I was in the eighth grade when my dad had his first heart attack. After that he quit his job because he felt it was too stressful for him. He did not find another job until I was well out of college. The burden of supporting our family rested on my mother. She is a remarkable woman who not only cooked, cleaned, and took care of all aspects of the household, but also squeezed her secretary’s paycheck to make ends meet. My father was emotionally absent from the family pretty much all my life. I believe he suffered from depression and had his own demons to deal with.
I was about 15 years old when she brought me into her bedroom for a chat. She told me that I needed to get a job. If I did not get a job and turn my paychecks over to her, we would loose the house and there would be no money for me to go to college. So I went out and got a job at the local Baskin-Robbins Ice Cream Parlor. For the most part I enjoyed the job. All the employees were about my age and we all got along well enough to get the job done and have a little fun (whip cream fights). I made about $70 per week which I turned over to my mother.
Within a year I was promoted to shift leader. This meant that I had keys to the store and could open and close the store. In addition, I was responsible for the store and the other employees during my shift. The thing that really depressed the hell out of me was that on Friday and Saturday nights, while my friends were out having a good time, I was working. It especially upset me when they would come in to visit me and get some ice cream because I knew that I could not go with them to the movie or wherever they were going. If I was working the closing shift, I would not get out of there until 1:30 AM so I could not even meet them anywhere.
We hired a girl named Rachel who was a year younger than me. I kept hearing stories about this Rachel but had not had the opportunity to meet her yet. I was told on many occasions by different people how attractive she was. I was eager to meet her but our shifts never matched up.
Finally, after a month I had the same shift as Rachel. My first reaction to seeing her was “My God, what do they see in her. She is not attractive at all.” It was actually kind of a relief not to be attracted to this person. I felt a bit more at ease around her. By virtue of working together and becoming friends, I ended up having a Texas size crush on her. I asked her to my high school homecoming.
I did not expect her to say yes, but I figured I would try anyway. She told me that she would let me know the next day. The following day she told me that her parents would not allow her to go out. At the time I thought it was an excuse. A gentle way of saying no. But as I write this and the more I think about it, I think her parents probably were the reason she declined my offer.
We stayed platonic friends. After two years at the ice cream store, my mother told me that I needed to make more money. So I put on a coat and tie and went down to the mall. I went into a department store and applied for a job. The woman told me that they did not hire anyone under 18 (I was 17). But after talking to me a bit (I have this ability to bullshit in a job interview) she decided that I was mature enough to work at the store. So, I left the food service industry and Rachel.
After three months, I went to the ice cream store with some of my friends for what else? Ice cream. There I was reunited with Rachel except she was not working. In fact, she had just stopped by to drop off her uniform because she had recently quit. I greeted her with a smile and asked her how things were going.
She looked at me distressed and said “I need to talk to you.”
I pulled her to a corner and asked “What’s wrong?”
“I’m pregnant!” she replied.
I was shocked. My angel had engaged in sex and I was not even present. But this was no time to think about that, she needed me.
“Ok, I’ll call you tonight.” I said
I called her that night and every night from then on. She had not told her parents yet. She was contemplating suicide. Her parents were Southern Baptist and would not understand this. She was raised Southern Baptist and her beliefs could not allow her to contemplate abortion. Her boyfriend had abandoned her when she told him the news. She ended up not committing suicide and did finally tell her parents. They were less than pleased and made her life difficult. I called her every night. We talked for hours every night. After several months of this, I really began to feel very close to her. I probably felt as if I was in love with her even though we were still just friends.
One day I called her and all I get were one word answers. That conversation only lasted a few minutes. I called her the following day and she acted the same way towards me.
“Hi! How are you?”
“Fine.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing”
“Are you upset with me?”
“No”
I could not figure it out. I called her a week later.
“Hello, is Rachel home?” I asked her mother who answered the phone.
“No” she replied
“Do you know when she will be back?” I asked
“Rachel no longer lives here” she said.
Immediately I knew. Her parents had sent her away to a home for wayward girls to have her baby. They did not want this embarrassment to ruin their reputation in church. Rachel had briefly mentioned that a long time ago and I had put it out of my mind.
The news came as a crushing blow. Why didn’t she say good bye? Why did she act so short with me the last few times we talked? For the next couple of months I was a walking zombie. I was in pain and I was depressed. I kept playing the song “Bobby Jean” by Bruce Springfield over and over and over again.