Time Trials (5 page)

Chapter 8

Allison – 1972

Having Regina as a roommate remained tolerable as long as she didn’t have to spend too much awake time with the self-proclaimed beauty queen. She got along with Regina better than the other BAGs, mainly because she had the ability to mute Regina’s constant self-absorbed babbling. Being the same height had its advantages also. There was no intimidation of stature as she’d seen Regina try to pull with others. The two usually went their separate ways, but congregated for late night soirees with the other BAGs.   

With her sights still set on a criminal justice degree, by the second semester of her sophomore year Allison had landed a part-time job in the CJ department, which kept her in touch with the prison system. The Texas State Penitentiary in Huntsville, also known as the Walls unit, was constructed in the late 1840’s, and was the only prison in the eleven Confederate states still standing at the end of the Civil War. Mere blocks from the college campus, the main prison housed not only inmates, but trustees, recognized by their white uniforms, who had earned the right to work the grounds outside the prison gates.

Goree, the women’s unit established in 1907, had been built four miles south of the city.

“Hey Allison, is that you?”

On her first field trip to the women’s unit Allison froze when she heard her name.

“It is! Allison, hey it’s me…Donna,” she heard someone say from behind one of the large community rooms where the female inmates sewed prison uniforms. “Hey, check this out,” the female voice said. “We went to high school together. Damn, look at her…a college student! Way to go, Ally.”

Slowly turning in the direction of the voice, Allison’s throat immediately dried up like a creek bed during a ten-year draught, and her eyes bulged like golf balls.

One of her classmates nudged her. “Ally? She called you Ally? You know her?”

Allison recognized Donna Sommerly all right, but words failed her on how to respond. They’d had a gym class together, even played on the same softball team, and yes, people in high school had nicknamed her Ally. But never in her wildest nightmare did she ever expect to see someone she knew. Here. At Goree. The state penitentiary for women.

“Yeah, sorta,” she said to her friend beside her. She raised her hand in a slight wave and quickly scooted past the community room. Although she heard some chuckles from other classmates about the fact she actually knew someone at Goree, Allison struggled with what had gone so wrong in Donna’s life for her to end up in the state prison. She shook her head and sighed, knowing she’d never forget seeing the image of Donna behind bars.

Along with housing prisoners, death row inmates took their last meals and breaths within the Walls. In 1964, the Texas Prison System switched from death by electrocution (electric chair nicknamed Old Sparky) to a more civilized death by lethal injection. She’d had such unsettling feelings about sentencing someone to death. She struggled with the concept of “civilized death,” but she assumed it beat the alternatives; a firing squad, hanging, or having thousands of bolts of electricity frying your body.

“I’ve got a lot of doubt about this,” she told one of her professors. “I couldn’t do it. I’d be excused from any jury selection having a deliberation on the death penalty.”

“Some family members say that the only peace they will ever have is putting the perpetrator to death.” Her professor leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers across his rather rotund belly.

“I know people do some horrible things…I get that.” Allison crossed, then uncrossed her legs. “But, killing them? Isn’t there some other option?”

“Of course there’s life imprisonment.” The professor sat back up and adjusted his horn-rimmed glasses. “But let me ask you a question. If someone murdered, say, your father…would that change your opinion of the death penalty?”

She studied the flushed cheeks and lined eyes of the man seated across from her. These were ethical questions…questions that, to her, had no clear yes or no answer. However, the State of Texas had made their decision. They had voted yes.

“But it wouldn’t change anything.” Her eyes moved around the small office cubicle. “Another person would be dead…and so would my dad. He’d still be dead.”

“You’re a critical thinker, Allison. That’s a good quality to have. We could all do with a few more like you.” The professor stood, signaling the end of their meeting. “Keep questioning. Expand that thought process of yours. Make your own decisions, and then don’t be afraid to change them. Very little in life is black and white. The more you learn, the more you grow.”

Besides the main building of the prison and the high brick walls topped with wrapped barbed wire, the back of the property held an arena were the Texas Prison Rodeo, started in 1931, was held each October. An ever-growing popular event over the years, the Prison Rodeo provided recreational opportunities for some of the inmates and also brought considerable revenue into the system. Allison had attended several of the rodeos and had been surprised at the turnout. The stands were packed.

There was no official parking for the event, so rodeo-goers parked up and down the streets of the adjacent neighborhoods. Some of the best barbeque in the state of Texas could be found for sale at the end of driveways of nearby houses on those weekends. Most Friday nights before the rodeo each Saturday in October, residents surrounding the vicinity of the prison pulled huge barbeque pits to the curb and started the all-night ritual of smoking brisket, chickens, and sausage. Attendees to the rodeo readily purchased the Texas specialty before entering the gates at The Walls. A few links of sausage or a chopped beef sandwich could occasionally still be found from a resident vendor or two late in the afternoon after the rodeo.

~~~

Allison and Regina weren’t particularly close, and she loved reserved Suzanne and Denise, but she quickly formed a bond with Janie, Frannie, and Dena. Especially Dena. The fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants gal was a hoot. Piper could also be considered a fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants gal, but more like someone blown off a merry-go-round that had spun out of control. Both had their wild side, but unfortunately, that seemed to be the only side to Piper. Dena was much more grounded, funny as hell, and intelligent, even with her trash mouth. Dena had class, which only made the f-bomb issue more outrageously prolific in her use of the English language.

The debacle with Kevin grew. Still convinced he was her 100%-for-sure-soul-mate, distance seemed to be the main issue. Trips back and forth from Houston to Huntsville were doable, but then Kevin had the opportunity to transfer and finish his law degree at Harvard. Harvard…the one in Boston.

“I just….” He’d made a day trip to Huntsville for them to talk face to face. “I don’t think…I can….”

Allison had exhausted herself tossing around impossible ideas of how to make this all work. She wasn’t a crier, but the ache in her stomach often made her feel she was going to puke. It was happening. It was really happening. He’d worked too hard to pass up going to Harvard.
No one
passed up a chance like that.

They sat in his car near her dorm. Using all the reserve strength she could muster, she pulled her hair back into a ponytail and secured it with the hairband she always kept on her wrist. Biting the inside of her lip and hoping she could keep it together, she turned in the seat toward him.

“Look—”

“Don’t. Don’t say look.” He lowered his chin to his chest. “Nothing good ever starts with look.”

He was right…nothing good
ever
started with look.

“Okay.” She breathed deeply. “Kevin, you’ve got to go. You know that.” She reached for his hand. “We’ll try to work something out,” which they both knew was a lie, “but you can’t not go. You
can’t!
” Damn it if her eyes didn’t start pooling, threatening tears. As the daughter of a military man, she’d trained herself not to be a crier. “Don’t you see? If you miss this chance, there’s no turning back. People don’t get second chances like this.” She paused long enough to swipe at her eyes. “I’d always feel like I held you back.” 

She’d been through this argument with herself many times in the last week. She’d even called a special meeting of the BAGs to bring them in on the situation. Sadly, all that produced were lots of hugs and sad puppy dog eyes. Even Regina had given her what could be construed as a hug. Piper’s sentiments were more along the lines of “what a bummer,” and Dena…well, use your imagination and it shouldn’t be hard to come up with the sympathy package wrapped with a bow of profanity.

Eventually, the inevitable took place and Kevin prepared for his move to Massachusetts.

On his last visit to Huntsville, they sat on the hill in front of the Old Main building. Kevin pulled her to her feet and held her so tight she couldn’t breathe, but at the moment she couldn’t have cared less.

“I won’t say goodbye. I’ll never say goodbye.”

“Okay,” was all she could manage. She’d purposely decided to meet on the big hill at Old Main. When he left, she knew going any farther than across the street to her dorm would be a stretch.

In the end, they both made promises they knew they couldn’t keep. And as expected, over time, human nature and distance took its course. Allison still clung to the belief that they should be together. Maybe when they were old and shriveled they’d find themselves spending their remaining days side by side in rocking chairs just like they used to laugh about.
It could still happen
, she thought, with heaviness in her chest area that ached every day. But the in-between part, the belief they should be together now and forever, began to fade. Eventually, they both started to date other people.

She’d never forget Kevin. That soul-connection she felt with him was as embedded in her DNA as any part of her own genetic makeup. The Thunderbolt. She’d read
The Godfather’s
Sicilian thunderbolt scene between Michael Corleone and Apollonia so many times she could recite it by heart. Opportunity, kismet, destiny…whatever you call what happened that day outside the basketball gym in high school, defined for Allison a connection between two people that she knew was rare and practically impossible to grasp, except in the heart. It was not for the mind to decipher, but for the heart to remember…forever.

Chapter 9

Frannie – 1972

She’ll always remember that first weekend her parents dropped her off as a freshman. Sending the persona of the person she used to be back to Houston kept a smile on her face for days. They had a blast setting up their dorm room. Janie’s parents had sent up a burnt orange shag rug to match the bedspreads, sheets, the whole bit. And having an area rug to cover the hard linoleum tile was a
big
thing. Their room rocked.

“I’m surprised your mother didn’t sneak a picture of Denny into your suitcase.” Janie carefully balanced herself and tacked a bigger than life Butch Cassidy to the wall. She figured a Paul Newman poster would make a great headboard.

“Don’t even joke about that.” Frannie unrolled the Sundance Kid and centered it over her own bed. She did a fist pump and smiled at her heartthrob. “Perfect. Besides, my mother doesn’t get a vote anymore.” She gazed into the sexy eyes of the man on the poster and pointed. “Now, that…that is a handsome man.” 

“Says you and several million other females.”

The black and white posters were not exactly on their decorating color wheel, but nothing more appropriate could have adorned the walls of their dorm. They’d flipped a coin to see who got which poster, since they equally adored Paul Newman and Robert Redford. The agreement had been to switch beloved posters at the end of the semester.

Hours were spent regurgitating lines from
Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid
.

“You just keep thinkin', Butch. That's what you're good at.”

“Think ya used enough dynamite there, Butch?”

“Not to be a sore loser, but if I don't win—kill him.”

And their favorite…“Who
are
those guys?”

“Hey, let’s set up your record player,” Janie said.

“It’s a ster-eo.”

“Okay, whatever. Let’s hook it up.”

Both girls hoisted the device onto the table between their twin beds. After finding an electrical plug nearby, Frannie pulled her
Tapestry
album from the nearby cardboard—and for now storage—box, slid the vinyl carefully from its cover, flipped it to side two, and dropped the record down onto the spindle. Flicking the lever to play, she watched as the album dropped to the turntable. Carole King’s voice filled the room. Both girls lay on their beds and sang along with their favorite female vocalist.

“When you're down and troubled and you need

a helping hand and nothing, whoa, nothing is

going right. Close your eyes and think of me,

and soon I will be there to brighten up even

your darkest nights”

“James Taylor.” Dena entered through the adjoining bathroom. “How many times do we have to go over this? It’s James Taylor, hands down.” She plopped down on the end of Janie’s bed.

Frannie pointed a finger at Dena. “Shh….”

“Watch how you use that thing.” Dena smiled.

Frannie pointed again.

After a serious eye roll, Dena waited till the song ended and Frannie carefully moved the arm off the record and placed it gently on its stand. “It’s not that I don’t like Carole King.” Dena shrugged as if the matter was non-negotiable. “Taylor just knocks it out.”

“I agree, but it’s Frannie’s record player.” Janie swung her legs off the bed.

“It’s a ster-eo,” Frannie corrected.

“Whatever.” Dena wiggled her eyebrows. “Hey, I have a roommate. This could be an interesting semester.”

Dena, the brave soul, had just met Piper, which completed the suitemate debacle. Across the hall were Allison and Regina, who shared a bathroom, as suitemates did, with Suzanne and Denise. Frannie worried Dena would feel left out with all the prepping she and Janie had done for their dorm room. But true to her sense of independence, Dena could care less. She had her own dark red paisley bedspread, matching sheets, and throw pillows. The girl had her own sense of style and it fit her so well. While the rest of the world hosed everything down with avocado green, harvest gold, or burnt orange, Dena’s favorite color was red. Not a soft, rosy red, but a bold, crisp red. Not many people could pull off the things Dena did. The girl was definitely a class act. And when Piper had arrived with her stoic parents, Dena’s courteous manner flowed as if she were a hostess on
Let’s Make A Deal
, trying to entice contestants to choose curtain #1.

The first week at Sam was freshman orientation. Just the feeling of walking out of her dorm on her own helped Frannie stand a little taller than her 5’2” height. Crossing the street, she, Dena, and Janie noticed a couple of guys standing across from Kampus Korner, also known as KK, the fast food and sundry shop on campus. Obviously not freshmen, the guys eyed the girls all the way up the steep incline to the top where Old Main, the administrative building, stood.

“Hold…up.”

Frannie and Dena turned to find Janie, blotchy-cheeked and panting, sitting on a nearby bench. They waited for their friend to catch her breath.

“Did you see that blonde-headed guy?” Dena asked. “Frannie, he had his fucking sights set on you.”

“Shush.” Frannie narrowed her eyes in a warning look.

“What…we’re not in church.” Dena gathered her thick brown hair and pulled it up off her neck. “Damn, even seventy miles north of Houston, it’s still hot as hell.”

“I mean it!” Frannie’s face turned ashen despite the August heat. “Lower your voice if you’re gonna talk like that.” Living by the rules had always been Frannie’s forte, and she vowed to live by her own now, but some rules were just common sense. “I’d like us to get registered before they kick us off campus.”

Swatting at Frannie, Dena said, “What do you mean? I always talk like that.”

Frannie turned back to Janie and offered her hand. “She’s hopeless.”

Her face color evened out, as well as her breathing, Janie accepted Frannie’s hand to lift herself off the bench.

“She’s Dena.”

~~~

Later that evening, the newly-formed BAGs congregated in Janie and Frannie’s room for the first of many soirees. Allison opened the conversation by cutting straight to the chase with Dena. “I’m wondering. You seem to be a natural at dropping the F-bomb. How do you do that?” Allison smiled and tilted her body toward Dena. “Don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you.”

“And you won’t, either.” Janie exchanged a knowing look with Frannie. “She’s got a theory about this.” Both girls turned toward Dena.

“Go ahead, you’re on,” Janie said.

“Okay, I’ll make this short.” Dena settled herself on one of the beds and bunched a throw pillow against her stomach. “I don’t see what all the fuss is. I mean, who decides words are bad, anyway?” She scratched her temple with one of her long nails. “Fornicate is acceptable. So is copulate, coitus, and intercourse.”

Suzanne visibly shook like she’d stepped into a meat locker. Denise listened intently to the explanation being presented.

Pausing for emphasis, Dena shrugged before breaking out one of her beautiful smiles. “So…what the fuck?”

Janie and Frannie had heard it all before, but the rest of the group sat in silence after listening to a profoundly new form of logic.

“I’ve never thought of it that way. Ever.” Denise, round-eyed, grabbed Suzanne’s arm. “You know what? She’s right. Why
would
the…f-word be bad?” Laughter erupted at Denise’s acceptance of a word she still could not bring herself to say.

“So, anybody meet anyone interesting?” Frannie still basked in her state of na-na-na-na-boo-boo freedom ride.

“I found the whole orientation thing very boring.” Regina sat crossed legged on the floor, filing one her nails.

“What orientation?”

All heads swung toward Piper. She lay across Janie’s bed, looking like she’d just awoken from a long winter’s nap.

“Piper, I drug you out of bed this morning before I left.” Dena, on her feet, pulled a wad of Piper’s blonde hair up to see her eyes. “What did you do all day?”

“Huh? Oh yeah…today.” Piper rolled over and managed to haul herself to a sitting position. Her head strangely sunk into her body like her neck had disappeared.

“You look like a turtle.” Dena wasted little time honing in on Piper. “Is this what the semester’s going to be like? Do I need to be your mother?”

Piper fell forward on the bed, landing in a belly flop. “Cut me some slack, will ya?”

“Hold up, Mom.” Janie, hands on Dena’s shoulders, eased her down into one of the two desk chairs in their room.

“Let’s hear what she did.” Allison munched on a bag of potato chips from the vending machine down the hall.

Piper rubbed her nose and rounded her shoulders in a circular motion. “I…uh…wasn’t really in the mood for, you know….” She swirled her hand around. “An organized event. So….”

The girls in the room leaned forward as if Piper’s next sentence would determine how this fall semester would play out.

“So…what?” Dena’s patience obviously pushed a bit. “Where the hell did you go…and with who?”

Tentatively throwing in her two cents, Suzanne added, “Maybe she had her
own
orientation. You know…exploring. Like a Girl Scout.”

All eyes angled toward Suzanne, with the exception of Regina, whose attention was still on filing her nails, and Piper, who was obviously juggling which story to pitch to the group.

“Suzanne, you are so naïve.” Dena shook her head. “Does this girl look like she ever sold a Thin Mint?”

“Actually, I did.” Piper’s eyes cleared briefly, then squinted as if trying to recall the childhood episode. “Well, not really. Mommy Dearest ended up buying my supply every year, plus some, so I’d have the highest sales.” Piper shrugged. “She’d toss them in the trash or pan them off to the maid.” Her jaws tightened, a resentful smile etched across her face.

The room fell deathly still, the air sucked out liked a vacuum cleaner on crack. The other’s ping-ponged their gaze around the room to avoid direct eye contact with Piper.

“Yeah, that was my childhood…the straight and narrow.” Piper sat back up and pushed blonde tangled bangs out of her eyes.

Suddenly the wild-child’s whereabouts during the orientation lecture were of little interest to anyone. In fact, if anything, it only solidified Piper’s place with the BAGs.

“Okay, who wants pizza?” Dena reached for the phone and dialed #9 for an outside line.              

“I’m in.” Janie reached for her wallet.

“Piper? Pepperoni?” Dena asked, and then placed the order.

It seemed to occur to the BAGs that night that they all had a story…and a past.

~~~

Frannie’s first two years at Sam were pretty non-descript. As much as she wanted to set her own rules, which she did, the self-imposed regulations didn’t seem to fall too far out of the category of the ones she’d had all her life.

Selecting English as a major, she rarely skipped class, and spent more than a fair amount of time studying. She’d easily take third place for study hours. Denise and Suzanne had first and second nailed.

The Zetas pushed hard to get her to pledge during Rush Week. She would have preferred joining the Alpha Chi Omega girls who seemed to be more her speed, but she declined all pledge bids. Asking her parents for additional money each month for sorority dues didn’t seem to be the brightest of ideas. Besides, Janie and Frannie didn’t receive a bid to pledge. Piper was out of the question. Allison, Regina, Denise, and Suzanne had no interest at all in the Greek organizations.

Frannie rarely lost her temper. Did she even have one? Her own feelings had been suppressed for so long, she often wondered what would really push her over the edge. It wasn’t until she completed Psychology 101 and delved into abnormal psych that her interest in family dynamics began to peak.

“I’m a hero child,” she announced one afternoon. “Just found that out today.”

“Do we need to get you a cape?” Dena sat on Frannie’s bed flipping through her history book.

“Listen to this.” Frannie opened her book to the page she had marked. “A classic hero child is most often the first born. They rarely show their real emotions, and are usually extremely self-critical. That’s me!”

“Wow.” Janie sat at the small dresser, working to calm down her wild red hair. “It really says that?”

“Yep. And brother Tim is the mascot.” Frannie turned the page. “The mascot of the family is usually the one to act out, goof off, and provide laughter to the family. It says they rarely get in trouble for all their shenanigans.” She slammed the book shut. “He used to get high-fives for his all C report cards! Now, tell me
that’s
fair.”

Okay, maybe she did have a temper.

The topic of depression also piqued her interest. She seemed to fit all the criteria, especially back in high school when she’d spent so many hours alone in her room. Feeling depressed, which could be identified on a feeling chart with a sad face, differed from actual depression. Clinical depression involved an actual chemical imbalance in the brain.