In my previous life I'd been a horrible financial manager. I lived paycheck to paycheck, never maintaining a savings account except for my 401k, which was automatically deducted. I'd run up a considerable debt with credit cards and car payments, not to mention alimony and child support. I'd been in the rut familiar to many Americans, that being that you owe so much that you could only afford to pay the minimum payments on anything. This of course left you in exactly the same place each month, each year, since the interest on these things accumulated as fast as the minimum payments reduced them. Even before Mr. Li entered my life, even before the Spokane Fire Department began threatening to take my job from me, I'd always wished that I had my financial history to do over again. Well now I did. I made another solemn vow. I would manage any money I got wisely, utilizing the brutal lessons I'd learned before being recycled. I would not live beyond my means ever again. It was un-American of course, but I was going to do it.
I took $10.00 of each paycheck for personal enjoyment type things. $5.00 paid for the gas I used in my Dad's car and another $5.00 went to insurance rate compensation. That left me $39.50 each week that had nowhere to go. I opened up a savings account at a nearby bank. I was amused and slightly offended to find that I had to have my Dad's permission before the bank would open it for me. My God, what chaos would erupt if minors were allowed to open bank accounts without regulation. I began putting this money in there each paycheck. The interest on the account was a pittance, a mere two percent, but that was okay. The savings account was just a holding tank until I built up some capital. When I accumulated enough money, I had a better place in mind to store it.
My parents watched all this with interest, not surprised at my work ethic, which I'd learned from them after all and which they'd expected nothing less than, but with my frugelness. You see, my money management skills in my previous life I'd learned from them also. My parents, through my childhood and teenaged years had managed their money about as well as I did as an adult, which was not well at all. I'm certainly not blaming them for my later troubles just explaining the fact that they were wondering where I'd learned my money management. They watched my savings account grow each week (they had to co-sign my deposits) with respect and admiration and more than a little confusion. God forgive them, they even suggested I take some of that money out from time to time and enjoy myself a little.
"I'm saving for college." I would tell them. "And maybe a car sometime soon."
"I see." They would reply. "That's very wise Billy."
My work schedule put somewhat of a kink in my sex life since the weekends had been my traditional boffing time. But it was only a minor kink. The girls that really wanted to experience my skills would find the time to be with me on weekdays. I would generally have them come over immediately after school where I would take them to my room, show them the pleasure they were seeking, and send them on their way before Dad got home from work. On most of these days Nina would come over after the latest girl had departed and we would study together or just sit on the couch and talk, drinking soda and munching on chips or something, maybe watching some TV. Mom and Dad were under the impression that Nina was my girlfriend, which actually struck me as somewhat funny. They had no idea that I was screwing the brains out of various teenaged girls before they got home. They even expressed pride that I still went over to Anita's and mowed her lawn or cleaned her windows or babysat her kids or put her storm windows up or took them down. They had no idea that their dear friend was paying me for these services in something more valuable than mere money. I don't believe even Tracy knew what the score really was between Anita and I.
The months went by. The frigid chill of winter gave way to the spring of 1983. I heard through the grapevine that Mike was leaving school to go to independent study classes. This rumor filled me with dread and reminded me that I still had a piece of unfinished business. Independent study was one of those state-sponsored atrocities that accounted for more dropouts than anything else. I should actually say IS, since the thing still existed before my recycling. What happens is a poor student is encouraged to leave mainstream high school and go to a separate campus for study. They are required to be there only twelve hours a week and are given various assignments to complete at their own pace. They and their parents are told that they can graduate this way if they only complete the meager amount of work that is supplied. What inevitably happens is that the student in question finds that even twelve hours a week is too much and they eventually leave it for the abyss of drop-out status. The whole thing is nothing more than a false hope for parents and a dead-end for students. Mike was no exception. He would be in independent study for less than two months before leaving school behind forever. He would eventually pay money to be crammed for his GED so he could get into the Air Force where he would ultimately be dishonorably discharged for marijuana use.
I had to take a shot at preventing this. I simply had to.
That week I had my Dad deposit only $24.50 in my savings account, keeping an extra fifteen bucks for myself. Naturally, since this was a break in the routine, he questioned it.
"Swaying from your convictions a little?" He asked as I handed him the deposit slip.
I shrugged, grinning sheepishly. "I guess you guys are right." I told him. "I SHOULD enjoy myself once in a while. I thought I'd just blow fifteen bucks on something this time as a reward."
"Well good for you." Dad told me. "What are you going to spend it on?"
"No firm plans." I lied. "Maybe I'll just spend it all on video games down at the arcade. You know, Space Invaders and all that?"
"Well you deserve it." He told me, putting his signature next to mine.
The following Monday at school I found Steph wandering through the halls. She was glad to see me.
"Do you think maybe your brother can get me an eighth of some good greenbud?" I asked.
"Does the Pope shit in the woods?" She smiled. "You got the cash?"
I handed her fifteen bucks, a ten and a five. She took it from me and then peeled off the five and handed it back to me. "For you it's only ten." She smiled. "IF, you let me bring it over to your house today to deliver it personally."
I looked her up and down, remembering what her body had felt like beneath mine. And it was five bucks. I'd certainly made worse deals in my life. "You're on." I told her. "Just show up right after school. I have to work today."
"I'll be there." She promised, stuffing the ten into the pocket of her jeans.
She was there. She handed me a plastic baggie of pungent pot and then we retired to my bedroom. I enjoyed her body in as many different ways as I could imagine while she enjoyed mine. She left with a smile on her face.
I stuffed the pot she'd given me under the center of my mattress and headed for the shower. I had to be to work shortly after Dad got home.
The next day, Tuesday, I found Mike wandering through the halls between third and fourth period. I took a deep breath and then walked up to him, matching his pace when I was beside him.
"What's up Mike?" I asked carefully.
He looked over at me, his face registering instant hostility, obviously debating whether or not to speak to me. Finally he said, "Nothin'."
"Haven't seen you in a while." I commented.
He shrugged. "Been busy." He told me.
I nodded wisely. "Yeah." I replied. "Me too. Workin' and everything. Listen, I was thinking that maybe we could get together after school today. Bullshit a little you know. Just like old times."
"Naw." He said instantly. "Got things to do."
I nodded again. "Okay." I answered, knowing that I was resorting to dirty tricks but it was a desperate situation, wasn't it? "Too bad. I just scored an eighth of some killer greenbud."