Time Trials

by Lee, Terry

  ~~~

  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.

  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 commun
ications 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.