by Lee, Terry
Higher Education Amendments added FAFSA (Free Application for Student Aid). Also the Direct Lending project and unsubsidized Stafford loans were established, allowing more students to attend college on financial aid.
Minivans had made the scene and were referred to as “the soccer mom vehicle,” and the top selling cars were Ford Taurus, Honda Accord, and the Toyota Camry. The fastest car tested that year was the Ferrari F40 at 197 MPH.
Michael made the top of the baby boy list that year, with Christopher coming in second. Ashley won the female honors with Jessica following.
~~~
All eight of the BAGs had married at one time or another over the past twenty years. Some had actually stayed married…to the same person. Most had kids, some had made careers out of their actual college degrees, while others worked to provide a second income. Starter homes often morphed into something on a much grander scale, and a large part of life revolved around the family. Some personality traits, values, and prejudices had changed over the years. Some of the women matured graciously; others…not so much.
The freshman year pact the BAGs had made to never lose touch didn’t hold up too well after the first ten years. Life just…happened….
~~~
Disclaimer:
(same as before, but bears repeating)
The stages listed below are taken from
Erik Erikson’s Eight Stages of Man,
Dr. C. George Boeree’s Personal Theory on
The Eight Stages of Man, along with some
additions from Wikipedia.
Stage of Development 6: Intimacy vs Isolation
(Ages 20-39+)
Basic Virtue: Love
Another crossroad: learn how to love or push away
Occurring in young adulthood, peaking around 30, we begin to share ourselves more intimately with others. We explore relationships leading toward longer term commitments with someone other than a family member
Successful completion of this stage can lead to comfortable relationships and a sense of commitment, safety, and care within a relationship
Avoiding intimacy, fearing commitment and relationships can lead to isolation, loneliness, and sometimes depression
Success in this stage will lead to the virtue of love
Dr. Boeree’s theory says:
“Our society hasn’t done much for young adults, either. The emphasis on careers, the isolation of urban living, the splitting apart of relationships because of our need for mobility and the general impersonal nature of modern life prevent people from naturally developing their intimate relationships.
I am typical of many people in having moved dozens of times in my life. I haven’t the faintest idea what has happened to the kids I grew up with, or even my college buddies. My oldest friend lives a thousand miles away. I live where I do out of career necessity and, until recently, have felt no real sense of community.”
Dr. Boeree continues:
“If you successfully negotiate this stage, you will instead carry with you for the rest of your life the virtue or psychosocial strength Erikson calls love.
Love, in the context of his theory, means being able to put aside differences and antagonisms through ‘mutuality of devotion’. It includes not only the love we find in a good marriage, but the love between friends and the love of one’s neighbor, co-worker, and compatriot as well.”
Chapter 13
The BAGs – 1992
Janie had reluctantly moved back home with June and Ward when she dropped out after her second year at Sam. She landed a job with Southwestern Bell, and before too much time with the Cleavers, moved into a quaint duplex in the Heights. Her parents even bought her a slightly used metallic blue Chevrolet Impala.
After some time on her own and with no one to regulate her eating habits, she realized, once again, she was on the wrong end of the scales. Shopping at Lane Bryant had gotten old, so back she went to Weight Watchers. The same forty-five pounds she’d been juggling since high school rolled off again. In 1976 she married Matt Russo, also a Southwestern Bell employee. Buddy had long dropped off her emotional radar, although she did occasionally think about him, especially when she ran across his dog tags she kept in a small box in one of her dresser drawers.
She and Matt had two sons, Chase and Marcus, and lived a busy and relatively normal life…or so she thought. Now, sixteen years later, she was not the happy camper she used to be. The excessive poundage she’d lost when they first got together started creeping its way back. Actually, that should have been a sign. She had always been an emotional eater, whether her brain believed it or not. Something was blipping on her emotional radar, but headquarters wasn’t paying attention.
“I’m twice the woman I used to be,” she’d say to Matt. They’d both smile, but Janie didn’t find it particularly amusing and could tell Matt didn’t either.
~~~
“She’s what? Allison, you’re breaking up.” Without thinking, Janie grabbed an ice cream sandwich from the freezer. “Something about Denise? Is she sick again?” Wedging the cordless phone between her shoulder and pudgy cheek, she ripped open the frozen treat and took a bite. “Let me go outside. The reception in the house sucks.”
She stepped through the French doors onto the patio. “Okay, start again.” After a few minutes of silence on Janie’s end as she heard the report from Allison, she dropped the ice cream sandwich and grabbed her forehead with her spare hand, as if trying to keep her frontal cortex from spilling out. “Denise is what? No! No, no, no, no. She can’t be dead! Oh God, Allison, tell me it was a dream, anything! I’m freaking out here. I didn’t know! I didn’t know.”
Several more minutes of heartfelt exchanges took place between the two.
“Good idea. We’ll call in the troops.” Janie pulled a Kleenex from her pocket and wiped her nose before dropping down into a patio chair. “You’re right.” She couldn’t steady her voice. “Time to get the BAGs back together.”
“How are we ever going to find Piper?” was the first thing that popped into Janie’s head. For all she knew, Piper could be under some rock out in the desert. Or worse, dead also. Janie blew out relief when Allison said she’d worry about that one. Dealing with Piper had never been her strong suit.
“Of course.” Janie pulled herself up out of the chair, finding it hard to sit still. “The bayhouse. Yes, we’ll meet there.”
“I know.” Janie stared at her feet, fresh tears stinging her eyes. “It was the last place we were all together.”
~~~
That conversation had taken place an hour ago. After hanging up with Allison, Janie had moved inside and remained in the same curled-up ball on the couch, drowning in guilt, sadness, and shock. The first ten years they’d met once a year. Then kids, marriage, little league games, dance recitals, swim teams, divorces…all had diffused the Bad-Ass-Girl pact the eight of them had made their freshman year at Sam.
“Sweet, sweet Denise.” Once again the tears surfaced. “Gone.”
She’d been the sickly one of the eight, catching the slightest thing in the air when they were in school, always in the health clinic getting medicine for something. Then in the late seventies she had been diagnosed with a rare form of lung cancer, which seemed even weirder because Denise had never smoked. She endured all the awful treatments, lost her hair, the whole bit. They’d all been back in touch then.
The BAGs didn’t meet that often anymore, and even when they did Denise had missed a couple of get-togethers. The last time they met up in 1982, Denise had been cautiously optimistic, announcing she had been cancer-free for fourteen months. There had been a big hullabaloo down on the beach that night, complete with a celebratory bonfire.
“And now she’s gone.”
Allison had said Suzanne was taking Denise’s death really hard. She could only imagine. Denise and Suzanne had been childhood friends just like her, Dena, and Frannie. Inseparable. She unfurled her rotund self from the couch, washed down the ice cream sandwich mes
s off the patio, pulled out a box of Thin Mints, and remembered she needed to call Dena and Frannie. This was not going to be easy. She placed a three-way call…she couldn’t imagine having to repeat the story twice. The three of them talked and cried for over an hour.
“How did we let this happen? We did so good for what, ten years?” Frannie’s nasal voice sounded like she had been pinching her nose instead of crying uncontrollably. “She’d been in remission for about a year the last time we were together, right?”
“Fucking lung cancer.” Dena sounded like she could bite through metal.
“Dena!” both Frannie and Janie harped.
“Well, deal with it.” Dena huffed. “That sweet thing didn’t even smoke.”
“She did have a cigarette every time she had to get us back in at curfew.” Janie had finished half the box of Thin Mints.
“I hardly think that’s enough to give her fu….” Dena paused. “Cancer.”
“Yeah, I agree,” Frannie said. “Giving Denise an occasional reason to smoke a cigarette doesn’t make me feel as guilty as us not staying in touch.”
“We’re a bunch of low-class morons,” Dena fumed. “Shame on us.”
“Stop it, I feel bad enough.” Frannie blew her nose, causing Janie to pull her ear away from the phone. “We’ll do it. We’ll get together for Denise.”
“So, we’re on? Two weeks from this weekend? Everybody’s calendar clear?” Janie ran her tongue around her upper teeth, working to dislodge bits of mint cream and chocolate.
“Allison taking care of the others? What about Piper?” Dena asked.
“Yeah, she said she’d take care of Piper, whatever that means.” Janie half-chuckled. “I got you guys. And Suzanne’s not a problem, but Allison’s gotta deal with Piper and Regina.”
“Tell Allison I’ll help if she has a problem with either of those two hellions,” Dena said. “Never mind, give me her number, I’ll call her myself.”
Chapter 14
Frannie – 1992
Life hadn’t turned out the way she’d thought it would. But then again, that was not a totally accurate statement. She would actually have had to have a plan for it to not turn out right. A plan that took her past high school. Crap. Life had taken many twists and turns, mostly by her own, uh…what should she call them? Oh yeah, mistakes. But freeing herself from the “people-pleaser-always-put-others-first-goodie-two-shoes” persona had its price.
She hadn’t really started acting out until her parents had lowered the boom about not being able to continue college after her sophomore year. Just in time for her brother, Tim, to start at Sam.
“And with a car? He’s going off to college with a damn car? This is beyond ridiculous. Do you know how hard it’s been for me to not have any transportation for the last two years?” Using her fury to cover her hurt feelings, she slung bitterness toward her parents that resembled a Linda Blair scene from The Exorcist. The look of horror on her parents’ faces confirmed she’d probably gone too far, but she couldn’t stop herself. “I can’t believe you actually don’t think I deserve an education. And I’m sick of hearing about Denny every time I come home.” Unleashed, Cat 5 Frannie hurled emotionally charged debris all through her parents’ house.
Still clinging to the fantasy Frannie and Denny were meant for each other, her mother had never stopped with the not-so-subtle hints.
“I hear Denny isn’t seeing that cheerleader anymore....”
“Did you see Denny’s name in the paper when U of H beat Tulane in the Bluebonnet Bowl?”
“You know, I saw Denny’s mother at the dentist….”
Each time her dad had tried to run interference, but the woman was unstoppable.
“Mother, I will never, n-e-v-e-r marry Denny. You’ve got to stop this!” She paced around her parents’ family room like a member of an ant farm on maneuvers. “Why would you want me to marry someone I don’t love?” Frannie’s internal rage was just getting stoked. “That’s as idiotic as not caring if I get an education. What happens if I don’t go the marriage route like you two? What if I don’t find someone to take care of me for the rest of my life?” Frannie air quoted someone. “What if I want more? That is so stupid!” She knew she’d crossed the unspeakable line by throwing the stupid word out there, but she didn’t care. Her entire upbringing had classified “stupid” as one of the words that shall not be mentioned. Ever.
“Sugar, do not call your mother stupid.” Frannie’s dad had blown the whistle for a time out, but Frannie ignored the call.
“Dad, that’s not what I said. I’m not calling her stupid, it’s her stupid idea about me and Denny. There’s a difference.” She heaved in a hot breath before exhaling her final dragon-fire statement. “And I will not, repeat not, move back in here. You cut off my education? Fine.”
Frannie could still see the shock and hurt on her parents’ faces. It had been the first time she’d stood up to them. Strings were cut that day, wounds had erupted that had been simmering for too long. Even now she didn’t regret what she’d said…it had to be done. Still, hurting people you love is never easy.
At Janie’s suggestions, she applied and got a job with Southwestern Bell. Frannie moved her stuff into Janie’s small duplex, making them roommates once again. She saved every penny and even worked overtime until she could afford a VW Bug with over a hundred and fifty thousand miles on the odometer. After finally securing her own transportation, she became adamant about getting her degree, despite her parents’ lack of financial backing. Frannie enrolled in night school at University of Houston’s downtown campus.
“I will get my degree.” She repeated the mantra as often as necessary. Her first two years at Sam she had majored in English, but journalism had always tugged at her heart. However, neither choice seemed realistic at that point in her life. She felt the need to be more practical, so with a more radical switch of gears, she decided on a business degree with a minor in accounting.
Frannie still wrote in her journal; in fact, she wrote all the time about different observations. Like once she’d seen a homeless man with dreadlocks sitting at a corner table at a Jack-in-the-Box, thoughtfully writing in a spiral notebook. What drove him to write? He didn’t look like he suffered from schizophrenia as did a number of homeless people. He seemed to have a gentle, philosophic nature about him, although he definitely appeared to be without any sort of permanent shelter. Those sort of life stories not only fascinated her, they were her passion. But how could she parlay that into something substantial enough to pay rent?
Her rebellious streak kicked in big time after her first semester at night school. Most got through this stage during their late teens, maybe? She just had a delayed ignition switch which had just…blown. Her choices of boyfriends plummeted way beyond horrible, and she ended up doing the unthinkable. She quit school…a direct violation of her I-will-get-my-degree slogan. She kept her employment at Southwestern Bell, but picked up a job bartending in the evenings and weekends. Her recent life decisions had wavered between being passive-aggressive to get back at her parents, or admitting her picker was just dang broken.
“What do you think?” she’d asked the bartender just coming off duty early one evening. Hank had joined Frannie at one of the outside tables at Little Woodrow’s before her shift started. Little Woodrow’s, a well-established sports bar, was known for their selection of craft beers, sporting events, attractive female wait staff…and more beer. “Why can’t I find someone decent? Am I doing this on purpose? You know, to get back at my parents?” She sipped on Diet Coke while Hank slipped a Shiner Bock longneck into a koozie, with a shot of Makers Mark nearby.
Hank downed the shot, his face contorting in a look of strained satisfaction. “I doubt I’m the one to give you advice. I’m working on restaurant management myself. And I’m certainly no shrink, but if I had to choose, I shoot for the picker thing.” He took a long draw from his beer. “Sounds easier to fix. Don’t know much about that passive-aggressive shit. Not sure
I want to either.”
Frannie had given the idea plenty of thought, even thumbed through her Psych 101 book from Sam, and decided it was probably a little of both. She had dated a biker dude, complete with a goatee, bandana, and a 1990 Harley Fatboy. Joe was really a nice guy, but it wasn’t necessary to bring him over, on the bike, to introduce him to her parents. They could have gone many moons without that image floating through their heads. Shortly thereafter, she’d found a new name tattooed on Joe’s chest that just happened to be the same as his ex-girlfriend. Yeah, that was enough of him. And just after she’d spent a wad on black leather pants and some Ray Ban Aviators.
Then there was Aaron, the guy who had a cocaine problem. Except she didn’t know he had a cocaine problem until he disappeared for two weeks. To her, he had just dropped off the face of the earth. She was so naive and scared back then, thinking something horrible had happened to this seemingly nice guy who went to work every day wearing a suit and tie. Looked respectable—again, naïve—until about 2:30 one morning, when she got a call from someone who wouldn’t identify herself, to say Aaron had wrecked his car and was in a hospital in Sequin.
“Sequin?” Jarred awake from a dead sleep, Frannie had pushed herself up to a sitting position. “But that’s…over two hours away!”
“Yeah, and he wants you to come get him.”
“When?”
“Now.”
“But it’s the middle of the night. What hospital is he—?” She’d heard the click ending the call.
Between Harley Fatboy and coke-head Aaron, she decided to leave Southwestern Bell and managed to land a job at an accounting firm, which meant her salary allowed her to quit bartending. Although changing jobs, she did keep the boyfriend she’d had for a while. Brian was also a bartender at Little Woodrow’s, didn’t have a Harley, and only occasionally smoked weed.
