"I'm not mistaken Billy." Tracy said firmly. "You can accept it or not accept it. I'm just supplying information for you. She is in love with you. No doubt about it. And she's terribly afraid that you don't love her, that you'll never be interested in her, that you'll break her heart someday."
"What? How…"
"Because I'm a girl." Tracy answered before I could finish asking. "We know these things. She knows you could hurt her bad and she also knows she is powerless to prevent that if you decided to do it. She loves being around you but she wants more. She's not getting more but she stays around because of the hope that someday she will. She'll stay as long as the slimmest hope remains of that. The only way you'll get her to stop loving you is to destroy her hope completely. She may or may not recover from that. She's kind of a fragile girl, as you may have noticed, and I tend to think that maybe she wouldn't.
"I'm not telling you all of this to scare you or anything. I just want you to know what you're dealing with here. She loves you. You are God to her. So you need to tread carefully with her because you're playin' with her fuckin' emotions. Do you understand?"
"No." I shook my head. "I do not." I became angry. Here I was a thirty-two, almost thirty-three year old and a seventeen-year-old girl was telling me about love? What the hell did she know about it? She was probably reading all kinds of things into Nina's conversations based on the romance novels that she obsessively read all the time. "Nina and I are friends. No more than that. That's all we'll ever be. She likes me, she enjoys my company, but she doesn't love me. I used to tease her in grammar school for Christ sake! You've got your signals crossed."
She picked up her book again. "Believe what you want Billy." She told me, dismissing me in a non-verbal way. "But I'm not wrong about this."
Winter went on. I got straight A's again in the first semester of school. Second semester began with Nina and I in three classes together. We continued to study together a few times a week. I always watched her carefully, listened to her words carefully when I was with her. She liked to be around me, that was for sure, as I liked to be around her. She valued my opinion as I valued hers. She joked with me, revealing a quick and witty sense of humor beneath her shyness, a sense of humor that I knew that no one but me ever saw. We enjoyed being together. We were friends, very good friends, best friends even. But love? I thought not.
On February 10 of that year, 1983, I went down to the department of motor vehicles with my Dad after school. I took the written test, passing with 100 percent. I then climbed in Dad's Dodge Diplomat with a crusty old driving tester and took my driver's license test. The instructor was impressed with my abilities, stating that she'd rarely seen a new driver that operated a motor vehicle so well. She gave me a ninety-six on the exam, marking me down a point because I hadn't parallel parked terribly well, something I'd never mastered. I returned to the DMV office and had my picture taken. I was now a licensed driver.
As I drove my Dad home that day he congratulated me and gave me a brief lecture on safe driving. Doing his fatherly duty you understand. When he was finished I turned to him.
"I'd like to get a job Dad." I told him.
"A job?" He asked, looking at me.
"Yeah." I nodded. "I want to start making my own money. You know, so I can buy my own car and start putting money away for college. Stuff like that."
"Well that's admirable Bill." He told me, taken aback a bit. "I certainly am not going to stop you."
"Could I use the car on weekdays after you get home? If I find a job that is?"
"I suppose." He told me. "As long as we don't need it for anything. Of course you realize our insurance rates are going to go up now that you AND Tracy are listed on the policy. Also the gas is going to go up. And then there's Tracy. She likes to use the car too."
"I'll pay for whatever the increase is." I promised. "And Tracy and I will work something out."
"Yes." He said thoughtfully. "I suppose you will." He told me. "You and your sister have been getting along pretty well this last year." He said.
I shrugged in the way of teenagers.
"Much better than you used to. In fact, there was a dramatic change in your relationship and even in your personality some time ago." His eyes bored into me. "It was shortly before you got stabbed that time."
What was he saying? I felt suddenly nervous under his gaze. Dad knew something had happened to me but he didn't know what. Did he? Was he simply probing for information? Or did he suspect the truth? The truth was nuts wasn't it? He couldn't be suspecting it. Could he?
"I guess I just got my shit together Dad." I answered nervously. "Tracy too."
He continued to stare for a moment and then gave a slight shake of his head.
"Don't say 'shit'." He finally responded. "If you want to get a job and if you and your sister can work out the car, then you've got my blessing."
"Thanks Dad." I told him.
I certainly did not want to work in one of the sweat shops that was a fast food joint so I didn't bother applying at any of them. I had nothing but time I knew so I bided it carefully, only putting in applications at places where I knew I would be able to stand the pace. You have to understand that I had spent eight years as a paramedic. For all the gore we have to put up with, for all the responsibility that we are instilled with, for all of the abuse that we have to take, the job was anything but fast paced. On a twelve-hour shift we would respond to an average of six calls, each one taking an hour or so to complete from the moment of dispatch until the paperwork was dropped off at the hospital. That left six hours of downtime on each shift. Sometimes, on slow shifts, it was even more. I knew I would not be able to handle working on a burger assembly line for hours at a time.
It was a pizza joint that eventually ended up hiring me in early March. The manager had granted me an interview and had started it by saying that he probably wouldn't hire me since he generally only offered jobs to those with previous experience.
"Well Sir." I'd told him. "I can respect that opinion. And I understand it completely."
"You do?" He asked, mildly amused, checking his watch for his next interview.
"I do." I said. "But I'll tell you something. If you hire me you will not be sorry. In fact, I'd venture to say that it would be the best hire you'll ever make. You know why?"
That got his attention. "Why?" He asked.
"Because my father has instilled in me a solid work ethic. He's taught me that employment is sacred in this life, a thing to be cherished above all but the family unit. If I am given the position you will receive complete loyalty from me. I will show up each of my scheduled days on time and ready to work. I will do whatever jobs you see fit in whatever manner you see fit to do them. I am not your typical teenager who will call in sick when he hears that a good kegger is going on at the falls. I will put aside my personal life in order to fulfill my responsibilities to this restaurant and hopefully you will move me up the ladder of advancement as reward." I gave him my sincere smile. "Hire me and you will not be sorry."
He hired me. I started the following week making pizzas in the back and washing up dishes on Friday through Monday night from 5:00 PM to 10:30 PM. I did my job well, showing up on time, as I'd promised, and completing all assignments given to me without complaint. After all, I had an adult's work ethic. The manager was quite impressed with me. He often commented how mature I seemed. The pay was a pittance, $3.25 an hour, which was minimum wage for that time, but it was income none-the-less and, as a kid, I had no real expenses to speak of. We were paid once a week, on Friday. My schedule entitled me to $71.50 each paycheck. Uncle Sam and Aunt Washington took $12.00 from this, leaving me with $59.50 in cold, hard cash.