I was 11 or 12 the first time I saw a goth. This would have been 1983 or 1984. We had moved from the Bay Area in California to an old farmhouse in far North Texas. Almost on the Oklahoma border. We sold a heifer and our parents used the profits to send me and my sister to our grandparents for the summer. Like I said, I was 11 or 12, so my sister would have been 8 or 9. Our parents drove us to DFW and waited with us until they saw the plane back away from the gate. It was an almost 4 hour drive back then. We still had the double nickel speed limit. Our flight was about 4 hours. So we had been traveling for approximately 8 hours Grandma and Grandpa picked us up at the Oakland Airport and drove us back to Pleasant Hill. And we were operating on a body clock that was still 2 hours later than California time. We were tired. But Grandma and Grandpa were hungry, so we stopped at an IHOP. We walked in and got our names on the list and were waiting. There were three goth girls sitting and waiting. They were young. Only a couple of years older than me, but they seemed so grown up and mysterious. I remember the one in the middle the best. She wore a short black skirt, tights with thick horizontal black and white stripes. Think Mavis but white instead of red. She wore a white top and the heavy white makeup, black lipstick, heavy eyeshadow. I was instantly smitten. She was beautiful, exotic, mysterious, and I realized I was staring when they were called by the hostess, and they all stood up to go to their table. I was embarrassed and felt my face burn as I blushed a bright red. She looked at me and smiled a sweet, warm smile. And I felt better. We got seated next, and I never saw them again. I tried to explain them to the other kids when summer was over. But no one understood. I didn’t know the word goth yet. But I never forgot them.