Hindsight

by Rhonda Taylor Madge

  I soon began to second-guess myself.

  The job with Budweiser was a great job. What have I done? I’m not smart enough to be a drug rep. I’m not going to get this job, and I’ve already turned down the other one. Why would they want me? I only have a two-year degree and it took me three years to get that.

  I felt I was making the right decision at the time, but not now. I tossed and turned most of the night. However, as the alarm sounded in my ear, I arose with a new attitude.

  I wore a fitted navy dress with elbow sleeves and a small, narrow belt. I purchased navy pumps to match. Thankfully, my beauty pageant days had taught me how to carry myself with confidence. I held my shoulders back and flashed the Miss Stewart County smile as I entered the room.

  Mr. Nicol stood to greet me. He was tall and looked regal in his dark suit. I couldn’t help but notice the cufflinks that adorned his monogrammed cuffs.

  I shook his hand with a firm grip and sat down, inhaling deeply.

  The questions were fairly general as he read from my resume. I was able to avoid telling him I had been married by saying I went to work after high school and worked my way through college. He seemed satisfied with my answer.

  We met for one hour and he scheduled a two-hour interview after graduation two weeks later. He said it was necessary to see my transcripts before we met again.

  Graduation day came and went and Mother and Howard Lee came to celebrate with me. I could still tell she was worried I had made a mistake by not taking the Budweiser job.

  Thankfully, the next meeting with Mr. Nicol came quickly enough.

  “Rhonda, your transcripts are quite impressive, especially the last semester. I noticed that you had a slow start, but the part that catches my eye is the fact that your best grades were when you had eighteen hours while working thirty-two. Not many people can do that.”

  “Thank you very much,” I replied.

  “This tells me that you work well under pressure, which is a plus. The pharmaceutical industry is fast paced and highly competitive. Do you think you could continue this gait?”

  “Yes, sir. I feel certain that I could. I realized during the last semester that the more I had to do, the more accomplished I felt. It was a good feeling.”

  As we departed, he said he would be in touch. I waited and continued to wait while working at the pharmacy.

  Finally, during the second week of August, after waiting three months since my last interview, the call came. Mr. Nicol asked, “Rhonda, what would you think about moving to Little Rock, Arkansas?”

  “Little Rock?” I asked with a higher octave than normal. “Really? I’ve never been to Little Rock.”

  He explained, “An opening just became available and I would like to officially offer you the position if you are interested.”

  “Are you kidding? Yes!”

  “Rhonda, the starting salary is $18,000.00, and we’ll give you a company car, stock options, 401K, and health benefits. Do you think that will work for you?”

  I could barely breathe. With tears in my eyes I answered, “Yes, Mr. Nicol. I accept.”

  “You can call me Bill.”

  The first person I called was Mother. She couldn’t believe it. “You did it, Rhonda. I have to be honest, I had my doubts, but you followed your gut instincts. I’m proud of you, Sweetheart,” she said.

  Then I called Andy and Lisa. “I got the job! I couldn’t have done this without you guys. How do I ever thank you?”

  I couldn’t believe my good fortune. I knew I had reason to celebrate, but all I could think about was moving to Little Rock.

  NINE

  “Consider and answer me, O Lord my God…”

  Psalm 13:3

  Little Rock was far from the fields of Bumpus Mills, miles from front-porch kisses and late-night sorority parties, and just far enough that I could begin a new identity. I was pretty sure my past couldn’t follow me across the state border.

  I packed up the few things I owned from my apartment and took it all to Mother’s. We loaded the boxes in the living room near the spot Paul and I’d sat in for two years, sneaking kisses. A deluge of water had passed under the bridge since then.

  A few days later, the moving van arrived to transport my belongings to Arkansas. As the movers carried each box outside, the reality hit me. My family had not traveled much beyond Tennessee, and all of a sudden Little Rock seemed like a foreign country. Mother and I had been through a lot together. How would I ever say good-bye to her? We embraced with the beats of our hearts in sync.

  “I love you, Mama.”

  “Rhonda, I love you more.”

  “Howard Lee, I’m so thankful she has you. I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving her here alone.”

  We hugged again before I drove away, dreaming about my new beginning.

  **********

  Upon arrival in Little Rock, Marion Laboratories moved me into a hotel and packed my belongings into a storage unit. My first six weeks were divided between Louisville, Kentucky, and Kansas City, Missouri, for training.

  Bill, my manager, met me on that first Monday morning and placed three five-inch-thick books before me. I couldn’t even pronounce most of the words contained in those pages. Bill instructed me to take the first two days to read through them in my hotel room before I left for Louisville to begin training with a rep in her territory.

  All at once the fear from deep within me surfaced, calling into question my decision and abilities.

  I can’t do this job! I have a degree in office management. Tests are required every other day. I’m not smart enough. Mother told me when I was little that our family weren’t book-smart people.

  How am I going to be successful? I questioned. Andy seemed to think I could do it, but why? Then I remembered him saying I had good people skills when I worked at the pharmacy. Is that my key to success? He taught me it’s not what you say to someone that matters, but how you say it that counts.

  The first five weeks went smoothly, but I dreaded the last week in Kansas City where I would meet other new hires. The class I was taking was the first in the history of the company in which there were more women than men, and we were all single. The talking heads gave us a little speech about “looking for love in all the wrong places.”

  The first day a representative from Brooks Brothers, the clothing store, came to speak to us. We were to dress for success. I was only permitted to wear suits with skirts, stockings, and high heels. Of course, my oversized bobbed hairdo and red-stained lips complimented my conservative daily ensemble.

  I didn’t say much in class, and if called on I would freeze up. My self-confidence regarding the material I was learning was in short supply, and I was scared to death of saying something wrong. I figured it was best to keep my mouth shut.

  On the third day of that week, the trainers divided the group in half for a friendly game. We were placed across from each other with enough space in-between to toss a Frisbee. The object was to see which team could answer the most questions correctly. The Frisbee was given to a person and that person was to throw it to someone on the opposing team. The one who caught it was the person who had to answer the question.

  As the other team prepared to throw the Frisbee, I heard, “Throw it to Rhonda. She won’t be able to answer it.”

  I had to plant my feet firmly on the floor in order to keep from running out of the room.

  I’m stupid and they know it.

  In my emotional state my mind went completely blank, which proved their point nicely. The sales trainer came right over to me and said, “I’m so sorry you were treated that way.”

  I assured her I was fine.

  Once again, I cried myself to sleep that night. By this point in my life, I was used to it.

  Friday arrived along with the final exam. It took two hours to finish and my nerves operated in overdrive. After finishing, we trainees left the classroom to take a break, which I desperately needed. When we returned to our seats we found our exams
had been returned, with the results face down on our desks. I took a deep breath as I carefully lifted my test paper and peeked on the front side. I’d received a 92%. I had passed the exam and was headed home to Little Rock with great relief. I could not wait to finally move into an apartment and start the process of learning my own sales territory.

  It didn’t take long to find a one-bedroom apartment nestled on the west side of the city. I enjoyed shopping and buying furniture to set up my new home. Memories came back from when I had tried to make a home with Bruce, but this was entirely different. For starters I had money. It was strange not having to worry about how every dollar was spent. Other than a student loan, I paid rent and utilities. Having a company car was a bonus I didn’t fully appreciate until I experienced the benefits firsthand. The company not only paid for the car, but maintenance, gas, and insurance, as well.

  Historically, the pharmaceutical industry had been a man’s world. There was only one other female rep in the entire state of Arkansas. As I began my territorial rounds, I learned quickly the nurses were overly protective of their doctors. They were used to the male reps making calls and didn’t seem fond of a red-lipped, Southern girl finding her way into their offices. I knew if I couldn’t get past the receptionists and nurses to talk to the doctors, how would I ever get a doctor to prescribe my product? I had to make friends and make them fast. Mama had always told me the quickest way to anyone’s heart is through their stomach, so I fed them. I bought all things chocolate, knowing what women like most. And most assuredly, I confirmed to each of them how important they were.

  I burned up the road south of Little Rock, hitting every town with a family practice doctor. We were to visit every doctor once every six weeks, then start the rotation all over again.

  **********

  The first year passed quickly and before I knew it the Marion Laboratories National Awards Meeting was upon us. I didn’t expect to win anything, even though Bill had told me about the coveted “Junior Rep of the Year” award.

  On the final evening, a black tie dinner and awards ceremony was held. Table seats were assigned, and I found I was the only girl at mine. The excitement arose within the room as names were called for different accolades.

  “The 1984 Junior Rep of the Year goes to the individual that from day one made the decision she would not only work hard, but work smart by building relationships with her customers. This rep has documented success reflected by the sales increase within the territory. It is my honor to present this award to Rhonda Taylor.”

  I continued to sit in my chair as everyone stood and applauded. Had only one year passed since I had cried for weeks trying to learn the material to sell? Someone shook me back to reality. I staggered to the stage in my new black pumps. Handshakes and pats upon my back left me speechless, but nothing as much as what happened next.

  After accepting the award, I walked back to my table to find the sales trainer who had consoled me on that awful day of training, running to me and saying, “You just showed all those reps who made fun of you. You’ve got the personality that will take you places regardless of how difficult the material is for you to learn. You are a great rep and don’t you forget it.”

  I didn’t know how to respond to such encouragement.

  **********

  Snuggled in my bed back home in Little Rock, I awoke to the ringing of the phone at my bedside.

  “Hello?” I answered.

  “Rhonda, you are going to have to come home next month. A woman called from the State of Tennessee and said they need both of us to go before the parole board in Nashville. Will that work for you, Honey?” Mother sounded concerned.

  “I can be there, Mother. You don’t think they will actually let him out, do you?” I asked, still half asleep. I sat on the edge of my bed as it was early Saturday morning, and unbeknownst to Mother, I had been out quite late celebrating my award.

  “I don’t know. I just know he’s sick and there’s going to be a hearing. So, yes, there is that possibility.” The tone of her voice changed from concern to anger.

  “I can’t believe this, Mother. I’ll be there.” This couldn’t be good.

  Amos Ingle, the man who intentionally murdered my father six years earlier and was sentenced to life in prison, had developed heart problems while serving time. As a result, he was costing the state a substantial amount of money to pay for his medical care.

  **********

  Mother had been advised to start a petition in Stewart County and gather as many signatures as possible to keep him behind bars. Then together, we would go before the parole board and plead our case.

  Dreadful emotions of anger and bitterness came flooding back into my heart. I thought I had left all of my problems and feelings of brokenness back in Tennessee. However, I discovered a person’s past can certainly travel across state lines. It seemed my happiness was once again crashing to the ground.

  **********

  Massive, dark buildings loomed before us. Evil seemed to lurk from behind the walls as we entered through the metal doors of the prison. We were treated as criminals ourselves as a security officer padded our bodies down. I shivered as I thought about seeing Amos.

  Mother, Howard Lee, and I sat before two men and two women who made up the parole board. I was not prepared to see the man who shortened my daddy’s life. Amos walked into the room wearing a pair of jeans and a blue shirt with a number on the pocket. He took a seat at the end of the table at an angle next to me. His cuffed hands clanked as he laid them upon the table. The familiar numbness rushed over my body.

  He certainly didn’t look sick. He just looked like a slightly older version of the man who had shot my daddy in the back of the head six years before.

  The questioning didn’t last long. The board members asked Mother a few quick questions and resolutely denied his parole. For the time being, that is.

  A few short months later, we were asked to return for another hearing. Again, Amos sat just a few yards away from me. This time, his sister attended, assuring the board that she would care for him and keep him out of any trouble if they would grant his release.

  After her plea to the board, Amos turned and looked me directly in the eye.

  “Please, please let me spend my last dying days at home with my mother, who is very ill,” he begged.

  Anger erupted inside of me and I shot back at him, “Why didn’t you think about that when you took my daddy from me? I would still have him today if it weren’t for you!”

  I fought back tears as a kaleidoscope of memories with Daddy rushed through my head. My heart hurt and my anger consumed every inch of my body.

  “Parole denied,” stated the parole board spokesman.

  As we walked out of the hearing, one of the female board members told Mother it was one of the hardest cases they had ever reviewed. It was a battle between what was right judicially and the state’s balance sheet.

  However, the eventual outcome did not rest on any of our emotions or decisions. Two weeks later, the governor of Tennessee released Amos Ingle. He was free to spend the last days of his life with his dying mother in Bumpus Mills. He passed away a few months later on May 25, 1985.

  **********

  It was hard to believe that I had lived in Little Rock for almost four years. In a short amount of time I had what I most desired: a career, new car, closet full of clothes, stock, and money in the bank. So why did I feel so empty? Where was the contentment I longed for? On Friday nights I traded my suits and stockings for tight jeans, shirts with shoulder pads, bigger hair, and rosier lips to head out for a night on the town, week after week, usually greeted by the same people looking for love.

  Monday mornings usually meant packing my car to spend a couple of nights on the road, making sales calls to doctors. This particular week was no different. I packed my bags for El Dorado in order to see a group of physicians bright and early the following morning. The miles passed as the sun lowered in the distance, ZZ Top blasting on the
radio.

  Suddenly, from behind the wheel of my car, an overwhelming feeling of regret and remorse flooded over me.

  Who am I? I don’t even know anymore.

  I held it together until I pulled into the Holiday Inn for the night. The desk attendant, whom I’d gotten to know well from all my visits, asked, “Are you okay, Rhonda?”

  “Yes, I’m just not feeling well. But thanks for asking.”

  I made it to my room with the familiar flowered bedspreads.

  I’ll go have a drink. That will help. I don’t want to think about my past.

  I sat down at the bar and was joined moments later by a guy who wanted to spill his guts to someone who would listen. I couldn’t be that person. I had my own stuff to deal with. As I got up to leave, he grabbed my arm and begged, “Don’t go.” He held on a little too tightly. I jerked away from him and hurried away quickly. As soon as I entered my room the phone rang.

  “Can I come and join you?”

  I slammed down the receiver and put a chair in front of the door. I called the front desk to let them know a man was frightening me. I didn’t hear anything else from him that night.

  I threw myself across the sunflowers on the bedspread and wept. I felt as though I was playing a game of tug of war, only I was the rope being pulled and stretched in both directions.

  I’m not the girl I used to be! I can never be her again.

  I gasped for air. “God? Are You here?” I slipped off the side of the bed, landing on my knees. The ever-present Gideon Bible caught my eye from the corner of the small nightstand. I grabbed it and frantically flipped through the pages, hoping to find words of comfort. None came. I didn’t know where to look.

  My heart pounded as tears flowed uncontrollably. After what seemed like hours, my cries became a laundry list of questions.

  How could God forgive me?

  How could He love me after all the things I’ve done?

  Why did You take Daddy from me, God?

  “I need to know these things, God!” I yelled out loud, hoping He would hear me.