Please allow me to introduce myself to you! I am Bill Evans, now 26 years young. My high school and college years were pretty much wasted time. I ran with questionable guys, screwed around with questionable girls/women, crossed paths with the law, spent two periods in the local jail. I was pretty much a loser, academically and socially. My family had pretty much written me off. My parents were angry because they paid a lot of money toward my college education, and figured they, and I, got little out of it. My two sisters and brother acted as if I didn't exist because my antics had clouded their reputations a bit. As a result, by the time I (barely) graduated college, my life was somewhat a shambles. After a bit of introspection, I decided I could either fuck up the rest of my life, or I could try to rescue something from the wreckage. I chose rescue. I began serious job hunting. It was not successful for about three months. Some of my past came back to haunt me. The jail time, while misdemeanors, was still on record, and it stopped several possible jobs from coming to fruition. I was beginning to wonder if I was relegated to flipping ground beef or stocking warehouses.
Then, one bright sunny day I sat down with a recruiter, Ken Gordon, from a large computer company. He was a likeable fellow, about my father's age. We chatted amicably for a while, then got down to business. It soon became evident I was not a choice candidate. I had the familiar sinking feeling preceding another rejection. He sat back and thought for a bit.
"Bill," he began, "To what do you credit your record I see before me?" My turn to think. Finally, I decided to be totally honest.
"Mr. Gordon, I ran around with a bunch of guys who were just like me; we had no sense of duty or responsibility, answered to no one, and pretty much did as we wished. That established my person in middle and high schools, and it carried into college as well. After I graduated, I put myself through some self-examination, and decided I'd been very irresponsible, very immature, and very antisocial my whole life. I realized it had gained me nothing except a sour reputation and a lack of ability to enjoy 'real' life. I decided to reverse course and become a citizen, accepting responsibility for myself. I'm willing to start in your company at a lower position, and prove myself worthy of future advancements."
My turn to sit back and shut up. I realized that one can say too little or too much in this situation. Mr. Gordon looked at his hands for a bit, then raised his head.
"Bill, I hear everything you stated, and some things between the lines. I must admit, usually our company is not interested in hiring a young man with so many strikes against him." My heart sank, another wasted interview!
"However," he said, "I must admit I want to see you succeed with us. The reason is my own son. I would have denied it at the time, but he was our favorite child. His younger sister just never had the same class in our minds. He was a good athlete, made excellent grades, got a lot of breaks. When he went off to college, the wife and I thought our dream of a successful child was just around the corner. Our daughter, a year younger, graduated high school with honors, earned a full-ride scholarship, and left for another school. In our son's junior year, his phone calls became less frequent, and he returned home less often. We were quite concerned, and called the school therapy department. They tried to contact him, but he shut them out. Now we were frightened. As we wondered how to handle this, we received a call that he was found dead in his dorm. Evidence pointed to an intentional drug overdose. We were certain this was an error."
"Unfortunately, they were right, we wrong. He had been taking steadily heavier doses of several potent painkillers. We were demolished. Our world had ended. Through all this, we'd not contacted his sister. Later, we realized we hadn't spoken to her since she went to college. A friend called her and broke the news, and gave her the timing of services. Needless to say, we barely functioned during this time. Friends handled many of the details. After the burial, we went into seclusion, so sad we could barely function. All this time, we did not have one conversation with our daughter. We realized days later she had been there, but we had not spoken. About a month later, we contacted her, but she did not return our calls. Now we realized we had a double tragedy; our son dead, our daughter estranged."
"We were able to finally contact her. She agreed to visit over spring break. Her fiance was with her; we had no idea she was serious about any one. We sat to talk, expecting to hear her apologize for ignoring us. What a surprise for us! She asked if we had any idea why her brother had taken his life. We replied we had no idea. She then gave us a synopsis, based on her view of things."
"Dad, Mom," she began, "It is mostly due to his upbringing." We both cried our denial. "Don't interrupt any more!" she glared at us. "You probably don't remember his school years as I do. He was pampered, worshiped, placed on a pedestal by you, by his peers, the media. He had ever-higher standards to meet. Everything went his way; he worked, but not as hard as I and many others did. By the time college rolled around he had little sense of how to struggle for things. He had had few disappointments in his life. All this left him totally unprepared to be away from his parents, among strangers, and no longer buoyed by adulation. When his grades began falling, he didn't know how to respond, how to solve his dilemma. He finally arrived at the point where death was the only out."
We were in shock. We had no idea of the reality of his early life.
My wife asked, "How do you know all this?"
"Because he wrote me a letter two weeks before he died. He did not appear frantic, just mentioned that things were getting tough. I don't think he knew how to express his deep depression. That's the only time ever that he communicated with me. I grew up feeling as if I had no parents, no brother. Only Aunt Barbara and Uncle Jack ever treated me as a real person! What I have achieved so far has been through my efforts, save for a couple of teachers who spurred me on."
My wife and I were shocked to distraction. We could not imagine her attitude. My wife fired back that she was ungrateful, had imagined things. Our daughter looked very resigned, very sad. Shortly after, they left to return to their home."
My wife and I were in shock for several days, thinking of our daughter as a bitter woman, jealous of her brother's life. We felt so burdened that we contacted a few friends of both our son and daughter. The picture they painted upheld our daughter's version of their early life. We suddenly realized that we'd ignored her the whole time. We also discovered that in spite of our best efforts to connect with her, she had no interest in that. So, you see, we have lost both our children!"
After a bit of thought, I asked how this applied to my situation.
"Simple!" he replied, "I feel a great responsibility to atone for my mistakes. I would like you to accept a position with us. I feel you have straightened your life, and will be an asset! I won't be spoon-feeding you; I've learned my lesson on that, but you can always come to me for suggestions."
Well, I did accept, and it turned out to be a good match. I did excel, and became a model salesman for the Eastern District. I had a great condo, a neat car, and enough free time to enjoy life,
One of my fave co-workers was a black guy, Anthony Thompson, about my age. We hit it off right away. We had similar interests in sports, world events and entertainment. Our friendship was the target of a few racists in our department, but we ignored them.
One Wednesday, he approached me and invited me to a picnic his family was holding at their house. I accepted, and asked what I could bring. He answered just my lovely self and an iron jock strap. My eyes widened; I asked why.
"My little sister, Rose Marie, is gonna be there, and ain't no way I'll let you near her! She is ugly, mean and a lesbian, so no ideas!"
I was laughing as he walked away. Saturday, I drove up and went to the door carrying a bouquet of flowers and a bottle of Jack. I'd heard his father liked that. Anthony answered the door and invited me in. I stuck my head inside and cryptically asked if she was there yet. He furrowed his brow, asking me what I meant. I leered at him and stated I was looking for my first mean, ugly lesbian. His shout brought his mother running. He glared at me, then introduced us. He didn't mention the subject to her. His mother graciously accepted both gifts, and Anthony escorted me to the back yard. It was a spacious area, over an acre, with very attractive landscaping. Anthony handed me a diet soda, knowing I no longer drank alcohol, a promise to my new life.
The crowd, about fifty people, was a nice mix; all ages, black and white as well as a few Asians. Everyone was dressed in what I call 'fashionably casual' attire. Many conversations were underway. Anthony introduced me to many folks, and sometimes described me as 'the outstanding salesman' in our company. He was not far off; the previous year, I had been awarded 'Best New Sales Person'.
I had been there about 30 minutes when I heard some people exclaim about a new arrival. Looking at the sliding door as I sipped soda, I was swept off my feet by the appearance of the most gorgeous woman I had ever seen. Soda leaked onto my jacket as my eyes bulged. Several people approached and welcomed her. I distinctly heard the name 'Rose Marie'. As I ogled her, I thought 'not bad for an ugly, mean lesbian'! She was busy talking to people for about 20 minutes. Then, Anthony whispered in her ear and pointed in my direction. They walked my way.
"Bill Evans, please welcome my sister Rose Marie!" I was floored, and might have stared with my lower jaw hanging open.
"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Evans. Anthony has told me so much about you!"
"Also pleased, Miss Thompson! I'm having trouble aligning your appearance with the description I got from your brother!"