When I was younger and couldn't drive, my dad was taking me to Megan's house and we passed Washington Rock. He pointed out the window at it and said in a 'back in my day' voice, "My girlfriend from high school and I used to make out at Washington Rock."

And I said in that 'I didn't really need to hear that' voice, "Oh..."

Now, I can't help but remember what happened when I was reminded about making out with somebody on a rock during the trip to the Bridgewater Reservoir--how I got all weirded out by remembering. I wondered if it made my dad uneasy to remember the Washington Rock thing over forty years later.

Apparently, however, the tradition of making out on Washington Rock hasn't died since the '60s because Megan and I definitely interrupted a couple having a moment when we walked up to the series of rocks.

Washington Rock (although there are multiple rocks, as well as a man-made wall and a huge maisoned block with an American flag sticking out of it) was a look-out for George Washington during the Revolutionary War. Now, you can't really see anything above the fern-like trees that have grown up along the hill and blocked the view of present day Route 22 and the areas beyond. Back then, though, you could apparently see the British coming.

I made Megan take a bunch of pictures for the blog, so these are all courtesy of her. Megan stood up on one of the huge rocks that enabled you to look deep into the forrest below, and I crawled along cautiously--the fear of heights taking over me once more.

A lot of the rock was grafittied. I was a little disappointed. I'm pro-grafitti, but I'm not really pro-grafitting-historic-landmarks. But if you are going to do that, at least write something better than the names of you and your high school sweetheart above the place where you, undoubtably, made out... just like half of the state has apparently done before you.

Megan climbed up to a rock on part of the look-out that had the American flag sticking out of it, in order to take pictures from the highest points. I was too short to be able to get myself on top of the block, so I stood below, watching a few lights flicker in the horizon, poking through the gray fog and setting sun.

Later on, we went in search of a trail to walk on, but chickened out cause the sun had set. You never know what kind of crazy person you're going to meet in the woods in New Jersey at night. You just don't.

Eventually that night, Sharon, Megan and I met up in the local Dunkin Donuts in Long Hill. The Dunkin Donuts is the only place that's open 24/7, so it collects a lot of teenagers and 20-somethings. We used to refer to the people who hung out in there for hours as the, "Dunkin Donuts people." Although, I think we've sort of become those people, since tonight we were in there for about three hours.

Megan had her guitar in the car, and we debated going into the park near the Dunkin Donuts to listen to her play. We decided to go to Sharon's house instead. On our way out to the parking lot, Megan gave Sharon the keys to her car. Sharon just got her license today, because she put it off for 2 years.

"I want you to drive us around the parking lot," Megan said, and nervously, Sharon got in. I squished in the back next to Megan's guitar.

"I feel like this is illegal," Sharon said as she drove from the Dunkin Donuts parking lot into the larger parking lot of the strip mall where the Dunkin Donuts was. "But it's not."

"Actually, it kinda is. 'Cause you're driving two people." I said. Even though she's 18, New Jersey state laws make it so that any new driver of any age has to have a provisional (or Cinderella license) for their first year behind the wheel. During that time period, you're only supposed to have one other person in the car and, like Cinderella, be off the road by midnight.

Sharon laughed, "Oh, yeah..."

Megan looked at the clock, "And it's past midnight. Double illegal!" Sharon drove us in front of an Old Navy, a TJ Max and a Pathmark. I couldn't stop laughing, and I couldn't really figure out why it was funny. At one point she drove while ignoring which side of the lane she was on which prompted Megan to shout out, "You're driving on the wrong side. Triple illegal!"

Eventually, Sharon started driving around in a huge, fast circle.

"Alright, you can park now!" Megan said, starting to sound a little frantic since this was her car, afterall.

Megan resumed the driver's seat, they dropped me off at my car, and we all went en route Sharon's house. I had to stop at my house first, and by the time I got to Sharon's, Megan was sitting in the middle of the cul-de-sac on her street, illuminated in the orange light of a flashlight with her guitar.

Megan broke into a Strokes song, and Sharon and I began singing along with her:

In many ways, they'll miss the good old days

Someday, Someday