Chapter 8

Stopping at the bar for a single drink on the way home from work on Fridays became a habit. Frank came along sometimes, but often we were alone. One night Katie asked, “You don’t have a girlfriend, do you?”

“Not right now. The big problem with second shift is social life. Everyone’s asleep when I get off work, so Saturday night is the only chance to go out. Plus, it’s kind of awkward living at home, ya know?”

“I remember those evenings watching TV with your parents, with your mom sitting on the sofa between us.”

“Exactly. And Sundays watching football with your dad were ... different. I always had to sit next to him so he could give his opinion of every play. I asked your mom one time why she didn’t join us. She said it gave her time to do the laundry and ironing away from his drinking and shouting at the TV.”

“That’s my parents. The only time Dad talks to Mom is to ask when dinner will be ready or to tell her to get him another beer. It’s the way they are, but they were pretty good about me moving back in. Dad never liked Joel because his parents each drive a Mercedes, so he was fine with us splitting up, and Mom supports me with everything.

She works all the time, and Dad sits in front of the TV with his beer in the evenings. They’re in bed by the time I get home from work, so in some ways it’s like living alone. I couldn’t bring a guy there, though.”

“Your folks aren’t that bad, Katie. Your mom seems really sweet, and your dad is ... well ... your dad.”

“You didn’t grow up in that house. Do you remember my brother, Billie?”

“I never met him.”

“Most of my friends in high school didn’t even know about him. He finally passed away when I was a freshman in college. Pneumonia, like so many of those kids. He was thirteen.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Don’t be sorry he died. He never learned to communicate, and the doctors said his deformities probably caused him constant discomfort. Everyone was surprised he survived as long as he did. If anything, be sorry he lived but didn’t thrive. That’s a waste of a life, and it affected the rest of the family. Dad started drinking the day Billie was born.

He manages to keep his job, but he’ll always be a lush. Mom sort of gave up on life to be his enabler and slave. They both blame themselves and each other for everything that happened. I learned all about guilt and anger growing up.”

“That’s rough.”

“I tried fixing things as a child, but of course it didn’t work. The cost of keeping Billie in that place meant there wasn’t money for much. I developed a thick skin and tried to fend for myself. I’m happy that way. I want things, expect things from life, but I know the only way I’ll get them is by working my butt off and proving my worth.

Earning that scholarship was a goal I set. It all hinged on a long essay, so I wrote the best one I could. It worked. Every little success feels pretty good.”

“Getting ahead is easier for girls nowadays, isn’t it? All the bra burning and women’s lib stuff, some new laws,...”

“I guess, but women still have a long way to go. I’m not a militant, but I know I’m equal to men. I expect the same opportunities, responsibilities, and rewards. Around here, the only so-called journalism job I can get is being a junior assistant to the women’s page editor, one pay grade up from a typist who barely graduated from high school. I don’t want to write about flower shows and recipes. Our newspaper hires men for almost everything else, which is completely unfair. Gender shouldn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t for most things.”

“You and I know that, but some employers don’t. I’ll freely admit physical size may matter for some stuff, but the only thing gender matters for is making babies. I can’t talk about any of this at home. My parents are stuck in the nineteenth century. Mom would just sit there waiting for Dad to blow up, and he probably would – some beer-soaked tirade about how I need to watch my tongue, because men rightfully rule the world, and women belong in the kitchen, barefoot and pregnant.

He’ll never change, so there’s no point in arguing with him. His idea of a good future for me is to marry someone like him after I get these senseless notions out of my head. Mom says I’m better off without a man.”

“Are you?”