May arrived and the days became surreal, I had my new job working for the City of Port Aransas. The 100-plus mile trip I had been making with my Dad's 74 Chrysler that got 8 miles to the gallon on a good day, became a 2-minute drive to the City Maintenance Shop. The idea of not having to drive off the island every day was incredible.
I spent two days a week pumping out the skid-o-kans on the beach. Dad pointed out that this was one of the best jobs because all you had to do was what you were supposed to and no one would mess with you. I did this driving a beautiful 1977 3/4 ton Chevy Pickup that sported a 400 cubic inch engine under the hood. It had an 8Track player and I had plenty of those. The truck had a 300-gallon fiberglass fresh water tank in the back of it and pulled a 600-gallon waste tank on a trailer behind it. It was not a bad job spending the days on the beach.
The other three days picking up brush, helping the beach crew after a particularly heavy traffic weekend, planting road and street signs, and general public works. Life was good. I was already friends with most people in the department.
Only a few months had passed since my December 1984 hibernation in which I nearly felt like the last person on earth until my Dad arrived home after 4 in the afternoon. Port Aransas had become completely different than it was only 6 months ago. Now it was an actual community. I was learning how to do things in leaps and bounds. At first, my lack of self-esteem was left over from my directionless teenage years, the oil refinery days and all of my friends were still just about twice my age. But my balance was perfect. Two days a week I could be introspective. The other three days, I benefited from a fair amount of social interaction. It all worked.
Dad was more content too. I had this steady income in which I did not have to be gone half my life with his vehicle and I did not really need a car either. My Dodge, still sitting in the front yard torn to pieces from the universal joint accident on Park Road 53 back on March 4th, had not been touched since we rope towed it home.
Looking back on these days, now that I have sons coming of age I fully understand my Dad's world at this time. His love and his restraint were amazing. I was nineteen and although I would listen, there was still not much you could tell me. It is here that I find such respect for Dad. I am not sure if he did not know what to do with this or the more likely option, he knew what was ahead for me. He knew that arguing me into submission was unnecessary and that lessons were coming and in them, great wisdom too. Don't get me wrong, he had his say, but he did not push it like an overprotective parent. The military term, "Deadly Force" means, applying just enough force to subdue the enemy, and not even a little more than what was needed. Dad had this when advising us and protesting our actions if he thought they were misguided. Joe was great at assessing how much effort was needed to expend on any cause.
My life now was safely contained in the bubble that was Port Aransas. The world north of the ship channel did not exist. Other than turning on a Corpus Christi TV station which I only did a little of, there was no state or national news. The South Jetty, and the Island News, the two weekly newspapers contained all we needed to know, and they only knew Port Aransas. It was truly "Island Time". A Twilight Zone-like state of mind that causes you to lose yourself. The past is there, but it becomes subdued like it was maybe a book or a dream. Sure, I was "all-Port Aransas" in October, November, and December of last year, but here I was both living and working in Port A, and it was different. I was welcomed into this secret club that just existed, that voided everything else out. I was pretty sure if I had ideas of leaving, I would not be able to.
I noticed a tendency in myself to need to stay quiet, and I did not always do that. I was young, I was hanging mostly with people older than me. I think I was seeking approval from people with more experience than me.
It would have been easier to have moved to Port A while I was still attending high school, but it did not happen that way. If you are wondering about college, believe me when I tell you, it was a mythical thing, a fictitious time and money burner that was absolutely not ever thought of or believed in. My defiance was so absolute. I had broken records on the statewide aptitude tests in Connecticut back in 1981, and the guidance counselors pounded on me to aim high. Thanks to the drills I endured at the Franco-American clubs with my mother's ex-boyfriend back in the late 70s, I was in full defense mode and I resisted all efforts to "make something of myself". I really showed them! College did not even exist in my mind. It was a joke.
I was adjusting well to my work situation and hanging out at some friend's house with whom I worked. They were a little younger than my Dad. She worked on the beach crew and her husband worked with me in the regular ranks of the Public Works department. Another woman was working on the beach crew who I liked and our mutual friend set us up for a double date for drinks at Mariners Inn Friday of Memorial Day Weekend.
If I was looking to be able to hang with people twice my age, this was where to do that. I was 19, and she was 26. Her story is not my story to tell. She was a survivor in so many ways. She had 3 kids, 10, 8 and 6. They were great, brilliant, and creative. As far as relationships go, I climbed the highest ladder I could find, with difficulty levels that I did not even know existed, and stepped off the high dive. I rushed into the relationship like I was trying to save people in a burning building. I offered help and companionship in places where she had not had it in years. I wanted everything because I saw how incredible she was. The friendship that we had was probably exactly what each of us needed, and it went so much further.
1985 changed this weekend for me, instantly. I would make many terrible decisions going forward. This instantly pulled me out of the household with Dad and Brooke. For them, this was nothing different than watching an addict slip out of control. I rushed in with such intensity. There was no challenge I would not accept when it came to this. My lack of experience with such a complicated relationship kept adrenaline flowing most of my days and I drank hard by night to soothe.
There was a sticker on the little triangle vent window of Jeri's 1965 dark green Chevrolet Super Sport, it was black and silver, and it read: "Onward Thru The Fog". No matter what happened, I never stopped moving forward to stay the course of our relationship. I moved into the little travel trailer that she lived in Mayfield's trailer park. With such intensity, I got a running start and performed a perfect swan dive off the edge of the volcano.
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