by Lee, Terry
~~~
The month was August and it was time for freshman orientation at Sam Houston State University. “Sam” was located sixty miles north of Houston, nestled in the small town of Huntsville, TX, adjacent to the Sam Houston National Forest and the piney woods of East Texas.
A male with decent grades and a draft number above 125 most likely headed to college. Dropping a son off for freshman orientation probably required less drama and a much quicker ordeal. However, surrounding the women’s freshman dorms, cars packed way past capacity filled the parking lots, while frenzied parents and deliriously hyped-up females performed repeated Army maneuvers from car to dorm room. Without the availability of microwaves or mini refrigerators, an essential for a top functioning dorm room included an electric popcorn popper…the kind that actually required oil and popcorn kernels. These popping devices could also heat a can of soup or Spaghetti-Os. A coil immersion heating device was handy to brew a cup of water for hot chocolate, a Cup-O-Soup, instant coffee, or tea. Remember, 1972…there were no hot air popcorn poppers, and no bags to throw in a microwave for a quick snack. If you were fortunate to actually know your roommate before arriving on campus for freshman orientation, color-coordinated room decors could be included in the haul coming out of the parents’ cars. And some girls, the lucky ones, even had their own vehicles.
The eight girls in question had been assigned to one of the oldest dorms on campus. And…on the ground floor. Ground floor meaning the dorm had been built on a hill, and not only was the main floor one level above, but to see the street from a ground floor window required looking up.
Disclaimer:
The stages listed below are taken from Erik Erikson’s
Eight Stages of Man with some embellishment from Wikipedia.
Stage of Development 5: Identity vs Confusion
(Ages 12-18…or 19, 20+…whatever it takes)
Basic Virtue: Fidelity
The crossroads between adolescence and adulthood.
The adolescent is newly concerned with how they appear to others and begins to question their existence on the planet. Who am I? What is important?
What sort of person do I want to be?
If the adolescent is successful in this stage, she or he will emerge with a strong sense of self and a lasting ability to stay true to who they aspire to be and their new-found beliefs.
If society is too insistent, the teenager will acquiesce to external wishes, effectively forcing him or her to “foreclose” on experimentation and, therefore, true self-discovery.
The adolescent will be unsuccessful and emerge with a weak sense of personal identity and confusion about their place in the world.
These age ranges are actually quite fluid, especially for
the achievement of identity, since it may take many
years (literally) to become grounded, to identify the
object of one’s fidelity, to feel that one has found their
place on the planet.
Chapter 3
Allison Jennings - 1972
“You know your dad wanted to drive you today.” Allison’s mom gripped the steering wheel like it was the only device keeping her inside the car. Mrs. Jennings made the word tense seem more like a day at the beach. “He tried to find someone to take his place, but, you know your dad, there’s just no one who can do his job.”
Allison rolled her eyes as if she didn’t know this information. In fact, she knew way more than her mother about her dad’s position as Head Field Director of the NCIS Corpus Christi Training Center. It was her, not her mother, who listened to all his stories about his job. It was her, not her mother, who watched Perry Mason with her dad every week. And it was her, not her mother, who had cried when the series ended in 1966. She was twelve.
“I know Ma, it’s okay. Really.” She listened to her mother rattle on about her dad’s long hours and now Allison would be gone too, and what was she going to do? How was she going to handle everything?
“Ma, don’t forget you have two other daughters, and they’re not in diapers. They can help.”
“But you’ve always been the one….” Mrs. Jennings words dissipated. She tightened her hold on the steering wheel, if that was possible.
“I’m just gonna close my eyes for a bit, okay?” Allison leaned her head toward the window. She mouthed a silent thank you that she hadn’t inherited her mother’s worry genes, and tended to have more of her dad’s self-assurance and leadership traits.
Allison Jennings had shot up close to five foot ten back in the tenth grade. Living in Corpus, she had become an avid surfer, played softball each year with the local civic club, and generally enjoyed anything that had to do with being outdoors. She grew up being a tomboy, and definitely a daddy’s girl. When his schedule allowed, they’d drive up to Houston to catch a couple of baseball games at the Astrodome. When it didn’t, they’d settle for shooting hoops in the driveway.
She had two younger sisters, both into girly stuff and much closer to being mama’s girls than she ever had been. Her mother had sewn most of their clothes growing up, and Allison absolutely refused—like rolling-around-on-the-ground refused—to wear anything with ruffles. Unwillingly, her mother acquiesced and made her clothes more tailored, while adding extra flair to the younger sisters’ wardrobes.
Dating had been so-so for most of high school. Not much to write home about. She’d assumed her height scared a lot of guys off as far as anything serious. However, she had tons of guy friends, mostly involved in sports and surfing. She had girlfriends too, but she wasn’t much into the slumber party scene or wrapping houses, as most females her age seemed to enjoy. She’d just as soon stay home and watch her favorite crime shows, especially Hawaii Five-O…book ‘em, Danno.
For a while she had actually thought something might be wrong with her. Why didn’t she have dates like her other friends? But one day everything changed. Like a switch had been flipped, just that fast. Even though still every bit a tomboy, some hormonal surge kicked into high gear and altered her perspective on life…and the male species.
At one of the high school basketball games her senior year, a guy from the opposing team drove the ball down the court. Bam! Something freeze-framed inside of her. Her stomach knotted; her throat felt as parched as swallowing dry popcorn after running out of Coke. For the rest of the game, she followed this guy’s every move, even when he sat on the bench. He wore jersey #25, and the only time she pried her eyes away was to grab her friend’s program. #25–Kevin Leeves.
She had no idea what was happening. What she did know was that she had to meet him. Like a scene right out of The Godfather, she felt she’d been struck by a thunderbolt. The same one that had zapped Michael Corleone in Sicily when he first laid eyes on Apollonia. The Godfather had been and still remained her favorite novel. Recently brought to the big screen, her reaction to the thunderbolt theory had remained the same…a little far-fetched. Until now.
After the game, she did something only a ridiculous groupie would do. She planted herself somewhere between the locker room exit of the basketball stadium and the bus that would take #25 and his team back to Gregory-Portland High School. Allison’s mind had time-traveled forward, weaving a hopefully convincing conversation starter. Unfortunately, none of that materialized into actual words by the time she saw him walking to the bus. In a total un-Allison move, she literally bumped into him, which turned out to be a little more forceful than intended, and stumbled through some stupid question like, “Hey, isn’t your name David? Didn’t we meet at…?”
He was kind, apologized for bumping into her (yeah, like it was his fault), and introduced himself as Kevin. Anxious to continue the shaky conversation, Allison proceeded with, “Oh really? You look just like this guy named David.” She bit the side of her lip, then remembered she needed to be charming. She tried to smile, hoped she did, but didn’t have a clue what expression she wore. “You know, I’m in Portland all the time.” Really? When was the last time you drove
twenty miles to cross the Harbor Bridge? “Maybe we could meet up and have a Coke…or something…sometime.”
There was a moment, however brief, when their eyes locked. Still in “thunderbolt” mode, maintaining eye contact was not difficult for Allison, though she felt like she was making mud in her shoes from the nervous sweats. Was it a minute or a year before he answered?
Keeping the eye lock, his face softened. “Sure, I’d like that.”
“Great!” Allison said, a bit too intensely for someone trying to act casual. Her legs felt rubbery when she turned and headed to her car. Had she really just done that? Where in the hell had all that come from? She’d never experienced a-n-y-t-h-i-n-g like that before. Holy shit!
“Hey.” Kevin tapped on her shoulder, causing her to nearly bite the dust in the parking lot as if someone had kicked the back of her knees. “I don’t even know your name.”
Regaining what measly composure she had in her reserve tank, Allison flipped her hair back in what she hoped to be a sexy move, which proved to be difficult since her sun-bleached hair barely reached her shoulders. “Oh yeah.” She extended her hand. “I’m Allison…Jennings.”
He took her hand. “Nice to meet you, Allison Jennings. And…can I have your phone number?”
She realized they were still holding hands only because her own firm grip refused to disengage. Yes, he can he have my phone number…and anything else he wants. The only reason she forced her hand free was to write her number on a receipt she had dug out of her purse. She stopped before handing it over. Having already made a fool out of herself, she saw no reason to stop now. “You know, I’ve got sisters who are on the phone all the time.” She rolled her eyes, trying to emphasize what a pain little sisters were. She’d have to apologize later for using them in her ploy. “Why don’t you give me yours…you know…just in case?” Just in case you lose that grungy receipt I just scribbled on…or worse, forget to call.
Thankfully, oh yes, thank you, he smiled and nodded. She tore the receipt in half and handed him the pen.
What a romantic moment…the only one she’d ever had. Standing in the parking lot of the basketball stadium with a guy who…a guy who…hell, she couldn’t even articulate the feeling/sensation. How did anyone describe a feeling or emotion they’d never had before?
“Allison, there’s someone named Kevin on the phone for you,” her mother yelled up to the second floor. Nearly busting the banister clean off the stairs, Allison clambered down to grab the receiver off the table. It had been a week, and she had dialed his number at least a dozen times but ended up pressing the disconnect button before the first ring.
She heaved in several enormous breaths, trying to stop the pounding of her chest, before she cleared her throat and worked to steady the phone up against her ear.
“Hello?” She hoped she sounded like she’d just finished painting her fingernails, which would have been a lie since polish had never been on her nails, but he didn’t know that.
“Hi…uh, Allison? You may not remember me, but we met at the basketball game. I’m from Gregory-Portland?”
Allison purposely clamped her mouth shut and silently counted to five to keep from jumping through the phone.
“Oh yeah, I remember.” She did the girlie hair toss again, even though no one was there to see it. “What was your name? Wait, don’t tell me….” God, she had no idea how to flirt. She needed a handbook. “Kevin. Is that right?”
From then on, they talked for hours several nights a week and dated often, but not exclusively, since being from different schools over twenty miles apart turned out to be difficult. However, when they were together, nothing else mattered. Allison had never felt like this. The two of them had some special connection of sorts, which didn’t sound strong enough for the way they felt about each other. Chemistry? Karmic destiny? She’d heard about past lives, soul mates, that kind of thing, but had never had reason to give it much thought. Until now. She literally felt she’d known him all her life…and then some.
Since Allison didn’t really have a close “girlfriend,” and talking to her mother about something like this was totally out of the question, she kept all these feelings to herself. She knew Kevin felt the same about her. They often talked about this strange whatever-you-want-to-call-it thing between them. But she needed someone besides the object of her obsession with whom to discuss the object of her obsession. However, there was no one except Bella, the family cocker spaniel, who got an earful daily and happened to be female. Bella would have to do.
Although sailing through unchartered territory, Allison just knew they were supposed to be together…like the forever kind of forever. She’d never felt anything so strong in her entire life, and if she and Kevin didn’t make that somehow happen, they’d regret it. They often talked about living happily ever after, growing old, sitting in rocking chairs down at their retirement beach house, but never quite got around to the logistics of how that was going to happen. Even though they’d be heading in different directions after high school, they still believed it would happen…someday.
Kevin and her dad were the two people she’d miss most went she left for Sam Houston. Kevin wanted to study law and had chosen the University of Houston. Her decision to go to Sam was due to a direct interest in her dad’s career as an NCIS Field Director. Sam Houston had an outstanding Criminal Justice Department.
Chapter 4
Frannie Bennett - 1972
“You sure you’re okay?” They’d been on the road for less than thirty minutes, heading north to Huntsville, yet Frannie’s mom had repeated the same question three times. And the reply remained the same.
“I’m fine, Mom.” And she was, or at least she hoped to be in a year or two…or ten. She’d spent the last several years in high school watching her friends, and even the people she didn’t know that well, thinking they all looked so…happy. Or maybe not happy, but like they had a plan, a direction, or heaven forbid, a goal.
She had two goals, if you could call them that. One was to please every person on the planet. She had mastered this ridiculous skill back in elementary school, which became not only boring, but intolerable to her sometime during her sophomore year. The other goal had been to maintain a B average in government her senior year so she wouldn’t have to take the final. That hadn’t gone so well. Her grades were decent, but she had to bust her ass. She’d studied for hours, and still didn’t have a clue about the Constitution or the Bill of Rights. And English lit hadn’t been much better. Harper Lee, Hemingway, and Steinbeck had somewhat held her attention. She’d even been able to hang with F. Scott Fitzgerald’s Great Gatsby. But she swore Shakespeare had to have been on some heavy drugs to write the kind of stuff revered as brilliant. She just didn’t get it. Maybe she should have tried drugs to get through English. Something to alter her mind. Seemed to work for a lot of literary geniuses, not to mention quite a few top-chart pop musicians. But no, that wouldn’t fit in with the goody-two-shoes role she’d carved out for herself. Also, she’d been able to dodge the drug-bullet for another reason. She was too scared of getting caught. Not exactly the “little miss risk-taker.”
“Janie driving up with Dena?” her mother asked. Frannie, Janie, and Dena had been best friends since seventh grade. “Dena is taking her car, isn’t she?”
“Yeah, but her mom is following her. Janie’s parents are bringing her up.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea to have a car your freshman year.” Her mom had backed up and run over this issue several times.
“Once again, Mom….” Frannie dragged out the Mom part. “Since her dad’s never around, her mom has to work. Dena’s had a hardship license since she was fourteen.” The now repetitive prattle coming from her mother’s side of the front seat made her teeth grind, which would have caused her orthodontist to shudder.
“Want some Doublemint?” She knew her dad handing back the green package of gum over his shoulder was his way of diverting the conversation. “‘Double your
pleasure, double your fun.’”
She half smiled, resisting the urge to do a serious eye role at his lame attempt. Her parents were so straight it hurt. They’d set the bar high; not necessarily in education (which would have served her much better, like preparing for a career), but in issues such as be nice, don’t hurt other’s feelings, be different, set an example. Blah, blah, blah. Frannie had grown up living the life she thought was expected of her. Not once had her parents even asked what she wanted to do with her life. Not that she’d have had an answer, but still. “Be a leader, not a follower,” she’d always heard, which was strange, because she always wanted to fit in…not stand out.
“She’ll be fine once she gets settled. Won’t you, Sugar?” Since he spoke the first part in third person, she assumed his words were to appease her mother.
Her dad had called her “Sugar” since, like forever. Her parents were good, decent people. Her mom went to church every Sunday. Sometimes her dad would go, but mostly after Sunday school, Frannie would end up sitting beside her mother during the church service because…she was a people pleaser. She didn’t want her mom to have to sit alone. And she never said anything because she didn’t want her mom to be upset, and never let on she was secretly irritated with her dad, because if he had gone to church, she wouldn’t have had to take his place.
Frannie had a younger brother and the standing “mom and dad like you best” joke between the two of them had been on-going since childhood. She’d never really taken it seriously, yet over the last couple of years she had begun to wonder. Although her parents were certainly not wealthy, she’d always assumed there wouldn’t be an issue with her going to college. However, around her junior year in high school she’d picked up undertones that Timmy going to college appeared way more important in the family hierarchy of needs. Hello? This was the ‘70s, not the ‘50s, when girls were sent off to college for their “professional husbandry” degree. Come on, why wasn’t it important for her to get an education? Shouldn’t she be able to support herself if she had to? Her mom didn’t have a college degree, but didn’t parents want more for their kids? Wasn’t that written in some handbook?