Fair View Welcomes "Bookfield"

I am happy to announce that I have taken the Bookfield posts out of Fair View and created a separate blog for then aptly named Bookfield. I have done this because we are at the point in my memory series of posts where I leave Cayuga for the summer to sell books and I didn't want to refer my readers to the first post and then leave them to hunt through the blog backwards for all of the next posts. Bookfield is in the right order, from the beginning to end. So have a look at it. It does have racy parts, but I'm not telling where they are. If you hit a slow part you have my permission to skip over it. See, how is that? The author's own permission to skip boring parts. What could be nicer? So have fun, and take your time. This should keep you busy while I'm campaigning.

Bookfield, Home Again - Part 2

I felt the drabness of the terminal closing in on me. A solitary passersby eyed me with sinister or maybe just a hungry look. I was scared. Where was Mom? Why was she so late? I could easily rationalize a one hour traffic delay, but now it was coming up on two hours. Images of terrible car accidents came involuntarily to mind. I clenched my teeth for strength and resolve. I had been through a lot this summer; surely I could over come this. I walked to a bank of telephones and put in a quarter. I telephoned my father’s house in Massapequa, collect. When Dad answered, I burst into tears.

“Dad, I’m at the Greyhound terminal in New York. Mom was supposed to meet me two hours ago and she’s not here. Have you heard from her by any chance?” I stammered.

“Calm down honey.” he crooned. I was reassured just by the sound of his voice. “I’m sure she’s okay. Its probably traffic; I’m sure she’ll show up soon. I tell you what, if she isn’t there in another half hour, I’ll come get you.”

“Thanks Dad. I’ll let you know when I get home, or whatever.” I conquered my outburst. I hung up the phone, did an abut face, and returned to the television circle. Another fifteen minutes passed, and I saw her blond hair and colorful jacket. Relief, accompanied by emotion overtook me. I stood up, but she didn’t see me right away. Finally her head turned in my direction. Her face looked at me sternly. I rushed to her with my arms outstretched, “Mom, you’re alright! I was so worried.” She withdrew from my attempted embrace.

“Not now Susie. I was worried too. I’ve been here for over two hours looking for you. You could have been dead, or you didn’t wait where I told you to?” she said in an edgy pissed off voice.

“I’m sorry, but you must have just missed me by some incredible coincidence! I did wait in the circle from time-to-time, and just outside of it over there” I pointed, “because I was scared and there was a transit cop. I didn’t think you could miss me just right there.”

“I don’t want to talk about it right now! I told you to wait there and you did not do what I told you. Let’s get out of this place.”

I insisted on calling Dad back before we left to make sure he didn’t worry, not hearing from me while we drove home.

“I told you she was okay.” he cooed. He was so supportive. Mom had waited impatiently.

“None of this would have happened if you had waited where I told you to!” she admonished again.

We turned to walk towards the exit. I couldn’t wait to get out of the terminal. Meeting my Mom certainly hadn’t gone as planned. I felt my sadness starting to break as I approached the large exit doors and saw that the sun was still shining brightly. The street looked inviting, even though it was Eighth Avenue, a terrible neighborhood. I walked slightly ahead of Mom to open the door for her. This would all pass and the ride home would be more like I had in mind. I sure had a lot of stories to regale her with.

Suddenly, blinding pain seared across my right temple. In a flash, blunt pain moved through my head from one side to the other. My eyeglasses flew off my face, cutting the bridge of my nose. My head pivoted sharply left. She had punched me. I never saw it coming. She had blindsided me with a sucker punch. Tears instantly came to my eyes, and it took me a few moments to recover from the shock and pain. But the physical pain was hardly a match for the emotional pain I immediately felt. I turned and faced her, looking shocked and distraught. There was no remorse in her face, rather this flushed and scary look that had me thinking that the attack might just continue. She looked right at my face with cold clear eyes and witnessed my pain. Still her face was angry and impassive.

“Let’s go.” she said. No one had seen her hit me. It was the first time in public.

I wept openly as I retrieved my bent eyeglasses from the floor, and tried to examine the cut on my nose. I imagined how Sam would have reacted if he had stayed to wait with me (as he had offered). But I didn’t wish he was here to see this. No, I felt totally humiliated. I wouldn’t have wanted anyone I knew to have seen me then. I felt pathetic and ashamed in my humiliated condition. Every scrap of confidence and self worth I had gained during the entire summer was sucked out of me instantly as if a black hole had appeared in my soul the moment she hit me. I was not independent, or even adult. Who was I kidding? I was that small child again crying for mother’s love, and receiving only contempt. Why? Surely I was the most worthless being on Earth. After all, it was my fault; I had not waited where I was told. The hurt was big enough to crowd out any anger, for I felt none. I was empty of any positive feelings about myself. I felt just plain empty. She opened the door and I walked out mechanically. She looked at me again, but didn’t acknowledge anything with her glance. Overwhelmed, my mind went blank. We drove home, not speaking to one another.

I don’t remember how long it took for any spark of rational thinking to reignite again in my brain. But somewhere, on the Long Island Expressway, out from the total darkness of my thoughts came the idea that it was definitely not right for her to punch me.

Nothing I could ever do would make it right for her to do that to me. It was the only thing I could be sure of at the time. I was way too afraid of her to share my thoughts. I watched her as she drove, looking ahead, never at me, as if nothing had happened. That renewed the hurt, and I sobbed quietly. I began to see her attack as another situation, not unlike those on the bookfield that one must survive. I knew that I could never rely on changing her true nature. She could easily try to hit me again at any time. But I made a vow to myself. I would never, ever allow her to lay a hand on me again. I would watch her like a hawk every moment she was near. She would never have an opening like that one, or any undefended opening again. I promised myself. I was the only one who could prevent her attacks. Never would I allow myself to be physically hurt by her again.

I clung to that thought like a drowning person to a life saver, keeping her in view out of the corner of my eyes. I breathed in deeply as if coming up from a great depth, and being starved for air. I muttered under my breath, “never, never, never!” And in that one moment, I was an adult.

THE END

Bookfield, Home Again - Part 1

The Greyhound bus departed early in the morning from the tiny one room station in Cayuga, New York, bound for New York City. I had to go home to Nassau County, briefly, to pick up my winter clothes for the semester ahead. It was a gorgeous late summer day in the country. I sat in an aisle seat next to a young man, whose face I really couldn’t see at first. He turned out to be cute, though. Dark brown hair, ivory skin, brown eyes, I liked him immediately. His name was Sam, and we seemed to have quite a lot in common. He did gymnastics in high school as had I, and was also biology major at Cayuga, but a freshman, on his way home to Riverhead, also on Long Island. I told him that I was a junior. We chatted the whole 6 hour drive to the city. He was entranced by my southern accent. At one point I was sleepy and put my head on his well muscled shoulder. He seemed happy enough with that. He gallantly offered to wait with me for my mother to pick me up, but I declined politely. We decided to get in touch when we returned from home. I felt pretty confident that we would date (and we did) and my spirits were high.

I was an adult returning home. An adult who had made it through the summer against difficult odds, doing a job that proved my independence, and tenacity. The demanding hours and personal sacrifices surely illustrated my ability stick-to-it when the going got rough. I felt confident that I could do anything. I couldn’t wait to greet my Mom, as a new adult me.

We arrived at the Greyhound bus terminal on Eighth Avenue, NYC in daylight. The terminal was notorious at that time for sheltering panhandlers, drug dealers, muggers, and other unsavory characters. Sam and I said our farewells and he was quickly lost from sight in the crowd gathered to meet the bus outside. I entered the terminal. There was no natural daylight as I walked further in. The institutional gray cinder blocks were dimly lit by weak fluorescent bulbs. The floor was filthy, and smells of urine rose in waves while a general stuffiness predominated the air. God knows what the bathrooms looked like. I never would have dared venturing into one.

I had been instructed to meet Mom in the terminal’s television area. The area consisted of a raised circle of molded grey plastic chairs with coin operated television sets attached to one arm of each chair. I stood inside the circle of chairs trying not to look conspicuous, and simultaneously checking out the people around me, for about twenty minutes.

‘Mom should be by any time.’ I thought to myself while I waited.

A small group of young unkempt black men was loitering in the circle. They asked me for change for a television, and I told them I didn’t have any. They kept looking me over, and I didn’t feel that staying in the circle for a prolonged time was a good idea. I waited there for another few minutes, even though I felt more concerned as each second ticked by. My eyes followed a transit cop as he made his rounds just past the circle. I left the circle and followed the cop. He only walked about ten or fifteen feet from the circle and stood his ground as if it was his post. I chose to stand behind him, up against the wall. I was still plenty close enough to the circle to be seen, and to see anyone else who entered the circle. There I waited until I had waited for abut an hour total. The station was emptying out by then. Soon all that were left were people who appeared to be loitering, or confused. The transit cop was on the move again. I really felt insecure, and so I followed him a little bit, thinking about reasons my usually punctual Mom could be late. I concluded that traffic on the Long Island Expressway was most logical. ‘She’s probably here by now’ I thought as I returned to the circle again. The loiterers had split. I sat in one of the television chairs. I didn’t have enough coins to watch, and by now I was kind of worried about Mom and wasn’t interested in T.V.. I noticed how the floor under the circle of chairs was raised, like a stage, above the surrounding flooring. This made me feel exposed, like the one animal in the pack that is straggles behind, and is therefore more likely to be singled out by predators. I returned to my position by the wall. More time passed by. Where was mom?

Bookfield, Blue Mountain - Part 2

The next morning at eight o’clock we all got into the canoes owned by the Cayuga facility and began to paddle to Blue Mountain. It was maybe 3 miles away and with 3 canoeists in each boat, it was easy going and fun. The lake was peaceful and gorgeous and we could see the Adirondack Mountains in the distance all around. There was one short portage, and then we were quickly back into the water for the last leg of paddling. We disembarked at the foot of Blue Mountain and met our two guides. We could summit before lunch hiking at a steady pace. So we started out, led by our guides.

I kept pace with the guides easily and we spoke about the flora and fauna of the Adirondacks. It was supposed to be an educational trip, after all. I had quite a southern accent, and everyone wanted to know how I came by it and inevitably I ended up regaling them with my Parchment stories. Suddenly, I felt so energized that I began to race up ahead. One of the guides followed me and one other student did as well. We pretty much ran up the side of Blue Mountain, making it to the summit and hour before schedule. It was exhilarating and terrific. I felt I was on top of the world both literally and figuratively and nothing could bring me down. It was a pristine view from up there; nothing bad in sight. I was in the best shape of my life from all of the riding I had done that summer.

The view from atop Blue Mountain

The way back was a breeze. We had a wonderful dinner and next on the agenda was the cedar sauna, which I had never done. I was pretty excited about it. The bad news was that the girls were going first then the boys. Though at the time there were lots of snickers and whispers on both sides about peeking and checking each other out.

After we got back to camp, the women went into the cedar sauna first. We all stripped naked. Man was it hot in there and really dry. One gal threw water onto the hot rocks and the steam rose and was almost suffocating. It felt so good to let all of my tensions go after a hard day’s rowing and hiking.

I looked around tentatively at all of the other women. Women are typically modest sorts in locker room situations and modest when together in the nude. But here in the sauna they had to be relaxed. So I took full advantage to slyly take a look. Then, it was time to take a dip into the cool lake. Steam rose from our bodies as we exited the sauna and entered the lake. The water was so cold, but if I stayed still I could feel the heat from my body warm the water near my skin. I kept thinking that this was how Native Americans bathed and how cool was that!

We all wanted to catch a glimpse of the boys getting into the sauna. But, try as we might, none of us did.

Bookfield, Blue Mountain - Part 1

I was thrilled to arrive at Syracuse Airport, but less than thrilled that the airline had lost my duffle bag. I went through the arrangements to get it back and when I found out that it was insured for $400, I was hoping I could just get the money. All of the clothes I had worn that summer were hopelessly worn out and therefore worthless.

The Syracuse Greyhound Bus Station

All the way back to Cayuga, which was about 35 miles west of Syracuse, by Greyhound bus I was thinking of just exactly how much time there was in a day, since I was accustomed to working an 80 hour week. Now I had all of that time just for myself.

I was rooming in a suite for four with three friends I had made last year. Our dorm was the top floor of a ten story new buildings called the twin towers. The view was really wonderful: hills, fields, cows, apple trees, and a little bit of small town Cayuga. I had to borrow underwear from one of my roomies who was my size 4 until the airline found my bag that had mistakenly gone to Salt Lake City, Utah. I offered to retrieve it myself, but the airline person laughed it off and the duffel was returned to me at my dorm the next day. It was so good to be home.

I had signed up for a weekend trip to the SUNY Cayuga’s Pine Tree Lake Research Facility in the Adirondacks before the semester began. We took a chartered bus there one Friday and checked into dorms. The dorms were long narrow two story log cabin type buildings with double occupancy rooms. That evening we all met at the Pine Boughs, a three story post and beam wooden structure first built in 1887, to discuss the itinerary. The next day there would be a canoe trip to Blue Mountain, which we would then climb and then canoe back. That evening, we would take a cedar sauna and a dip in the lake. Great plan!

The lodge we met at.

Bookfield, Debriefing

Guys from Parchment who were heading back to Nashville for the Sunday debriefing picked me up at the Sanders’. They had been further South in Georgia that summer. The ride was uneventful. Everyone was nervous about checking out. How much money would we get? We pulled up to Parchment Headquarters in the early afternoon. We piled out of the car with our sales cases and luggage and headed into the building. I went through the formalities of turning in my case, remitting final cash from deliveries and filing out forms at tables set up for the occasion. Then I was told to wait.

I hung around sitting on the floor with my forest green duffel bag and sometime later someone called my name. I went to the table. I had earned a profit of $3,000 that summer, about average for a first summer. My take home was $1,500, so I had spent about half during the summer and it was minus Chip’s cut. I was ready to go home now. Finally and at last, the summer was over. I had learned a lot about people and was hugely relieved that it was over. I had found oodles of confidence, enough to even survive summer at home. The ‘there’ part of it was over and it was time for the ‘back again’ part of the journey.

Robbie’s secretary came out and found me. “It’s time for your debriefing honey. Come with me.”

I didn’t realize that I would have to face Robbie again. I was despondent over this, but followed her with my duffle bag into Robbie’s office.

“Hi Sue. Good to see you back. Sit down.” I did. He continued, “Okay you made through the summer all in all pretty well. I see here that you had an average summer for a first year. Good job. There were some bumps, but that is to be expected.” He finished his mostly financial review in detail.

“Thanks Robbie. Can I go now?”

“Wait a sec Sue. What I would like to know is if you will come back next year as a sales manager.”

What a shock! It was as if a lightning bolt struck me. After the horrible struggle I had to make through this summer, it was inconceivable to come back. Thoughts of how unfair the bookfield tactics had been raced through my mind: the sexism, the brainwashing, the focus of my entire life on sales, the humiliation of sales meetings and that phone call from him. There was absolutely no way I would ever even consider coming back.

“No.” I answered calmly. Then I burst into tears. It was uncontrollable loud shaking sobs, tears racing down my face and dripping onto my jeans kind of crying. I could not stop. How could he think I would ever come back? “Never Robbie.” I managed between sobs.

He was stunned at how upset I was by his question. He added that when first timers had an average year, they were all asked to come back as managers, and besides, then I would make a percentage of my sales force’s profits. He raced over to calm me, but I did not want him to touch me at all. He then left to get his secretary. They came back together and I did not welcome either of them. They fussed, offering me water and such. I fended them off. He kept trying to guess what was wrong. He was so far off I knew that there was too wide a gulf between us to ever be bridged. It started on the first day at the sales training; when they leered at me in the hallway and compared me with my twin like we were slabs of meat, when they humiliated people at the training, the sloganeering, Chip and Gregg vying to score with me. It only got worse from then on. And so the gulf grew, unchecked. I had literally done only what was needed to reach my goal of staying on the whole summer. I achieved my goal, and only now was beginning to pay the full price.

“May I go now?” I asked again, the thought of going calming me somewhat.

“Yes Sue. If that helps, you may go.”

I got out of there as fast as I could with my duffle bag. ‘Free at last, free at last, thank almighty God, I’m free at last’ was my thought as I left.

Bookfield, Delivery Week - Part 4

The next time I was at Evan’s place, I went up into the bedroom alone and searched the closets. The one on the right just had clothes hanging in it and I felt kind of silly going through Evan’s things. However, what I saw on the floor of the one on the left really stunned me. He had plastic trash bags with bales of marijuana in them.

He was a fucking supplier, just as Jeff had asserted. I felt let down. Now, the relationship could go nowhere. I was thinking of transferring credits to agricultural school at Georgia University to stay with Evan. I could not stay with a drug dealer. I decided that I would keep my cool, and keep the relationship just as it was, leave and never come back. I would never let Evan know what I had found. I had always kind of wondered how he paid for everything, the house, the furniture, the new truck and bike as an unemployed part time student. Family money can only go so far.

I felt betrayed. How could he be so loving and yet keep this big a secret from me? It just didn’t compute. He must have known that I would dump him in no time flat if I knew. And yet, I was not angry with him; just vastly disappointed with a life that was not to be.

Toward my last day of delivery, Evan came to say goodbye and met me outside the Sanders’ house. We talked on the driveway. He said, “I have a birthday gift for you.” I had turned twenty that week, as he held out a small box, like one you would put jewelry in.

I was a bit worried that it might be something like an engagement ring, but the box would have been velvet. I guess the thought showed on my face, as I took the box and opened it. It was a thin gold bracelet with round tiger eye gems every inch or so. “Oh Evan, I can’t accept this. It’s too expensive.”

“Yes you can, it cost nothing compared to how I feel about you. I love you.” He looked very concerned that I did not look happy and said, “Please just tell me it was not just sex. Our relationship, I mean.”

I replied truthfully, “No Evan, it was never just sex.” I had honestly begun to care for him, until I found out he sold pot, so I smiled earnestly to reflect my caring, put the bracelet on and that seemed to make him happy. We hugged again. To myself I thought that it was a shame that he did not trust me enough to tell me that he was a drug dealer and that I would never see him again.

“I was hoping that you could come down and visit me again sometime or transfer here to take Biology.” He never knew how close our thoughts were. “I know Brandy will miss you.” He smiled. He moved forward once more and hugged me tight. I closed my eyes and tears formed because we had had some really good times and I knew this really was goodbye forever.

I bid my roomies farewell too. I had decided not to keep in touch with them either as we just never really clicked. Their semesters began later than mine, so their delivery weeks would last later than mine did. I heard that Mary did have trouble delivering to her houses. That was predictable.

The Sanders wished me luck. They were sweet people and I will never forget them.

The rapist stabber was never apprehended. The total body count was 7 by the time I left Athens.

Bookfield, Delivery Week - Part 3

Suddenly, I felt an urgent desire to urinate. I turned to Evan and screamed over the music that I was going to the ladies room. He nodded and kept an eye on me as I headed for the back. I pushed my way through the crowd that seemed reluctant to move. I had to make body contact to force my way through. Finally I got to the ladies room, and I must have been lucky, because there was no line. I got right in and did my business, trying not to see how filthy the place was. I wiped myself with the tissue and noticed a blood stain on it. I was not having my period, so the blood was puzzling to me. Blood in my urine, I thought, why would that be? I began to feel alarmed because all I could think was that something that I didn’t understand was wrong with me. I pulled up my jeans and made my way quickly back to Evan. He looked very concerned as I told him quite frankly what the problem was. He took my hand and helped to lead me out of the bar.

When we were outside he said, “I think you might just have a bladder infection, but let me drive you to the hospital right now to get it taken care of. I’m sure it will be alright.”

I nodded thinking how secure it felt to have Evan there. He seemed to know what the problem was. I chose to believe him as we sped off to the emergency room.

It was around eleven o’clock by the time we go to the ER. I had never been to an ER before, but Evan was there and a great comfort. I don’t recall anyone else being in the waiting room, as it was late, and a week night. A nurse escorted me to a bathroom where I filled a cup with urine. There was no visible blood on the tissue this time, and, it’s just like me, I then worried that I had made a mistake and nothing was wrong.

Next the nurse took me to a separate examination room and asked me to wait. The room was completely white. White tiles on the walls, white linoleum flooring, and white ceiling. The cabinets were metal painted beige. I figured I was supposed to sit on the examining table, which was covered with a white paper sheet. There I sat. The room was cold and the fluorescent lights seemed extraordinarily bright glaring off of all the white surfaces. Time passed, and I had opportunity to worry anew. It wasn’t so much that I worried that I was deathly ill, but I worried about what painful procedure might be imposed on me.

After about a half an hour a male physician’s assistant came in. He was quite good looking.

“Hi, I’m Shawn. Could you please describe your symptoms?” he asked.

I did, and felt like maybe my story wasn’t good enough to merit being in the ER. But I had no doctor in Athens, and Evan suggested it, and seemed to know what was best.

He asked a few questions and then said, “I think we may need to do a pelvic exam.”

Suddenly, I felt suspicious because even my little bit of biology training led me to think that this exam was not needed. “Why?”

He looked flustered and quickly deferred from the pelvic. That sexist bastard just wanted to get into my pants. He told me that my urine sample was loaded with white blood cells and confirmed that I had a bladder infection. After some time he gave me the medications from the hospital pharmacy that I needed and described how I should take them. When I walked out to see Evan, he was a sight for sore eyes. It was comforting that he knew what was wrong. He took me home to the Sanders’. He kissed me sweetly good night.

Bookfield, Delivery Week - Part 2

Fortunately, that was the roughest delivery I had. We had been taught in sales school that we would have to enter the house, ripping the box of books open and dumping the books on the floor while saying, “Hey, Mrs. Jones, kids! Here are the books you ordered!” and making a big scene by unwrapping each book to intimidate them into paying the remainder of the tab. I hardly ever had to resort to this tactic. My sales were all very solid. Folks were happy to see me and the books they had bought. They had the cash ready and in hand to pay me. When I left, they were all smiles.

The end of the day was welcome after making deliveries. It was going really well; the woman with the shot gun was the only dissatisfied customer. Jeff turned down my street and as we approached the house he said in a somewhat incredulous tone, “Is that your boyfriend?”

I saw Evan on his motorcycle in the driveway, waiting for me. He really looked cool on that bike.

“Yup. That’s Evan.” I answered. “Why?”

“Did you know that he is the main pot dealer in the county? I mean, I sell to my high school, and he supplies me.”

“What? You’ve got to be joking. Evan?” I didn’t know what to think.

“Yeah, he’s the guy. You ought to be careful around him. I mean, not that he’s dangerous or anything. I guess I’m just surprised you’re hooked up with him.” With that last comment we pulled up to the house. I thanked Jeff and got out of the car. Jeff waved to Evan, and Evan seemed to make a connection as he waved back. Jeff drove off quickly.

“What are you doing with that guy?” Evan asked pointing in the direction Jeff left in.

“Oh, I hired Jeff to help deliver my books since I don’t have a car.” I answered as calmly as possible. I thought better of asking Evan if or how he knew Jeff, even though they had waved to each other. I wasn’t exactly sure whether or not to believe Jeff’s accusation about Evan, and I didn’t really have too much time to think about it. I certainly didn’t want to let it slip to Evan that I had any suspicions about him.

Evan said, “I dropped by to see if you wanted to go out tonight. A joint North of town is having a band; we could both go on my bike.”

“Sure, let me get a jacket and drop off my sales case.”

Moments later we rode off on Evan’s bike. When we got to the small bar it was packed with people. The air was smoky, which usually I detest, but I was thrilled to be there with Evan. Jeff’s accusations must have been at least overstated. Evan bought us some beers and we listened to the music. It was very loud, hard rocking, rock and roll. It was too crowded to dance, and no space had been cleared between the tables. Evan kept one hand on my waist and pulled me closely in front of him as we listened. He pressed my ass to his groin and we swayed to the music. I was really getting turned on as he breathed into my ear. I leaned my head back against his chest and closed my eyes. My god, I was falling for him.

Bookfield, Delivery Week - Part 1

Mary, Chris and I had cardboard boxes of all of the books we sold delivered to the Sanders’ house before delivery week. We stored them in the central hallway adjacent to the stairs. Mary still had more books coming. It was such a huge pile of books! It as like a wall of cardboard and the Sanders remarked that they were astounded that we had sold so many. We tried to separate them into which ones belonged to whom.

When Jeff arrived, we loaded up his Impala’s trunk with the boxes of books for our first delivery run.

Early during delivery week, I returned the bike I had borrowed. I had had to replace the tires and had it all tuned up at a local bike shop. It was, however, still stuck in third gear. The man who owned the bike was shocked to see me return it.

“I thought that when you rode off on it, that would be the last I ever saw of it or you.” he said. “You have restored my faith in humanity, little girl.” He was amazed at the work I had done on the bike and how far I had ridden it during the summer. “I’m sure it came to better use than sitting in my breezeway.” he noted.

As we drove off, I said to Jeff, “Well, we might as well deliver to the one house I sold to in the projects today. It is on our way.”

“You sold books in the projects? Wait, you mean to tell me you went into the projects, alone?”

“Yeah. The sale was easy, but the woman had no money for a deposit and gave me one of her old shoes.” I opened my sales case and pulled out the shoe to show Jeff. He glanced over from driving and shook his head.

“I can’t believe you went in there by your self. You’re lucky you weren’t shot! If she didn’t give you any money, why try to deliver there? She probably still doesn’t have the money.”

“Well, leastways I will return her shoe.”

“It’s not worth anything, so why bother?”

“We made a bargain, and I will keep my half and return this shoe. We’re going into the projects; it is only one house any how.”

“Okay, but I suggest that you deposit what you’ve collected so far today in the bank before we go in the projects.”

“Do you really think we need to do that?”

“Yup. It would be foolish to go in there with any cash on us, or without a weapon.”

“Weapon?” I asked.

“Yeah, see that baseball bat in the back. I always carry it. You never know when you’ll need it, and I’ll feel better knowing that its there when we go into the projects.”

I looked over the back of my seat, and sure enough there was a heavy wooden baseball bat on the floor of the car. It looked brand new.

Jeff and I drove to the Citizens’ and Southern Bank to deposit all of the money in my blue-black zippered vinyl money collection envelope before we went to deliver to the one house I sold to in the projects. We had collected about a thousand dollars so far. It felt good to put it safely in the bank, and the bank cashier was so happy to see me when I walked in with so much cash. Jeff suggested that we take a Family Bible Library set out of the trunk here, in the bank’s parking lot, rather than when we got to the projects. He looked pretty serious about it, and I figured I’d just trust his judgment.

We got the set out of the trunk, put it on the floor of the front seat and hopped back into the old green Impala. Off we drove to the projects. The house I had sold to was only a handful of blocks from the bank. We pulled up in front of the house. Even though it was mid afternoon, no one was about. Jeff put the car in park and looked over at me nervously.

“Make it quick.” he suggested.

“Don’t worry, it will be fine.” I picked up the FBL set and the shoe and walked up to the door of the house. I knocked. The door did not open, but I heard noises inside.

“Shhh, honey, get away from the door and be quiet.” It was a whispered voice of the woman I had sold to from inside of the house.

“Hi there Mrs. Jones.”, I said. “It’s Sue Fairview. Remember you ordered some books from me and I’m here to deliver them?” I tried to speak loudly enough that she could hear me, without yelling.

“Do you have my shoe? Did you bring my shoe with you?” Her voice seemed fearful and aggressive.

“Yes, Ma’am. I have it right here.” I held out the shoe in front of me as if she could see it through the still closed door.

“Now you listen to me! I have a shotgun pointed at you right through this door. You leave that shoe on the stoop right there, and get out of here, so no one gets hurt. You leave that shoe, or I’ll shoot!”

‘Yes ma’am. I’m leaving it right here, ma’am.” I said as quickly as I could. I put the shoe on the concrete stoop theatrically, in case some on was watching, and backed off immediately. I walked briskly back to the car. I did not run. I felt that running would escalate the situation. Jeff leaned over to my side and pushed the door open before I got there. I slid in, slammed the door and said, “Let’s get out of here!” He did not hesitate to follow this instruction, and even seemed to have his drive out of there planned. I took one more look as we drove away. I saw the door open slightly. A black woman’s hand darted out and grabbed the shoe, pulling it back into the house. The door closed as quickly as it had opened.

“What happened back there?” Jeff asked me as we reached safer neighborhoods.

“She told me she had a shotgun pointed at me through the door and to leave the shoe on the stoop.”

“Thank God nothing happened! I told you it was a mistake to go back there. You risked your life to return that stupid old shoe. That bitch would have shot you for that damn shoe.”

“You were right.” I said dejectedly. But still I felt that returning the shoe to its owner was very right. I never should have been there to take it. It was as if the world order that had been disturbed the day that I took the shoe, was now restored. The shame I felt in taking it was lifted, especially since I had risked my life to restore the order.

At first I had been afraid when the woman claimed to have a gun. But that fear passed when I left the shoe on the stoop.

Bookfield, Nowhere Road - Part 2

Further down the road I came to two women weeding a large vegetable garden. They resembled each other closely in the nose and jaw line, both had blue eyes with light brown hair, and as it turned out they were mother and daughter. They were clad in house dresses with light floral patterns. The daughter, who looked to be in her twenties, gave me a sideways look and excused herself, saying she had someplace else to be. The mother had graying hair and was as fair of face as her daughter. I gave my approach and the mother dismissed me out of hand. She had no small children or relatives with children and had no interest in the Bible Dictionary. She did tell me that there were folks down the road that desperately needed the bible books to save their wicked souls.

So on I rode. I had a memory of a story that had circled Parchment sales training school of an African-American man who was told he could make a sale for sure at the end of the road. So on he went, and when he got to the end, it was a set up, and they were racists and shot him dead. I didn’t know why African-Americans would be brave enough to sell books; there was only one in our class. It was so racist here in the South, even I was nervous. Everybody had guns, and I had met people who had been shot. One such man was in bed in a trailer; he had been shot in the stomach during a disagreement in a bar.

When I got to the end there was only a two storey white farmhouse. I knocked on the door and there was no answer. So, I went around the back. There was a huge pond out there, and far off in the distance I could see several people lazily tubing on it in the summer sun. I called to them and they turned and saw me and called out and waved for me to join them. I shook my head “no” and they slowly and reluctantly started paddling over. As they came closer I could make out that it was two guys and two women. The man getting closer first seemed to own the place and as he stood to get out of the water, I could see that he was naked.

Then I noticed that they were all naked. The place was so remote, skinny dipping would be private, just as it was for Evan and me. This man had long scraggly hair and a beard. He had to be in his late twenties. It struck me suddenly that they were all hippies. I felt safe then. Hippies usually preached peace and were typically anti-violence, so there is no way they would hurt me. My worst fears were for naught.


“Come and join us!” the lead man said. “It’s beautiful on the pond, and it’s such a hot day.”

“Not this time, thanks.” I think they hoped to shock me, but really, it was tempting to join them. It was really hot. I didn’t need to school my face at all. I was a bit concerned that since they were naked and I was comfortable with it, they would expect sex, but then I noticed one of the women was from the house I just left, the daughter of the woman gardening. I made eye contact with her and she blushed.

“Please don’t tell my Mom that I was here. She’d kill me, or it would kill her.”

“I won’t.” I replied.

“You guys know each other?” the lead man said.

“We met at the house down the street.” I did my approach and here also and there was no interest what-so-ever in the books. But, it was time for lunch. Maybe I could get some interest there. Most folks who don’t buy books feel like they should do something else for you. I mentioned my quarter for a peanut butter sandwich line and the women responded immediately that we should have a picnic. It was a lovely day for it. Everyone else seemed comfortable naked, but I kept my clothes on.

The picnic was lovely; we had cheese and bread and fruit on a blanket which lay on the grass. They offered wine, but I stuck to water because of the heat. They offered me a ride back in their van, but it was way too early to knock off selling. So off I rode and continued my adventures.

Bookfield, Nowhere Road - Part 1

At the previous sales meeting, I received the Parchment Gold Award for working 75 hours per week and giving 30 demos a day. The gold medal was about the size of a silver dollar, octagonal and one side said, “ Parchment Gold Award – 30 Demos A Day – 75 Hours A Week” and the other side said, “INTEGRITY, GOALS, COMPETITOR, TEACHABLE”. There was also a medal for working 80 hours per week, and a medal for working 80 hours a week in two consecutive years, that my twin sister Evie received. I would have gotten the 80 hours a week one, but I had ruined my chances of that by taking time off to see Evan. Well, at least it was worth it.

Everyone who received one was putting them on the flats of their elbows and then flipping them up to grab them as one’s hand came down. The theme music of that meeting was, Take it Easy, by the Eagles. I learned all of the lyrics:

Well, I’m runnin’ down the road, tryin’ to loosen my load,

I’ve got seven women on my mind:

four that wanna own me, two that wanna stone me,

one says she’s a friend of mine.

Take it easy, take it easy,

don’t let the sound of your own wheels drive you crazy.

Lighten up while you still can, don’t even try to understand,

just find a place to take your stand and take it easy.

Well, I’m a standin’ on a corner in Winslow, Arizona,

and such a fine sight to see:

it’s a girl, my Lord, in a flat bed Ford

slowin’ down to take a look at me.

Come on baby, don’t say maybe.

I gotta know if your sweet love is gonna save me.

We may lose and we may win though we will never be here again.

So open up I’m climbin’ in, so take it easy.

Well, I’m runnin’ down the road, tryin’ to loosen my load,

got a world of trouble on my mind.

Lookin’ for a lover that won’t blow my cover,

she’s so hard to find.

Take it easy, take it easy,

don’t let the sound of your own wheels drive you crazy.

Come on baby, don’t say maybe.

I gotta know if your sweet love is gonna save me.

Oh, we got it easy,

we ought to take it easy.

It’s kind of like a jingle that stays in your head, and you can’t stop singing it. The beat of the song helps with keeping up a steady pedal cadence too.

Back in my territory, as I rode out of town early one morning, I noticed a sign on my left that said, “Nowhere Road”. Nowhere Road was dirt, not paved, and dusty to boot. I couldn’t see any houses, but I turned down it anyway. What happens when one moves into a place on Nowhere Road? Does one become the nowhere man? My curiosity was piqued I rode quickly to see what was down that road.

After a short while, I saw some ramshackle looking shacks. Looking more closely, I noticed that they were neat and tidy, as if appearance mattered to somebody very much even though they lived in shacks. Some African-American children were running around, dressed in their Sunday best. Little girls were wearing pink and light blue frocks, ankle socks, little patent leather mary jane shoes, with matching ribbons in their neatly braided hair. I glided to a stop in front of the nearest house. The porch was mere slats of broken aged looking wood, but swept clean. The roof on it was only two-by-fours, not even with proper posts. The house itself was listing to one side. The children gathered around me, as if they had not seen a visitor in a long time. A motherly looking woman came to the open door with a fan and asked me to come in, without my even doing an approach.

As I sat in her home, I noticed that the roof was only corrugated metal, the brownish sheet rock walls had water stains, and some interior doors were merely hanging bed sheets. The furniture was broken down, stained, and looked like it came from the dump. Flies were everywhere, as there were no screens in the windows to keep them out and the front door was also wide open. Otherwise, the house was neat and clean. It was a hot sunny day and the air was stagnant. As I explained that I had something to show the kids, she called them in. I went through my demos, and the kids eyes lit up and went wide. Then, suddenly, she asked them to leave. They went back outside without a word or a sullen look. I looked to her for an explanation, and she said, “Don’t worry about them none, honey. They know we don’t have money for them books. I just thought they would enjoy the show.” She offered me a cold drink and told me about her older daughter who had kids in junior high and high school and then left them with her. The daughter had run off someplace, no one was sure where. Afterwards she showed me out.

Now I understood why the road was called Nowhere. The people living here were pathetic, no money for books, living in rundown shacks, it was all so sad. But they still had pride and love. I made a quick decision that at the end of the summer, I would come back and leave my demo books with them. And I did.

Bookfield, Six Flags

One afternoon in bed, Evan said that he wanted to take me to Six Flags. I was stoked about it. But he asked me to stay in bed while he got up and moved around the room. He produced a small mechanical device, some pot and some cigarette papers.

“Ever tried pot?” he asked.

“No. Lots of people use it in school, but it was never offered to me. This would be my first time.”

“Cool.” He smiled, rolled a perfect joint using the mechanical cigarette roller, lit it, took a toke, and offered it to me. He said, “Pot smoke expands in your lungs, so don’t inhale too deeply.”

I inhaled, and he was right. I had to cough some out. I passed the joint back to him and he took another toke and passed it back to me. This time I was more careful. When we had smoked the whole thing, he asked me how I felt. I just felt really good. Happy; carefree.

He had borrowed a car from a friend so that we could drive there without being on his bike. It took about an hour and a half to get there.

First we went on the parachute ride where you are strapped into a seat alone and they raise you up really high, slowly and then drop you really fast as if you are sky diving. It was the most tremendous rush. More so I suppose because I was high to begin with.

Then we took a ride on the roller coaster. This one went up-side-down in one spot. Evan told me that the best way to experience it when high is to hold your hands up when you are up-side-down. He was right. It was another tremendous rush. I just don’t know any other way to describe it. I felt weightless for a moment. I never had so much fun on a roller coaster.

Then we stopped and lit up another joint in a spot where we were unlikely to get caught. After we finished it we took on the House of Fright.

It was really dark in there and scary things popped out of corners. He found a secluded corner and we made out. Like teenagers, we couldn’t keep our hands off of each other. We were stopped by someone who came out of nowhere and asked us to knock it off. I guess we weren’t the first ones to have that idea.

Next we went on a ride for children where we got into little boats shaped like swans or ducks that were tugged around an indoor water course. It was really dark in there. Some cute music or other played, while little figurines danced. We sat next to each other in the boat and kissed the whole time we were in there. We both got pretty excited.

The whole Six Flags experience was a high for both of us though I didn’t think they would use this story in their ads. It was a perfect introduction into the world of pot. We had to leave around nine to get me home in time. The ride home was sad for me. I just wanted to stay with Evan forever. But, I only had a couple more weeks to be there. Oh well, that was still a long way off from now.

After a while of driving, Evan turned to me and said, “Sue, I need to pull over to rest. I worry that I will fall asleep at the wheel again.”

I sure didn’t want to argue with him since he already had wrecked his truck, and I sure couldn’t drive. So we pulled over. He put his head in my lap and slept for maybe an hour before he began screaming in his sleep again. I woke him gently and he really freaked out when he saw he was waking in a vehicle. It took me some time to assure him that everything was okay. Then we drove on to my place. We kissed good bye and parted ways. I hated that we could not spend the night together after such a great day.

Bookfield, Chris - Part 2

That night, when I came home and went upstairs to our apartment, Mary and Chris were busily rinsing something out in the sink of our kitchenette. I tried to get a closer look, but they purposefully blocked my view. Chris looked pale and frightened. When I finally got closer, I could see that they were rinsing out bloody, torn jeans and a tee shirt. Then I noticed a small stitched cut on Chris’ face.

“Okay, guys. Tell me what happened.”

“It will ruin your sales.” insisted Mary hastily.

“Fuck the sales. I come home and you guys are rinsing out torn up, bloody clothes that look beyond saving. It would ruin my sales even worse if you didn’t tell me and I was left to worry.”

Chris hesitantly told me what had happened to her. She was selling in a nice neighborhood and was approaching the walk up to a house, when the owner released three smallish dogs on her (that from her description of them must have been pit bulls). They ran down the walk, without barking and attacked her on the side walk. She tried to keep her feet, but they pulled her down to the concrete. Getting pulled down when facing dogs is very bad.

She managed to protect her throat or they could have killed her, but they literally tore her up. Her arms, legs, ass, back and chest everything was bitten and slashed. The neighbors pulled the dogs off of her and rushed her to the hospital. She needed literally hundreds of stitches to sew her up. Her lovely body would be disfigured permanently. I looked more closely and she was shaking with the telling of it. Fresh tears splashed down her cheeks and she wiped them away with a tissue that Mary handed to her. I tried to give her a hug, but she was tentative and in pain.

I was really angry about what had happened to her. “Those dogs should be put down.” I said.

“I’ve decided to do nothing about it. Jesus said that we should turn the other cheek.”

I had forgotten that my roomies were religious freaks; excuse me, born again Christians. “Okay, but just stop a minute and think that you could sue him and get enough to pay for your college tuition.”

“It’s against the bible’s teachings to strike back in any way.” Mary nodded in agreement.

“Okay. But you see the money could go for a good cause, your education. See how you feel tomorrow, or the next day. Maybe sometime you will decide to do it.”

She agreed to think about it, but to my knowledge, she never took action. What a great legal case she had. She was attacked on public property without provocation, for Christ’s sake. I hated the thought of her being so disfigured at such an early age, especially when she had such great looks to begin with. Having to look at those scars forever and handle the knowledge that the dogs were allowed to live, and that there was no remediation for this horrible crime. Also, I thought that free education was pretty attractive too, at least in my situation. It would also seem to restore balance, at least to me. But, it wasn’t my body, or my life.

Chris was really stiff the next couple of mornings and stayed home for a few days. I’m not sure I could ever go out again if I were her. She had to have been afraid for her life during the attack. As it was, I was wary of all dogs just from my experiences.

Bookfield, Chris - Part 1

I took what Robbie had to say about finding a ride for delivery week seriously. I set it as a goal, and would ask at every house after I tried selling there. I didn’t have much luck. Evan had offered to help, but he did not have a vehicle, since he wrecked his truck. There was no way we could deliver books on his motorcycle.

It was mid day the next week when I came upon a house on the top of a small hill. It was in a pleasant neighborhood that was not quite suburban, but not quite rural either. The woman who answered the door let me in. I showed her the Family Bible Library.

“Oh, my son is too old for that kind of thing. We’re not really very religious either. I’m sorry.”

“Really. He’s older?”

“Yes, he’s going to be starting his senior year of high school in September.”

“Does he drive?”

“Yes. Why do you ask?”

“I’m looking for someone to help me deliver books next week. I need someone who has a car. I’m paying $20 a day for six days plus meals and gas.”

“He is looking for a job. He might be interested but he’s not home right now. Could you stop back later?”

“Where is he now?”

“He’s at the Dairy Queen with his friends for lunch.”

“That’s not far. I could go see him there.”

“Sure if you like. His name is Jeff. He’s tall and thin with wavy brown hair.” She looked a little baffled.

“Thanks a lot Ma’am.” With that I left. Finally I had a lead on a driver and I wasn’t going to let it go cold, either. I picked up my bike and headed off to the Dairy Queen. The sun glinted off of the red and white ‘DQ’ sign, somehow invoking thoughts of ice cream in me.

I parked my bike in front of the big glass window so that I could keep an eye on it. I walked into the DQ and surveyed the patrons for someone fitting Jeff’s description. I recognized him sitting with two other kids at a booth. He really was quite handsome; could have been a model. I went to the counter and ordered a banana split with everything on it. It was a work of art when completed. I paid and took my frozen lunch over to Jeff’s table. I stood a few feet from the end of their table and said to the one that looked like Jeff, “Hi there, Jeff. My name is Susan Fairview. I was just up at your house and your Mom said you might be looking for some work toward the end of the summer.”

“Yes I am. How did you find me here?”

“Your Mom told me you were here.”

“Oh. Please join us. This is Linda and James.”

“Thanks. So what are you kids studying in school?” I decided to make light conversation with them.

“Nothing.” they answered dejectedly in unison. Then they laughed at their simultaneous replies. We all got into a conversation about schools in the area. Apparently, some kids went to a private school that was really respected. These kids did not. They seemed barely literate. Their English was poor and they had no knowledge of anything they should have had by their age. They seemed to know it too. But, none of them had any lofty goals such as going on to college or, heck, even graduating seem lofty to one of them. But they all seemed happy as clams. After a while, Jeff’s two friends excused themselves so that Jeff and I could get down to business.

“So, what is the deal?” he asked.

“I need someone to drive me around with my books to be delivered for a week. The pay is $20 per day with meals and gas. Are you interested?”

“Sure. I could use the work. Thanks.” He added that he drove an older model dark green Impala. The car was large enough to do the job.

We made some arrangements and I left.