Time Trials (6 page)

The weight of her “heaviness” had lightened somewhat since coming to Sam Houston, but she knew the actual density still resided within her. If she did in fact have depression, she didn’t like it. It hurt. A kind of hurt deep inside that couldn’t be touched, only endured. Frannie figured being away from the pressures of Denny and her parents was the reason she could now take something of a deep breath. And the loveable chaos of the BAGs also helped keep a smile on her face. She liked that.

Although she didn’t pledge a sorority, Frannie accompanied the “bad-girl” BAGs to most of the frat parties. She was introduced to coon-dog punch, which convinced her she was certainly going to die the next day. Her liquor tolerance was not quite up to par with the others, though occasionally she could pull a humdinger and have to be the one slipped in at curfew.

The dating scene was a hit and miss deal. Some of the guys she liked to hang out with, others…well, no. Playing foosball, which she mastered, at the beer joints was way more fun than having a drunk-fest at someone’s apartment. And on nights of foosball tournaments, she never had to pay for a beer.

As for Denny? She made it to one of his games that fall semester, but oops, forgot to tell him she was coming in. And guess what? He had a date.

Chapter 10

Regina – 1972

God, how she hated the term “freshman fifteen,” which referred to the proverbial poundage a freshman usually gained their first year at college. And if it wasn’t bad enough, every time she talked to her mother, the subject resurfaced.

“Hey girl, how you doing on that freshman fifteen thing?” Paula seemed to have no idea what effect those words had on her daughter. She should, except her mother’s brain cells were lacking the high-function mode due to the excessive infusion of drugs and alcohol. In fact, if it wasn’t for her mother’s eating disorder over the years, Regina might not have such an excruciating poor self-body image now. 

“Do I need to send you some cheese cubes?” Paula laughed at her own joke. She was the only one who did.

“Is there a reason you called?” The long coiled cord from the phone on the wall allowed Regina to sit on her bed, her pillow wedged against her stomach like a woobie.

“As a matter of fact, smart-ass, there is.”

Seriously, who calls their child a smart ass?
Snow disliked Paula every bit as much as Regina did.

She mentally replied,
My mother, that’s who. Charming isn’t she
?

“Virgil and I are bringing you the Cutlass this weekend.” Paula paused, which Regina recognized as a pull from a cigarette, or something similar.

“Who’s Virgil?”

“Oh, I told you about him.” Regina heard a slight but throaty giggle from Paula. “He’s the bartender at the Hogshead.”

“Nice name for a beer joint. Is he going to be my new daddy?”

Oh crap
. Snow should have reeled Regina in before she went down that road.

“Listen Missy, we can just as easily make another road trip this weekend someplace else.” Another drag. “I really don’t need that shit from you.”

Regina fell back on the bed, hugging the pillow tight against her stomach as if her insides were possessed with Rosemary’s baby. Turning her head, she caught sight of the framed picture of Allison’s parents on the desk they shared. She bit the inside of her gum and stared at the ceiling.

“Did you hear me?”

“I did.” People would laugh if they knew how different her insides were from what she portrayed on the outside. “Sorry,” she squeezed out.

She weighed herself daily and tried to stay away from the cafeteria food. Not because it was bad, which it was, but more because of the rumor of the additive saltpeter. Supposedly it was a preservative, but it also helped squelch the desires of sex-crazed freshman. She wasn’t as concerned about the sexual part, since her dance card was hardly ever filled. However, the word “salt” in saltpeter sent her to the library to do some research. Sure enough, she found saltpeter was a preservative containing sodium and potassium. She did
not
need to start retaining water with boatloads of salt added to what little food she ingested. The “freshman fifteen” could ruin everything. 

She’d made the drum majorette team, which she mentioned as often as possible. She couldn’t tell if the BAGs were jealous or annoyed. After the initial congratulations, every time she brought up the topic, the subject was immediately changed or a pillow ended up against the side of her head.

Performing at halftime during football season was her shining moment, no pun intended. Her over-the-top sparkly outfit, showing just a little less skin than a one-piece swimsuit, had to fit each time the majorettes performed. And not one extra pound was going to fit in that sprayed-on costume. Regina worried whether her teeth were white enough, and always used a straw when drinking dark soft drinks or tea. Once again she made the trek to the library to research teeth whitening, only to discover tooth bleaching dated back to the ancient Romans. However, they used urine and goat’s milk for the process.

Go ahead, I dare you
, Snow taunted.

A shiver had run through Regina’s body. She left the library that day and decided to stick to her plan of keeping any dark liquids from touching her teeth. Straws were always in her purse, as well as a travel toothbrush and a small tube of Colgate.

Mother Patricia and Virgil drove down that weekend to deliver the hand-me-down Cutlass. Regina met them at the curb in front of the dorm, not anxious to have to introduce her mother, or possible new-daddy Virgil, as Snow called him, to the few people she knew. Jumping into Patricia’s new GTO, she suggested they go somewhere to eat. Slick-haired, goateed new daddy Virgil followed in the Cutlass.

“Now, I’ve always called her Jane,” Patricia said. “But feel free to name that baby anything you like.”

“Why do you name your cars?” Regina stole a glance at her mother, strongly registering the effects of a face aged prematurely by drugs, tobacco, and alcohol.

“Don’t know, honey, just always have.” The ever present cigarette was propped in the corner of her mother’s mouth. “You got a problem with that too?”

Rubbing her brow in hopes of warding off a headache, Regina took a deep breath and made the decision to give congenial a chance. Maybe the visit would move along better. Even she knew congenial was not her strong suit, but what the hell.

“No, Ma, I don’t.” She shot her mom a tight-lipped grin. “I’ll come up with a name.” After all, in spite of everything, she’d now have her own transportation, even if it was going to take a thousand or so air fresheners to get rid of the cigarette smell. “Why don’t we go to the Chef? It’s right around the corner. They’ve got a great chicken-fried stea….” The steak died in the air, but unfortunately not in time. It was one of those moments when the words escaped before having a chance to reel them back in. Regina braced herself as if her mother was about to barrel through a red light, knowing the verbal slam would hurt just as bad as a physical impact.

“Are you shitting me? Girl…chicken-fried steak?” Patricia lowered the window enough to toss out the cigarette stub. “You might as well just slap some flab on your thighs. Have I not taught you anything?”

She thought about telling her mother she’d been starving herself all week just so she could have a decent meal for a change, which was the truth. However, she doubted her mother would believe her. Much to her surprise, because her emotions were usually always in check, Regina felt a sting behind her eyes. Why was it always so hard being with her mother?

Because she’s a bitch, that’s why
, Snow piped in.

Clearing her throat, she hoped to sound more convincing than she felt. “I…I was thinking about Virgil.” Which of course was a lie, but congenial…congenial…congenial. “I’m getting the chef salad. It’s their specialty.”

It was at that very moment she had a clear “ah-ha” moment. Suddenly, she saw how well her mother had taught her, except all the wrong things. The digs, the passive insults either directed to Regina or whoever was in the line of fire, along with the never ending string of self-absorbed conversations.
I have so few friends
, Regina thought. She treated people just like her mother treated her.

They waited for the light to turn before crossing Sam Houston Avenue. Regina fought the compulsion to jump out of the car, just to escape. The “ah-ha” moment had not been pleasant. Turning her head toward the window, Regina bit her lip and swiped at the escaped tear running down her face. That was all she needed…for her mother to start drilling her on the “what’s wrong now?” crap. Thank God for the BAGs. She needed to learn how to be nicer, especially to the only friends she had.

I agree, but good luck with that
, Snow piped in.

~~~

Her career choice in the beginning was fashion merchandizing with a double minor, journalism and dance. Later she switched to communications as her major and dropped the fashion degree, figuring there wasn’t a lot they could teach her. And besides, what she wanted most was to be in front of the camera, her Cinderella dream.

Wait
, Snow corrected.
Cinderella wanted Prince Charming. You need to invent your own fairy tale…you know, like Ann Marie meets Mary Richards.

“I always thought I could do a better Ann Marie. I’ve got the fashion sense, and Mary Richards is an associate producer at a TV station.” Regina liked the not half-bad idea, considering its source. For once Snow’s comment aligned with the pros instead of the cons.

Excuse me; Marlo Thomas and Mary Tyler Moore have personalities. Try to find that in one of those fashion magazines.

“I knew there’d be a dig in there somewhere.” If she hadn’t counted Snow as one of her few close friends, she would’ve kicked her alter-ego’s ass to the curb. Over the years Snow had morphed into a sarcastic bitch with a twist of occasional reason. Regina had actually thought about doing away with Snow, then heard the intrusive, sardonic laugh in her head, both realizing the impossibility. Too much Mother Patricia had infiltrated them, and that had to change…somehow.

She got a part-time job working for The Houstonian, Sam’s college newspaper, and routinely applied for a position at KSAM, Huntsville’s local AM radio station…the very same station where Dan Rather had gotten his start back in the ‘50s. Her initiation into broadcasting was a rude awakening to find that KSAM was run by the “good old boys club,” and seemed to have little interest in a female voice.

Her dating/boyfriend status hadn’t faired too well during college. She dated a football player for a while, until she figured all he wanted was to see what was beneath the sequined costume she wore during halftime performances. Later, she actually found out it had been a bet among some of the athletes. Assholes. Then there was her economics instructor her junior year. They started out having coffee a couple of times after class, which ended up being somewhat of an affair that went absolutely nowhere. Positive role models. That was the damn problem. She’d had none as a child, male or female. No wonder she was so screwed up in the social skills category.

She and Allison continued being roommates even after the BAGs freshman year in the dorm. They didn’t seem to get in each other’s way, and well, she hated to admit it, but Allison was as close to a best friend as she’d ever had. Of course, Allison didn’t have a clue about this, but none the less…best friends, as far as Regina was concerned.

Chapter 11

Janie – 1972

Janie. Janie. Janie. People laughed a lot around her. Not at her, mind you, but with her. As far as the dynamics of the BAGs, Janie would most certainly be the mascot. She drank too much too often, would stand in the garbage can after curfew holding nightly roll call, and entertained the BAGs with impersonations. Her favorite was Shirley Temple from “On the Good Ship Lollipop.” A close second was an eerie portrayal of the dreaded dorm mother, Mrs. White. Janie always proceeded with “She has to be Miss, because Mrs. would imply at some point there was a Mr.,” and then followed with the finger-down-the-throat gagging motion, which always had everyone howling.  

Being known as the female version of George Carlin around the dormitory’s ground floor filled Janie’s need to entertain. Her plan, methodical…as long as she could make people laugh, she felt like she fit in. And that’s how she pulled it off. She had her own stand-up routine about her balloon body shape, and even created a theme song for the BAGs and called it “The Ground Floor Whore Corp” to the tune of Sam Houston’s fight song. Janie couldn’t find a degree plan that catered to comedy routines, so she fell back on what she knew best…drama. What could she do with a drama degree? Hell if she knew, but since she’d perfected the skill of being a lifelong over-reactor, why not? Add comedy to the mix and who knew? She could be the next Joan Rivers.

For real?

“Oh shut up,” she’d bounce back to her tacky other self.

College life suited Janie. She dodged daily phone calls from June, deciding she’d talk to her mother every other day. God, the woman needed a life. Except for the occasional emergency call due to lack of cash flow for late night pizza delivery, Janie rarely called home. Besides, all out-going, non-campus calls had to be made collect. What a plus.

Mother/daughter lunches were restricted to once a month. Her terms, not her mother’s. June would make the hour drive on either a Tuesday or Thursday, which were doable lunch days for Janie’s schedule.

She found her mother’s visits rather embarrassing, especially when June insisted on a quick peek at their dorm room. Once she pulled a surprise inspection by showing up unannounced at their door, and nearly melted into a heap like the Wicked Witch of the West after being doused with water. She stepped into their dorm room to see day-old pizza boxes, Snickers wrappers, and empty Coke cans desecrating the burnt orange shag rug. From then on, Janie made sure her mother’s arrival times were specified. Then she’d alert the masses of the time and date for the inspection so they could decide to be present or MIA. Fair warning was also issued: Any BAG who happened to be in the dorm at the appointed hour, by mistake or not, would forcibly be dragged to lunch. Of course, June paid, but nothing was free.

“What’s the deal?” Frannie asked one day. “You and June go way back. I thought you liked your mom.”

“Don’t get me wrong.” Janie sat at the small dressing table in her room, wrestling to wrap wads of red frizz around orange juice cans. “I like her. No…let me rephrase that. I love my mother. I just don’t always like her. She treats me like I’m twelve. I’m thinking she has issues.”

“We’ve all got issues.” Dena walked through the adjoining bathroom to Frannie and Janie’s room with a Tab in her hand. She took a swallow. “So, what’s up? June Bug forget her pearls?”   

Janie wheeled her orange juice can head around and dramatically touched the back of her hand to her forehead, as if she were Miss Scarlett and her corset had been tightened to the point of her fainting. “No…pearls shrouded her little neck.”

“You’re such a drama queen,” Dena said.

“Oh…if I could have tightened those pretty pearls just a tad.” Janie’s words poured from her mouth as slow as honey on a snowy day.

“Hey!” Frannie laughed and sat cross-legged on the floor. “That’s not bad.”

“We’re studying
To Kill A Mockingbird
in drama. I’m an understudy.” Janie extended her drawl. “Too big for Scout…or Atticus for that matter.” Janie huffed. “Not to mention wrong gender.”  She leaned over and nudged Frannie. “Hey, maybe I’ll be a director. You think those canvas chairs come in extra-extra-large?”

“You fucking crack me up.” Dena finished her diet drink and tossed the can at the wastebasket for an easy two-point shot. “So, how’d the visit go today?”

“Very interesting, actually.” Janie dug through the side drawer of the dresser and pulled out a Snickers. “Piper went to lunch with us.”

“Wait. Piper? Piper went to lunch with you and June Bug.” Dena pulled a bottle of red nail polish from her pocket before dropping across Frannie’s bed. “Go ahead. This has gotta be good.”

“Well, you know I think Piper is a little weird.” Janie drew out the weird. “Not as weird as Regina, but, you know. Weird.”

“I could say something tacky,” said Dena.

“Not that it’s ever stopped you before, but hold your barbs,” Janie said. “Otherwise you’re wasting good material.”

“Nicely said!” Dena carefully raised the palm of her hand for a high-five, protecting her wet nails. “I knew there was a smart-ass in that comedy act of yours.”

Frannie did a serious high five eye roll. “So…what about lunch?”

“Well, I mean, for all of Piper’s wildness, sometimes there’s just something sad on her face, you know? She’s hard to read.”

“And then…geez Janie, spit it out.” Dena always knew how to cut the crap, as she would say.

“Okay, okay, keep your shorts on. So June took us to that new little diner on the square.” Janie consumed the rest of the Snickers and wiped her mouth with a tissue. “And, as you know, there’s little talking required when June gets on her jag about me not being there every second.”

“Good thing it was Piper instead of Regina.”

Both Frannie and Janie shot Dena a glance that could have burned a hole through sheet metal.

“They’d be fighting for airtime.” Dena shook her hands, obviously tired of the blowing. “Sorry,” she laughed, “couldn’t help that one.”

Janie and Frannie exchanged all-too-knowing “yeah-right” smirks before Janie continued. “She’s doing her little sob story, and I keep thinking…it’s only lunch, it’s only lunch…when I notice Piper. Her shoulders were all hunched down and her eyes got real squinty. She eyeballed my mom like she’d never seen her before.”

“Did June notice?” Frannie asked.

“Pffff.” Janie waved her hand. “Are you kidding? She’s in her glory days when the camera is rolling. But later, after Mom left, I asked Piper if something was wrong.” Janie used her index finger to push up under one of the OJ cans and scratch her head. “She said the strangest thing.”

“Most things Piper says are strange, but go ahead.” Dena returned from a quick trip to her room with a bottle of top coat.

“She said she was just trying to picture what it would be like to have her mother spend time with her. Then she said it was her stepmother. Called her step-monster.”

“Monster?” Dena carefully used a finger to rub her chin.

“I didn’t know she had a stepmom.” Frannie tented her hands in front of her face. An uncomfortable feeling moved around the room, making it a tight fit for the three.

“I asked….” Janie cleared her throat. “If her mother was, you know…around.”

“Is she?” Dena sat still for a change.

Janie shrugged. “I don’t know. She didn’t say.”

“At all?” Dena continued to blow between questions.

“Well, first she sat on the bed and pulled out her cigarettes.” Janie found another itchy spot to scratch at the nape of her neck. “Then out of the blue she said she’d help me iron my hair sometime.”

“Iron your hair? What did you say?” Frannie’s brow wrinkled.

“I said, ah…sure, that would be great. Man, it was so awkward. I ended up rambling about how my hair has a wayward mind of its own. Then I looked in the mirror to smooth out some of this mess, and there she was, standing right behind me.”

“Wow. Then what?” Frannie started to bite one of her cuticles.

“She pushed the cigarette back into the pack and lifted the hair off my shoulders.” Janie rested her arms on the back of the chair. “She said ‘yep, we could iron this sucker out. I do it all the time’.”

“Wow.” Frannie said again, pulling herself up off the floor.

Nothing further was ever learned about Piper’s mother or her step monster.

~~~

Janie’s dating never really took off her freshman year, which did not surprise or upset her. There was a guy, now a senior at her high school, who she dated occasionally when she’d go back to Houston for the weekend. Robert was a decent guy and overweight also, which gave her a pass on her Snicker-a-day ritual. The other boatload of bad eating habits would have to find their own buy out. At least for now.

Trips to Houston coincided with Dena’s urge for a road trip. Although Janie’s parents continued to balk about Dena having a car at college, they didn’t seem to mind too much when she showed up for a weekend visit.

No one except Frannie and Dena knew Robert was still in high school. Even the other BAGs thought he went to college in Houston…U of H or even Houston Community College. And she never made an attempt to correct them.

As much as June knew about Janie’s yo-yo history with her weight, she never failed to send her back to Huntsville with a care package.

“Share with your friends now,” was the phrase Janie realized relieved June of any personal guilt she might harbor about contributing to the weight issue. And finals week? OH.MY.GOD. The care packages arrived every other day, courtesy of the good old USPS. The deliveries became ridiculous, even to Janie, who never turned down snacks. June was out of hand and definitely needed to get a life.

The only problem Janie had with college was a lack of direction. Going to Sam gave her a way out of the house, but as far as anything else? Well, that was where the “eh” came in. Dena knew she wanted a degree in flower design; Allison–criminal justice; Frannie–English; Regina–Miss America. Suzanne and Denise both had their sights set on some science degree. Piper was majoring in the fly-through-life-by-the-seat-of-her-pants program, which seemed suitable for the wild child. That left Janie. Janie, Janie, Janie. What to do with Janie? What does Janie want? What does Janie want for the rest of her life? Good question. She never really saw herself as an adult…you know, someone with a career, paying bills, going to work every day, stopping at the store on the way home to pick up a few quick items…all those adult things.

Sometimes she still thought about Buddy. Back in high school life had been fun. All those concerts. The good old days. In fact, she’d thought about this recently, and had concluded that adulthood was way overrated.

She was at the end of her teen years. Buddy had crossed that hedge a year or so ago. Vietnam must have really screwed him up. Sad. On a recent weekend trip back home she’d stopped by the gas station his uncle owned. Uncle Bob said he hadn’t seen or heard from Buddy in a while.

“He was never right after he came back from Nam.” Buddy’s uncle wiped his hands with a grease-filled rag.

They had talked for over an hour before she checked her watch and stood to leave.

Uncle Bob held up a finger. “Hey, wait a minute, will you?”

She sat back down in the uncomfortable folding chair in the front of the garage.

“There’s something….” His voice trailed off as he moved into another area of the garage.

She waited for close to ten minutes before he returned.

“I didn’t know if I still had this or not.” Whatever he had uncovered he held in the wadded, dirty rag, working it over as if to somehow make it presentable.

“I found it after he took off. Thought you might like to have it.” He handed over Buddy’s military dog tags, still on the plain issued chain.

“What about his parents? Shouldn’t they have these?” She rubbed her thumb over his name and ID number.

“They’re gone. Died not long ago. Within three months of each other.” The older man grazed his fingers across an unshaven chin. “Always hated that happened before Buddy got his shit together. Hell, he might be dead too, for all I know.” He shook his head. “My brother was a hard-headed son-of-a-bitch. Just like Buddy.” His eyes fell to the linoleum-squared floor of the dank office. “Damn shame it went down that way.”