The next day Sharon Marshall enrolled as a student at Forest Park High School.
The sizzling Georgia sun bore down hard on the dozens of teenagers waiting in line to enter the Grand Ballroom of the Krannert Center on the campus of Berry College.
It was Sunday, July 15, 1984, and the high school students were at the college campus in Rome, Georgia, for a summer leadership workshop. Throughout Georgia, students from freshman to senior classes elected their own council, and the representatives from the dozens of schools assembled each summer for a weeklong seminar prior to the new school year. The seminar was regimented, with classes entitled “Things You Need to Know,” “Parliamentary Procedure,” and “Group Dynamics.” Each day started early with breakfast at 7:30 A.M. and ended late, around 11 P.M.
Jennifer Fisher from Stone Mountain, Georgia, was among those standing in line. Stone Mountain was a suburb northeast of Atlanta, and Jennifer was entering her freshman year at Tucker High School. Six weeks earlier, as her junior high school year came to a close, she was elected to serve on the freshman student council.
The students were each handed a pencil and sheet of paper entitled “A Fun Thing,” and the first order of business on their first day was to make new friends. Underneath the title were directions for each student to “Find a person (not from your town) who fits the descriptions below and have them write their name on the line opposite their attribute. Do not use the same person more than once. GO!!!!!”
Each student was expected to pick someone out of the crowd to sign next to the description that fit them best. There were forty-seven descriptions in all, which varied from “lives at least one hundred miles from you” to “with glasses” to “wearing a Timex watch.”
Jennifer was friendly, but like most teens her age she was short on confidence and self-esteem. With brown hair that curled down the sides to her neck, Jennifer’s features were pleasant in a way that announced a certain sweetness. But as she stood on line with hundreds of other students, most of them older, Jennifer felt a tinge of nervousness. She entered the ballroom, looked down at the paper, and saw a description for a “preppie dresser—boy.” She spotted a skinny teen wearing a crisp polo shirt and clean jeans.
“Hi, I’m Jennifer. Think you can sign for me?”
The boy smiled, looked down, and scribbled in “Kevin.”
“Thanks,” said Jennifer, her confidence rising as she scoured the room for more signatures. After twenty minutes, thirty-two people had signed her sheet. Most were brief introductions, but the contact was somewhat awkward and uncomfortable, the conversation forced. This was her first student council camp, and she hoped to meet someone, really anyone, to engage in conversation. Looking out over the ballroom floor she let out a deep sigh as other students appeared to be talking and laughing, then she felt a tap on her shoulder.
“Hi, I’m Sharon. Do you think you can sign my sheet?” she said.
Sharon had the bluest of eyes and perhaps the nicest smile Jennifer had ever seen. She was the same height, just a wisp above five feet, and she was thin and attractive, even model-like.
“Sure,” said Jennifer, signing the line that read “is 5’ 2‘—eyes of blue.”
“Can you sign mine?” she said.
Sharon took the paper and signed line number 29, “planning to attend college.”
Jennifer looked at the signature. Sharon’s last name was Marshall.
“What college do you want to go to?” she said.
“Georgia Tech,” said Sharon. “I’m going to be an aerospace engineer and work for NASA.”
Jennifer was impressed.
The two girls started talking, and as the signature exercise came to an end twenty minutes later, they were still standing where they had met, giggling, laughing, and talking away as if they had known each other since birth. Their conversation focused on various subjects, from school to boys to their families. Jennifer’s father was a pilot for Eastern Airlines, her mother a housewife. Jennifer had an older brother, Butch, and a younger sister, Susan.
Sharon was an only child. Her mother had died when she was seven, killed in a hit-and-run accident. Her father, Warren, was a painter. She said she attended Forest Park High School and had finished the school year with A’s in each of her six subjects. She had entered Forest Park midyear, but had caught on quickly, was popular among her classmates, and by May had been elected to serve on the junior student council.
Walking out of the ballroom, they decided to attend the next class together, and as the week wore on, Sharon and Jennifer were inseparable, meeting for breakfast, going to workshops together, meeting again for dinner, and remaining with each other through evening activities. One night they joined a group making a human pyramid, and they all laughed hard when the teenage pile fell to the ground.
By the end of the week, on a sunny Friday morning when it was time to say good-bye, the two girls stood near a bank of vans and cars ready to take the students back to their respective schools.
They hugged each other and began to cry, thinking perhaps this would be the last time they would see each other. They didn’t want to let go of the bond that had formed.
“Sharon, give me your phone number and I’ll call you. You can come visit me at my house,” said Jennifer, wiping away the tears from her cheek.
Sharon paused a moment.
“I can’t give out my home number. I’m not allowed to,” she said.
“Your father won’t let you give out your phone number?” said Jennifer, somewhat surprised.
“Well, it’s just . . . I just can’t give it out,” said Sharon, who appeared to be uncomfortable. Jennifer moved quickly to help her new best friend. She reached into her bag and pulled out a pen and small piece of paper, wrote down her phone number, and instructed Sharon to call her.
The smile returned to Sharon’s face, and the two girls hugged, holding on tight for several more seconds.
Sharon watched as Jennifer boarded her van.
“You make sure you call me, OK?” said Jennifer.
“I will,” said Sharon, waving good-bye. “See you.”
Nearly a week had passed since Jennifer returned home to Stone Mountain from the student council camp, and she had yet to hear from her new friend, Sharon Marshall. Jennifer couldn’t stop talking about Sharon, telling her parents how well they got along together and how they laughed and talked and laughed and talked. Sharon was pretty and outgoing and had a sense of confidence Jennifer admired. Sharon seemed so sure of herself in many ways, a rarity for a teenager, and Jennifer was certain that a friendship had blossomed between two young girls on a college campus far from home.
Jennifer hoped she’d get a call the day she returned home, or over the weekend at the latest, and became more disappointed with each passing day and still no call from Sharon. Jennifer thought she’d found a friend, a close friend. Maybe Sharon had lost her number? Jennifer decided something wasn’t right, and if Sharon wasn’t going to call her, she’d call Sharon.
After dinner Jennifer went upstairs to her brother’s bedroom and closed the door. For some reason her older brother had a phone in his room, which was a cause of some friction between Jennifer and her parents. She fingered through the paperwork she took home from the student council camp and pulled out the directory, which listed students’ names and, to Jennifer’s relief, their phone numbers. She followed down the list of names to M and found Sharon Marshall, whose number was listed. Jennifer eagerly picked up the phone and dialed.
After two rings someone answered, “Hello?”
Jennifer instantly recognized the voice, and shot out “Sharon, it’s Jenny from student council camp!”
Jennifer was thrilled. She had found her friend.
Sharon, though, seemed less than pleased.
“Jennifer? How did you get my number?” said Sharon, who spoke softly but clearly sounded disappointed, if not angry.
This wasn’t the reaction Jennifer expected. She was thrilled to find Sharon’
s number and was ready to tell her how she missed her new friend. But Sharon didn’t sound happy to hear from Jennifer. Instead, she sounded odd.
“I went through the student council directory. Your number was there. Are you all right?”
“You weren’t supposed to call,” said Sharon. “My number is not supposed to be listed, and you weren’t supposed to call.”
Sharon’s voice now had a nervous shrill to it. This wasn’t the confident, happy girl that Jennifer had met at student council camp.
“Sharon, are you OK? Is anything wrong?”
Sharon didn’t answer, but Jennifer could hear a voice in the background, an older, male voice, screaming loudly, with Sharon giving panicky responses.
“Who is that on the phone?”
“It’s a friend, Daddy. A girl I met at camp last week.”
“How did she get this number!”
“I don’t know Daddy, I don’t know. I didn’t give it to her. I didn’t give it to her. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
Jennifer heard what sounded like quick and heavy foot-steps, then the phone being handled and slammed down on its cradle. Jennifer was startled. She stood there for several seconds, unsure of what had just occurred, then put the phone down and slowly walked downstairs to the kitchen, still trying to figure out what had just happened.
Five minutes passed when the kitchen phone rang. It was Sharon, and she sounded calmer, apologizing for what had happened earlier.
“My father was upset. I’m not allowed to give my number out. He didn’t understand where you found our number, but I’m glad you called me,” said Sharon.
Jennifer quickly forgot the previous exchange, and for the next hour the two girls chatted away, the weirdness from the first call vanishing quickly as the girls picked up where they’d left off at camp.
They talked about their week, and boys, which would become a favorite topic. Over the next two years they would spend half their conversations talking about boys: movie stars, teen idols, boys in school, athletes, whomever. If it had anything to do with a boy, they talked about it.
At the end of the conversation they agreed to talk again the next day at the same time, and Jennifer made the call. This time a male voice answered the phone. It was Sharon’s father.
He introduced himself as Warren and, despite the yelling she’d heard the night before, Jennifer decided he actually sounded nice.
“I’ve heard so much about you, I can’t wait to meet you,” he said. “You have to come over and stay a night at our home.”
Jennifer was thrilled with the invitation. Things were fine now. The two friends could talk, which they did nearly every night for the next month.
By the middle of August and a week before the start of a new school year, Jennifer received permission from her parents to invite Sharon to spend a night at the Fisher home. All Joel and Sue Fisher had heard Jennifer talk about lately was her new friend, and her parents were intrigued.
The invitation was extended, and Sharon Marshall arrived on a Saturday morning, standing in the driveway, gawking at the four-bedroom Tudor home set on a finely landscaped property.
“Oh my God! It’s huge!” yelled Sharon as Jennifer bounced out the front door to greet her friend. They hugged and smiled and giggled. Standing behind Sharon was her father, Warren, who was as impressed with the Fisher home as his daughter. The house was set on a wooded acre and a half, had a two-car garage and matching toolshed. Warren parked his muddied pickup truck in the driveway, behind the Mercedes 75 300D that belonged to Jennifer’s mother. On the front bumper of Warren’s car was a sticker that proclaimed, HE WHO DIES WITH THE MOST TOYS WINS.
“My daddy wants to meet your parents, OK?” said Sharon, whispering into Jennifer’s ear.
“That’s fine,” she answered.
Sharon turned around to her father.
“Daddy, this is Jennifer,” she said, pointing to her friend and smiling proudly.
“Hello, Jennifer,” said Warren. “I’m really happy to finally meet you.”
Warren had a pencil-thin mustache and was slightly bald with short, dark hair on the sides. He wore blue jeans, sneakers, and a red St. Louis Cardinals baseball T-shirt. Jennifer returned the greeting and invited Sharon and Warren inside, where she introduced them to her parents.
“And this is Sharon,” said Jennifer, proudly.
Mrs. Fisher gave Sharon a hug and commented on her clothing, a matching summer shirt and short pants outfit with short white socks and white sneakers so clean they appeared to be new.
Warren shook Joel Fisher’s hand.
“You have a beautiful home here,” said Warren, who told the Fishers that he was a painter and wouldn’t mind painting some of the homes in this neighborhood.
“A guy like me could do very well around here,” said Warren, reaching into the back pocket of his pants and pulling out his wallet.
“Here,” he said, giving a business card to Joel.
It read MARSHALL PAINTING SERVICE in black letters near the bottom. Underneath, in smaller typeface, Interior. Exterior. Residential. Commercial. Sober. Dependable. Trustworthy.
“If you ever need any work or know anyone who is looking for a painter, I’m the man,” said Warren, laughing out loud.
Joel took the card and slipped it into his shirt pocket. Warren said he’d pick up Sharon the next morning, said good-bye, walked to his truck, and drove away.
Sue and Jennifer took Sharon through their home, and Sharon’s head darted up and down and from side to side, taking in all the elegant furnishings and colorful accents. Between the “oohs and ahs,” Sharon whispered, “Wow!” into Jennifer’s ear. Sharon was respectful toward Jennifer’s parents, and proudly told them of her success in school and her dream of going to college. The Fishers were particularly impressed with Sharon’s desire to study aerospace engineering, not to mention her bubbly personality. Sharon was electric, and the Fishers were drawn into her bright light, pleased that their daughter had found such a fine friend. Perhaps, they thought, some of her youthful idealism and determination would rub off on their own daughter.
Following lunch, Sue drove Jennifer and Sharon to the nearby Northlake Mall in Tucker. It was a gathering place for teenagers and the two girls spent the afternoon ogling nearly every boy who passed them by. In one instance Sharon stopped, grabbed Jennifer’s arm, and said, “Oh my God, that guy is sooooo good looking!” She pointed to a boy who was standing about twenty feet away.
Jennifer looked at the boy, then leaned into Sharon’s ear.
“Sharon, that’s a girl.”
Sharon giggled. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, that’s a girl.”
“Wow!” said Sharon, who explained that she was near-sighted and didn’t like wearing her glasses. She wanted contacts, but her father couldn’t afford them, so from time to time she’d make some silly mistake, like seeing a girl for a boy.
The two girls laughed and joked about it as they continued their slow walk around the mall. They returned to the Fisher home at 5 P.M. and were greeted with a barbecue chicken dinner. Sharon easily joined the conversation and helped clean up afterward.
Following dinner the girls went up to Jennifer’s room, changed into their pajamas, and soon realized that they’d spent half the night talking. Jennifer couldn’t stop talking about boys. Sharon extended the conversation to other subjects, such as books, college, and careers.
Sharon liked to read Shakespeare and loved Romeo and Juliet. They decided to play out a scene, and Jennifer turned red with embarrassment. Sharon was actually good.
“Romeo, oh Romeo,” said Sharon, who wrapped herself in a sheet but couldn’t help but giggle at her poor English accent. Jennifer was enthralled. She had never known anyone her own age whose interests included Shakespeare and poets and philosophers.
She was glad she’d met Sharon Marshall.
Warren returned the following morning and offered a loud “hello!” Sue offered him a cup of coffee, which Warren
readily accepted.
He asked Joel if he’d had a chance to ask around for any painting jobs.
Joel said no, reminding Warren that they’d just met the day before.
“Well, when you ask around, you tell your friends that I’ve been painting for over twenty years. Not gonna get anyone better than me,” said Warren, who turned toward Sue. “And ma’am, you make some very good coffee.”
Sharon returned to the Fisher home two weeks later, with Jennifer sporting a wide smile as she answered the door. Upon entering the house, Warren politely asked if he could speak with Jennifer’s father.
“Is he home? I have some business I’d like to discuss with him,” said Warren.
Jennifer called out for her parents, yelling out that the Marshalls had arrived and that Mr. Marshall wanted to talk to Dad. Joel and Sue walked in together from the kitchen, and Joel took Warren aside into the living room. Jennifer turned to Sharon and asked what was going on, but Sharon shrugged her shoulders, said she had no idea, and the girls ran upstairs to Jennifer’s room.
The two men emerged some ten minutes later, and Warren said he’d be back to pick up Sharon the next morning, leaving Joel Fisher standing alone and shaking his head.
“What was that about?” said Sue, joining him.
“He wanted to borrow some money,” said Joel. “He said he’s doing some big painting job in the neighborhood but didn’t have the money to buy the paint and supplies.”
Joel turned down the request, even after Warren pleaded, saying he was desperate.
The request caught the Fishers off guard. It also left them confused. They had grown fond of Sharon Marshall in the short time they had come to know her. Her father seemed friendly and had produced a wonderful daughter. Sue suggested that perhaps Warren was in dire straits. After all, she said, he was a single parent.
CHAPTER 2
The new school year proved difficult for Jennifer Fisher, who struggled through most of her classes while trying to resume friendships with classmates from her previous year. The schoolwork was hard enough, reconnecting with old friends even harder. Sharon Marshall had become a positive force in her life, and with every phone call from Sharon, Jennifer’s spirits peaked. Her good humor did not go unnoticed by her parents, who were happy to learn that Sharon would be visiting their home again.
A Beautiful Child Page 2