by Ingrid Ricks
I could feel his smile through the phone line.
“I’m glad I could do this for you, Ingrid. But the person you really ought to thank is Debbie. She’s the one who gave me the money to get it fixed for you.”
I felt a twinge of guilt when he said that. I didn’t want it to be Debbie who paid for my car. This was Dad’s gift to me—the exchange for the child support he hadn’t been able to pay. The gift that he promised would set me free.
“Okay, tell her thank you for me,” I said into the phone. “That was really nice of her to give you the money to get it fixed. And thanks again, Dad. I know how hard it was for you to make this happen.”
We were both silent for a minute, maybe because we both recognized what the car symbolized: that we had reached a fork in the road and it was time to part ways.
“So what are you still doing talking to me?” Dad said, breaking the awkwardness that had blanketed the phone line. “I thought you’d already be out there taking your car for a test drive.”
“Okay, okay, I’m going,” I said with a laugh.
I hung up the receiver, sprinted down the hall, and grabbed a pair of winter boots sitting in the laundry basket Mom kept by the front door.
I shoved my feet into them, swung open the door, and ran through the snow to my car.
“Finally,” I whispered as I brushed the snow off the driver’s side door handle with the sleeve of my robe.
After a few hard tugs on the frozen handle, I managed to pry the door open and quickly claimed my spot on the black vinyl driver’s seat.
I opened the glove compartment just to make sure the key was really there. Then I leaned back into the headrest, took a deep breath, and kept my body still, letting my happiness seep through me, all the way into my fingers and toes.
I hadn’t even put the key in the ignition yet. But I knew I had made it to my destination.
I closed my eyes and whispered a thank you prayer to the universe.
EPILOGUE
SUMMER 1984
THE FERRY RIDE to Victoria, British Columbia, was breathtaking. I stood on the deck with Heather, listening to the crashing waves as the fresh air rushed against my face—carrying with it the smell of saltwater that I would come to associate with a fresh start.
It was the summer before my senior year of high school, only a year since Dad’s arrest and my final confrontation with Earl. But that seemed like a lifetime ago.
Though Dad still called home on a regular basis to check in, I hadn’t seen much of him since he had surprised me with my car. Just before her six-month leave was up, Debbie had quit her job as a telephone operator and had taken my place as his sales partner. They now crisscrossed the highways of the Midwest together; spending most nights sleeping in the back of the van Dad had recently swapped his truck for as they chased his million dollar dream.
Without Earl to drag down our days at home, the school year had flown by. I had worked twenty hours a week at the donut shop, and when not there or at school, I was with Heather—heading to the mall, going to the movies, hanging out, or cruising town in my beloved Volkswagen Beetle.
Mom still carried a heavy workload at the Health Department, but her smile was back and the dark circles were gone from under her eyes. She was still untangling herself from her marriage with Earl and was in no hurry to jump back into dating. After four years of slavery, Mom―like the rest of us―was savoring her freedom.
Like the five summers before, I said goodbye to Mom shortly after school let out. But this time, I wasn’t headed to the Midwest to sell tools with Dad. I was embarking on a three-week vacation—the first real vacation of my life.
Heather’s family had invited me to accompany them on their annual summer trip to their cabin in Canada. More and more, she and her parents were like a family to me.
Heather’s dad continued to correct my grammar whenever I misspoke and often talked about the importance of getting a college education. At home, we never discussed college. But Heather was in AP classes at school and it was a given that she would be going. And because of that, I knew I would be going too, and that one way or another, I was going to earn my college degree.
I felt the sun mixing with the wind and saltwater on my cheeks as I looked out at the beautiful scenery, taking in the rugged Olympic Mountains that framed the ocean inlet. I thought about how free and perfect life seemed, and how amazing it would be to live in the Pacific Northwest.
I thought about Connie, who had recently quit the community college she was attending and moved back to Jackson Hole, Wyoming. I understood now why she had decided to go back there. It made her feel what I was feeling now: free.
I remembered what she had told me about arriving in Jackson that first day after graduating from high school. She said she’d been walking into town with her friend Liz to grab some lunch and felt like she could finally breathe.
“It was like having all these burdens just go away all at once,” she told me, struggling to put her feelings into words. “It was like this crushing weight I had lived with for so long was just suddenly gone. I felt so free. And so happy.”
My thoughts turned to Heidi and my brothers. Heidi had just graduated from ninth grade and would be starting high school soon. She was still dealing with her asthma, but her asthma attacks were less frequent, and though we didn’t talk much, she appeared happy. I knew she had a group of friends she hung around with now. Jacob was as quiet and serous as ever, but I noticed that his face seemed lighter. Daniel was still everyone’s favorite. He would be turning seven soon and I was grateful that he would be celebrating his birthday without Earl in the house.
“You are going to love Victoria,” Heather said, interrupting my thoughts. “It has the feel of a European city. And wait until we get to Buchart Gardens. They’re the most amazing gardens you’ve ever seen.”
The only garden I had experience with was the half-acre vegetable garden Mom had planted in our backyard, and the idea of paying someone to see their garden was foreign to me. This trip had already been filled with a lot of firsts: My first visit to a Chinese restaurant. My first taste of seafood. My first ferry ride. My first trip to another country. A new world was opening up to me and I was determined to take it all in.
I thought about Dad and his obsession with becoming a successful, wealthy businessman. My gut ached for him sometimes. He worked so hard, harder than anyone I knew. I hoped it would happen for him. It had to happen for him.
Sometimes I missed being out on the open road, the rush of climbing into a car in the still-dark morning, hitting the gas pedal and just going―without knowing where I would end up. I didn’t yet know what kind of career I wanted as an adult, but whatever it was, I knew I would have to be free. I couldn’t sit in an office somewhere with a boss lording over me, telling me what to do. I was done with suffocating rules, I knew that for sure. But when I thought about the life I was going to create for myself, I also imagined it to be a lot like Heather’s life: steady and secure.
I inhaled the crisp, ocean air and smiled at Heather, feeling grateful and lucky to have her as my friend.
“Yeah. I love the feel of European cities, and the gardens sound amazing,” I said, not letting on that I had no idea what I was talking about. “Can’t wait to check them out.”
FALL 2011: WHERE WE ARE NOW
MY DAD AND Debbie eventually built a multi-million dollar prepaid telecom company, then lost everything in the telecom crash of 2000. They have since adopted four children from Russia and my dad, now in his early seventies, is back at it again — working to build his next million-dollar business. At the height of my dad’s success in the telecom industry, he surprised my mom with a check containing all of the back child support her owed her.
Three years after divorcing Earl, my mom married John, a Mormon convert from England. He was a kind, generous man. Together, they served Mormon missions in India, Myanmar and Indiana.
Connie lives on five acres of land in Florida surrounded by hor
ses, dogs and cats. She recently earned her master’s degree in information systems.
After graduating from the University of Utah with a degree in communications, I briefly worked at two small newspapers in Utah before moving to Seattle, where I met my husband, John. I spent years alternating between freelance writing and marketing before embracing my writing dream full-time thanks in large part to our two daughters, who taught me that pursuing my dream is the best example I can set for them.
Heather and I remain close friends.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I COULDN’T HAVE told this story without the help of Connie, who has been an incredible friend and supporter throughout all the years I have worked on it. Along with reading and re-reading the manuscript, she has spent hours on the phone with me, sharing her memories and thoughts from our childhood, and correcting any inaccuracies she found.
I also couldn’t have moved forward with this book if I didn’t have the love and full support of my parents. This story covers challenging times and events that I know they would both like to forget. But they understood how important it was for me to tell this story and have both stood behind me—which means everything to me.
I owe a special thanks to my husband, John Janeway, who convinced me that Hippie Boy was a story worth telling, encouraged me when I got discouraged, and constantly prodded me to dig deeper when he felt the writing wasn’t what it could be. Thanks also to my daughters, Sydney and Hannah, whose belief in me is worth the world.
I couldn’t have finished this book without the incredible feedback and guidance I received from my editor, Erin Brown. I also owe a big thanks to Filina Niemeyer, Heather Riley, Nicole Healy, Sydney Janeway, Juli Saeger Russell, Libby Hyland, Andrea Ziegler, Yamilet Reyes, Pam Perry, Stephanie Hall, Grace Ashford, Casey Kleinman, Mary Moore, Kayla Moore, Lesley Boyd, Mark Rubenstein, Janice Papolos and Janet Rosen, who all volunteered their time to read early drafts of this manuscript and provided detailed, invaluable feedback. Thanks also to my incredible writer friends and Scribd sisters, Thea Chard, Suzanne Rosenwasser and Laura Novak, and to the rest of the Scribd community.
Note: For privacy reasons, some names have been changed in this book.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
INGRID RICKS IS a Seattle-based writer and speaker who focuses on overcoming adversity and embracing life. She is currently partnering with a Seattle-area high school, using Hippie Boy: A Girl’s Story as a guide to help at-risk teens claim their power by finding their voice and writing their stories. She is also collaborating on the development of an ongoing writing/empowerment workshop for teens. Ingrid lives in Seattle with her husband and two daughters and when not writing, she can be found at soccer games, ice hockey games, the beach, the local jazz club or Aster, her all-time favorite coffee shop. Hippie Boy: A Girl's Story is her first book. She is also the author of A Little Book of Mormon (and Not So Mormon) Stories, a collection of short memoirs and essays.
Thank you for reading Hippie Boy! For more information, visit: www.ingridricks.com. Hippie Boy reading guides can be downloaded at: http://ingridricks.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/book-club-questions.pdf
Interested in reading Hippie Boy: A Girl’s Story for your Book Club? Bulk paperback discounts are available – along with a live author Q & A via Skype. For more information, please contact Ingrid at: [email protected]
Table of Contents
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
Table of Contents
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18