Best Friend's Sister Ch. 02

Best Friend's Sister 2

A Pick Me Up Visit

I met my friend John in kindergarten. We were inseparable, as much as a salt and pepper pair of boys could be during the late sixties. Fourteen years later we left high school behind and went off to college, still the best of buddies. We'd gone to elementary school together, middle, and finally made it through high school. I tried to finagle my way into spending more time at his house than mine. Maybe there was drama at John's house, I never saw it. I just think there was any way it could compare with what was going on at mine.

My house, well, it was a freaking soap opera. I was happy being anyplace else but there. If you'd asked me early on, I doubt I could've explained it. At the age of 18, heading off to college? Oh yeah, I recognized the pain and dysfunction that was damaging my family. But this is a story about dreams and hopes and positive stuff.

We all finally made it through high school, relatively unscathed. John and I graduated one year and his sister Wanda followed a year behind us. Growing up, we went out as many adventure as we could, whether we were seven, twelve, or sixteen. The only difference would've been in how we got there--on foot, by bike, or in my Cutlass.

Wanda, being only a year younger, was old enough to go with us on some of these adventures. I don't think you could call us the Three Musketeers; for some reason John and his sister didn't get along that well, but we did a lot together. As this was the late sixties and early seventies, you had no choice but to find ways to keep yourself occupied. You had to create your own adventures. The only alternative was to stay at home, play in the yard, read a book, or watch the three channels on TV. Yeap, no remote either. Sounds barbaric, doesn't it. Sometimes you couldn't even park in the driveway because of the damn dinosaurs.

Civil Rights supposedly had arrived and suddenly everything was just fine. No, I can look out my window right now and still see that's not the case. Back in the late sixties, it was still in its infancy, not even a toddler yet. So, neighborhoods were still separate, as well as the churches, the barbershops, the hair salons. I tended to ignore a lot, having my blinders on, courtesy of a huge helping of ADD. Not so much hyper or spastic but more along the lines of being withdrawn. For me to notice anything, it had to slap me across the face. So, no, I didn't recognize the invisible barriers that separated the white community and the communities of color.

If it had arrived, it hadn't leached into where we lived. We lived on the Eastern Shore of Maryland, over near Delaware. John's family was African American and a family of educators. So, I guess that's middle class. My family was white, my father being one of the local Methodist ministers. Middle class, maybe, I don't know.

We lived off the largess of the church and what showed up in the offering plate. I remember some months being pretty damn tight. I know what you're thinking. Everyone bites their tongue when they have to put money in the offering plate. I know everyone grumbles under their breath, handing that envelope over, don't they? Admit it. You know you did. Hell, I did and I was the ten-year-old son of the minster. Nobody had a tighter grip on that envelope than I did. I'm sure my mother had to pry my fingers apart every Sunday to get them to release that envelope. To me, that was five dollars better spent on comics and bubble gum and a visit to Mr. Easton's Candy Shoppe for those plastic lips, the wax bottles filled with that nasty generic koolaid, fireballs, and all those little bins of candy behind the counter. Who actually hands over their tithe with a sincere, happy smile on their face, huh? Not me.

Ministers were transferred from church to church every six or seven years, so we moved quite a bit. It always felt like we were living on the edge of any community even after we settled in. Luckily we settled in our hometown for a long stretch of time and I made some lifelong friends. Thank god for that.

Dad was born in 1932, so his beliefs were ingrained in him way back in the 30s and 40s. I didn't notice it at the time but looking back, I doubt he was pleased when I brought a friend home for a sleepover and realized it was little black boy named John Anderson, my best buddy. That was Dad. Another crusty old white SOB. He EFFed up majorly there, though. Having John as my friend was . . . an essential building block in how I treated people, the keystone in my belief in the value of anyone I interacted with throughout my life. When I brought home a girlfriend from the Caribbean, who was darker than dark, it was far too late to teach me how to use the "N" word, let alone use it with conviction. Hell, I can't even say it out loud now. ell, I can't even say it. Too late, you old MF. I know, I know, still got a lot of issues there.

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So we made it through high school. After graduating, John stayed close to home and picked a college about an hour away. He did well, majored in psychology, and found himself a girlfriend who eventually became his wife. I found a school on the other side of Virginia, about four hours away. I think it was far enough away that I didn't have to return home too often. Wanda found a school just across the bay, about two hours away. I needed to be four hours away and she only needed two. Good for her. Two hours instead of four. Doesn't that count for something?

I think she felt the same thing I did: the need to get away from home and use the chance to remake ourselves into someone different than who we'd been in high school. I also needed to get away from home. My family drove me nuts.

I'm sure it was difficult growing up the child of a teacher, but to grow up as the daughter of the assistant principal must've set her apart. Don't get me wrong, I always thought Mr. Anderson was a good guy. That might be true or it might not. It's probably close to what is was like growing up as a preacher's kid. We grew up in a very exposed family within the community. Being the children of a school administrator had to be close to that, probably worse. Consider that these parents had to hold firm each day at school, set an example, and enforce discipline for 800 students.

I doubt any of these administrators ever went home at the end of the day and hung up that stern "persona" like it was a coat. Never seemed like Mr. Anderson ever let loose or drank a six pack while grilling on the deck. Having one of them as a parent doesn't sound too appealing. I doubt Wanda was ever allowed to curse, sneak a cigarette, get drunk, or let loose. So, going to college must've felt pretty liberating. I could only hope she would survive the experience relatively unscathed. College life can seem pretty idyllic and straight forward, but it has its own pitfalls for those that have been sheltered a bit while growing up.

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Once I made it to school I wasn't inclined to go home very often. Once in a while I did make the long drive home to party with my brother John, but only if our parents were away. We'd spend the weekend drinking, smoking pot, playing poker, throwing up, and passing out. We never seemed to find girlfriends that overindulged as much as we did, so when we partied we usually didn't bring anyone home with us.

I had just survived one of those weekends and it was time to head back to school. It had been fun, probably a bit too much. I was washed out and hungover and still had a four-hour drive ahead of me. At least it was 'highway' all the way.

On the way out I stopped by John's house to say hello to his parents. It was always good to talk to some fairly rational adults. I always felt like a guest when I went to visit, for some reason. Maybe I was a guest. It was 1982 and despite what the laws said, everyone still had their own separate neighborhoods. Maybe I was an outlier, one of those loose ends that ends up having to fit in where it finally comes to rest. Thank god for desegregation or John and I would never have met.

I had hoped to catch Wanda at home but she'd gone back. It was probably late October. She was in her first year, while we were in our second. John had gone into psychology but music was his passion. He was always the DJ for some party and handled the sound for the school's dance troop. I don't even know what to say about his immersion into interpretive dance. He'd even mapped out his own choreography for a dance called The Plight of the Waterman. My brother and I went to watch that recital. I don't know what he thought about it. Me? It was so far out any experience I'd ever had. You'd never catch me up there in tights but I was still impressed.

I was at a point where I needed to push back my boundaries, step outside my comfort zone, push the limits. I had to do something that impressed me, since up until then I hadn't done a single thing that did. In the end it would be my trip into martial arts but that was years away. My second year into college I hadn't done anything, except maybe remain faithful to girl that would eventually cheat on me. Not very impressive in my eyes.

My first year I learned how to drink like a fish, my grades were in the basement, and I had just broken up with my tramp of a girlfriend. She had called on a Sunday to tell me her ex-boyfriend had come to visit. "So, what you're really not saying is that it's Sunday and he's been there since Friday. You had all weekend to fool around and now that he's gone, you decided it was time to bite the bullet and get this call over with."

"Yes. He came down Friday. But we . . ."

"Don't even try. Are you gonna waste fifteen minutes of my life trying to convince me that you both spent the whole weekend with your hands in your pockets and pulled out the bible when you started feeling horny? You couldn't just be honest and get it over with? You know about my Dad and everything my family went through. You had to do it this way? Couldn't just be upfront? What a fucking tramp!" and I hung up on her.

That pissed me off to no small degree. It put me in that 'I-hate-the-world' mood. I just knew every other person on Earth was having a better time than I was. It took a while to get rid of these moods but eventually they went away. After that wonderful phone call? Who knew how long it would take to get rid of that pissy mood?

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Oh, I needed a distraction. I guess that's why I went home, to get wasted and turn my brain off through artificial means. Now I just felt hungover.

So, like usual, either coming or going, I stopped in to see the Andersons. I had a good chat with John's parents, catching up on everyone, talking about high school, college, our wonderful hometown. They mentioned they'd talked to Wanda a few times and they said she sounded a bit homesick.

"I know how that feels." I told them. "When I graduated, I thought I did pretty well. But I have no clue how I survived last year."

"Everyone's first year is difficult. You'll figure it out. You know you're a hard worker, which is half the battle. I certainly wasn't one of those people that breezed through everything. It took a lot of hard work and a lot of effort." Mr. Anderson said.

Mrs. Anderson chimed in. "We know you'll make it. You just need to believe that. And you know you're always welcome here."

"You know. Just when I think I have you guys figured out, you drop some bit of wisdom on me right when I need it. It means a lot to hear you say that. So thank you." I said. "No, you're right. I am a hard worker, I never quit, and I never give up." I sat up a little straighter.

"Thank you both. If I stay any longer, you're gonna make me tear up." I stood up at that thought. "Hey, if you give me Wanda's number, I'll give her a call when I get back to school and see how she's doing."

"Oh, thank you. David." his mother said. "I'm know she'll be happy to hear from you."

"There you go. I have a mission." I got a hug from her, placed a kiss on her cheek, got a firm handshake from him, and headed down the road. Things I miss to this day.

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So I drove down the highway, on a sunny October afternoon. For some reason, at the end of last year I'd gotten hooked on General Hospital. Worse than doing drugs. So, when I set up my Fall schedule at the end of last year, I built it simply so I could wake up and catch TV about mid-morning. My first class on Monday wasn't until after lunch, just so I could sit down and see how Luke and Laura were doing.

That's what I get for having a girlfriend who was three hours away. I was feeling a bit neglected, if you know what I mean. All the lost opportunities I'd passed by during my freshman year, while I was being faithful to a girl that didn't deserve it. Do you know how hard it is being faithful when you get to college? There were girls all over the place, nobody from home, a ton of unknown beauties. Nah, I didn't fool around. But the girls down the hall in my co-ed dorm treated me like I was a challenge. For some reason, they thought I was fair game, simply because I had a girlfriend. They got quite the kick out of exposing a bit too much cleavage, walking shamelessly by me in their bikinis or even a bra and panties. There were two roommates that treated me more like a younger brother, until one was ended up in tears because I hadn't noticed her new sexy outfit or her cleavage. WTF?

After leaving their house I headed across the bridge. I was in motion while I ran my finger across the map, following my route back to school. Straight through DC to the other side of Virginia. My eyes shifted down to the small town of Wicksburg where Wanda was going to school. My finger followed the route down. Hmm, only an hour or so. It's kinda-sorta in the right direction and then I can head across state. Plus I don't have to be back until tomorrow. No rush. I don't know who I was talking to, the devil on my shoulder? I tended to do it when I was being spontaneous, which usually didn't turn out well. I was thinking a visit in person would be better than a pep talk over the phone.

As I passed Annapolis, looking for that turn toward Richmond, a bubble rose up out of my brain and popped. "Jeez. She probably has a boyfriend by now." I still tasted some of that 'I hate-the-the-damn-world' feeling. It'd only been a week since breaking up and girls still hadn't settled back into that magical niche I usually put them in, even Wanda. Didn't make me very optimistic. I figured if I stopped by, she'd be consumed with her new boyfriend, and they'd be off snogging somewhere in plain view. "Come on, get a grip. Think good thoughts."

Right that second, the afternoon balanced on knife's edge. I could've said, "Heck with her and her boyfriend!" and keep going. Or I'd face the fact that I'd promised to her mother to check up on her. (Yeah, yeah, I know it was supposed to be by phone). I take my promises seriously, so I knew my duty was to see how she was doing. "Well, I'd better go. If I wuss out now, how I am going to face her mother?" I took the turn and headed south.

I was driving but as usual I had ten thoughts going on. When puberty hit, I was captivated by Wanda. She was the foremost woman (or girl) in my life, beside my mother and my sister, of course. How could I not be smitten? At some point I realized that she was pretty, not that anyone helped me reach that conclusion. Not like John or her parents were going to sit down and spend ten minutes talking about the things that I found so . . enticing about her. I spent a lot of mental effort trying to not think those thoughts at all. I spent fifteen years around her and her family and it just didn't pay to have them. I valued the opinions of Mr. and Mrs. Anderson and of course John. They'd had plenty of opportunities over the years to see me at my worst. I doubt they'd be pleased if they came to conclusion I was set on seducing their little girl, whether it was consciously or unconsciously.

I guess I shouldn't look like it was some conspiracy to keep Wanda and at arm's length. But one day the thought snuck up on me: she was turning into quite the beauty. She was pretty in high school but as she headed into her twenties, she was . . . becoming beautiful. Some girls don't have that luck. But some have the luck to evolve or whatever you want to call it. I wasn't sure if she realized how beautiful she was becoming. Slim like a model, bottomless brown eyes, flawless skin, lips made for kissing. I needed to put those thoughts away.

It never accomplished anything to contemplate those thoughts. I'd had a girlfriend for the last two years, which kept me pretty occupied. Over the years Wanda and I had never had a single moment alone where we might've seen where those thoughts might lead. Which was probably a good idea, honestly. I was my father's son. I felt like my blood was poison or something. It made me feel tainted.

I might have been a horny little teenager during summer camp, no thought to the future except putting my fingerprints over the nearest girl. I know I wasn't the most considerate guy but maybe that applied to all teenage boys. Did it? IDK. But everyone has someone they cherish above all else. This would be someone they would never disrespect, hurt, or treat in any shallow way. For me that would be Wanda, and by extension everyone in her family. So, I did try to keep those stray thoughts locked up. If I slipped up and treated her like the girls I met at camp, like an hors d'oeuvre, then I'd have admit that I was exactly like Dad. If it looked like that's what I was doing, it wasn't going to happen at all. She deserved better than that.

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A sign popped up. "Wicksburg 75 miles." There you go. Maybe an hour. It's 160 miles to school with no detours. If I make a stop at her school, it'll only add 30 miles.

She was part of everything growing up. Whatever John and I did, she ended being part of it. Her mother would catch us before we left and made sure. "John. Take your sister!" He would roll his eyes, not too happy about it. It didn't matter if we were trooping through the woods at ten, riding our bikes at thirteen, or out cruising in my '76 Cutlass at seventeen. She was usually with us. It was liking having a little sister, which I liked. My brother tormented me constantly, so it was kind of nice to have a little sister. Instead of being a dickhead, I tried to treat her the opposite.

But lord, when puberty hit, all of a sudden my eyes spent a whole lot of time watching her walk by. I watched her cute little butt move by, I tried to sneak looks down her shirt, but the closest we ever got was sitting next to each other on the couch. Not the most romantic setting, when the adults were five feet away. Besides I always had to put on that shock collar when I came in. 'Take your shoes off and put the collar on.' They didn't even have to say it anymore.

Considering we knew each when we were five or six, if we touched back then it's because we were pushing, shoving, and wrestling with each other or trying to avoid toughing altogether. Up until puberty, it was all about cooties. After that, oh no, we weren't given the time to entertain any of these thoughts. But coming from my family, our urges and drives were far more than mortal man, which my father showed the world so well. I did like to visit but boy they did run a strict household. There was never a time for any hanky-panky. Never a moment like, "John, get in the car. David can you keep Wanda company while we run to the store?" Never happened, never would. And yeah, they were right in their caution. If I had Dad's DNA in my system, I wouldn't trust me either.