“Did you write the book of love, and do you have faith in God above
If the Bible tells you so?
Now do you believe in rock and roll, can music save your mortal soul
And can you teach me how to dance real slow?”
Lyrics: American Pie, Don Mclean
“Better a dry crust of bread in peace than feasting in a house of strife.”
–Proverbs 17:1
Diana called to let her family know she was not coming home. As expected, her mother launched into a tirade, “You will be back here in a week begging us to come back when you figure out how hard it is to get by on your own.” Her mother huffed at her and slammed the phone receiver down loudly in her ear.
Diana silently vowed she’d starve before she would ever move back home.
And yes, it was challenging. The first few months she lived mostly on salad with either a fried egg or ½ can of tuna for her main meal every day. Basically boring fare and meager but enough to survive on.
She needed a regular job, no matter how menial, to pay the rent and basic bills and was hired at a local Jack-in-the-box 2 blocks from the beach. The catch was that she was under 18 therefore could not work full-time without parental consent. She was forced to call her father, who she felt would be sympathetic and cooperative, to ask him to come and sign the permission papers so she could work. He agreed.
Her mother would have never consented if she had known.
She wanted Diana to fail…
Her father met her at the restaurant on a Saturday afternoon, sat down and put his signature to the forms and before he left he hugged her. He was usually clean shaven but today he had a day’s worth of stubble. His face felt scratchy but comforting. Then he pressed a folded up square of money into her palm and told her he’d try to help if she needed anything. “Just don’t tell your mother.”
She knew that unlike her mother, HE wanted her to succeed.
One good thing about her job was that one meal was free with every shift she worked. The food was not that healthy but she devised her own version of a fish sandwich loaded with lettuce, tomato and pickle, that suited her. It was one meal a day she did not have to pay for. The job also solved the issue of paying ongoing rent to her roommate so she could relax a bit about having a roof over head, for a little while.
Unfortunately she was still not really free.
The next BIG issue was that her main source of help was from people she knew from the cult. She really wanted to leave but then she would lose her place to live. The cult practiced shunning so when she left every family member, friend and acquaintance she’d ever known would all cease contact. They would turn their backs on her. It was even possible that her own father would also shun her since he was devout and failing to do so could have drastic consequences on his standing in the cult.
Dealing with this was more than she could shoulder at the time. She was still a long way from being adjusted to her new life, such as it was. So she continued to do what she’d gotten rather good at; she faked it.
Physically in, mentally out. It sucked but it was necessary for her survival.
The landlords of the apartment, her roommate and every tenant in the complex were members of the cult. This meant that eyes were on her at all times when she was coming and going. So she dutifully caught regular rides to cult meetings 2-3x a week and was grateful when her work schedule provided her with a handy excuse for bowing out.
“We missed you on Thursday, Diana. We know you have to work but perhaps you need to look for a job with a schedule that does not interfere with meetings. We can put a good word in with brother so-and-so who has a janitorial company. He’s always looking for people.”
Diana twiddled with the straw in her drink, stabbing at the melting pebbles of ice, trying hard not to visibly recoil. She lied saying she was grateful and would think about it but that she was promised a better schedule at work once she had more seniority.
They were having the conversation at a local diner where they often had lunch as a group after Sunday services. She had ordered only a glass of Coke saying she, “was not very hungry” when in fact she just did not have any money for a meal. She really hated these lunches. She felt over-scrutinized and uncomfortable and was always relieved when she was finally dropped off at home.
Not that her roommate’s company was any better but at least she could excuse herself to go run errands or to walk on the nearby beach and meet up to play frisbee with one of her new, secret friends who was not a cult member.
Sometimes she’d go see some surfer friends at their beach house a block away from her workplace. She’d just tell her roommate she was working the night shift and although she sometimes gave Diana the side-eye, it was doubtful that her roommate would ever bother to go out of her way to verify the story.
Nothing untoward happened during her social visits except the surfers liked smoking a lot of pot and sometimes hashish which smelled sweet and spicy and heady and she really wanted to try it. But Diana did not dare to smoke anything not wanting to push her luck by coming home smelling of the stuff.
Fall and winter turned to spring. The weather warmed up and Diana had become more used to the routine of working full time. She was quite proficient as a lead cashier at the drive up window. She liked it not only because it made the time fly by, she also had fun interacting with the customers and old friends who showed up. When her surfer friends drove through she’d load their bags up with extra french fries.
One day during lunchtime rush, she was having fun flirting with some old chums from her junior high days. When she reached out to hand them their change the driver grabbed both of her arms and pulled. She easily slid right over the polished metal counter and shot straight out onto the front seat of the car. The people in the cars behind them as well as the customers at the front counter all seemed quite amused.
She took a little bow as she exited the car to return to her post at the cash register.
Another day she was working outside, taking orders during the lunch rush. She was hoping her much hated yellow and orange uniform would have a chance to air out. The scent of the grease from the fryers tended to cling to the scratchy polyester no matter how often she laundered it. When the lunch rush slowed down she was able to take a few moments to enjoy the warm sun and relax a bit. Her long hair was pinned up in a loose bun and tendrils of her hair tickled her neck in the salt-tinged ocean breeze. She leaned back against the menu/ordering unit that had a huge Jack-in-the-box clown head on top of it…
“Jack is looking cute today.”
She turned around and across the alleyway was a man she’d never seen before. He was obviously quite a bit older than she was (in his late 20s?) and was dressed in corduroy jeans and a striped athletic shirt (a jock?) A lot of people came through Ocean Beach from other parts of the country and he was obviously another one of them.
They exchanged pleasantries for a few minutes and she learned he lived in the apartment behind the restaurant.
A week later when she was leaving her shift she was surprised to see the same man walk in with the graveyard-shift employees. He was wearing a Jack-in-the-box uniform.
“Things could get interesting,” she mused.
