Authors: Jennifer Davis
Blind Squirrels
Blind
Squirrels
By Jennifer
Davis
I would like to
dedicate this book to all of my dear friends from high school and beyond. I
would especially like to acknowledge Lisa Tillery, Amanda Guevara Rocha, and
Marta Guevara. They will always be the Olivias in my life.
Preface
This story takes
place in the fictional town of Foster’s Bank, Florida. Having grown up in
Pensacola, Florida, I wanted to set my story in a similar locale. I chose the
name Foster’s Bank from a piece of Pensacola’s history. Foster’s Bank is the
name of a peninsula of land in Perdido Key where Fort McRee once stood. Fort
McRee was one of three military forts that was built to protected Pensacola and
Pensacola Bay. Fort McRee, now all but reduced to rubble by the weather, has
fascinated me for a number of years. As a young girl, I visited the other two
forts, Fort Barrancas on NAS Pensacola and Fort Pickens on Santa Rosa Island,
many times, and I always heard about Fort McRee and longed to visit it as
well. I finally got a chance as a young woman when my then husband, Dan
Cowser, and I took a boat out through Big Lagoon towards Pensacola Bay. We
happened upon Foster’s Bank quite by accident, but we were able to distinguish
some of the old fort’s foundation. It was very exciting, and that experience
has kept my interest in Fort McRee alive for all these years. I decided that
naming my town after Fort McRee’s location would be my tribute to this historic
place. I continued with this theme by naming the high school William McRee
High, after the army engineer colonel the fort was named for. The rival high
school, Bragg, was named for the general who was the commander of the
Confederate forces in Pensacola. The alternative school mentioned, Brown, was
named for the commander of the Union forces. Center Middle School came from
one of the battery names at Fort McRee.
Table of
Contents
Max was sitting
in the garden again. It was my third time seeing him there this week. He
seemed so troubled – almost vulnerable. It was difficult seeing him like
this. The Max I knew was always assured – always in control. I wanted
desperately to help, but that could never be. I couldn’t even let him know
that I was there.
As he rose to leave, I continued
eating my lunch. Max walked past me and absentmindedly said hello. He didn’t
recognize me – I had changed quite a bit in twenty years. He was different as
well: his black hair, shorter and thinning on top, was turning gray; his boyish
face was now rugged and worn. As I watched him walking away, a yearning came
over me. It was a familiar feeling – one I had known almost since the first
day I laid eyes on Max Savage.
Even as I fought
that old emotion, I realized that I would lose – that I wanted to lose. I told
myself that my love for Max transcended all time and all things and to fight
something that strong was useless. Very soon, I was experiencing those old
“crush” symptoms – sweaty palms, nervousness, and urgent desire. Caught up in
the nostalgia and savoring the way I was feeling, I found myself transported
back to that hot August day in 1975...
It was the first day
of school, the first day of high school, the first day of the most miserable
four years of my life.
In my world, nothing
could ever go right. I’m not talking about the simple things that most people
experience. Not pimples. Not changing voices that squeak at the wrong time.
No, I’m talking about terrible things. Things like a mother forcing her
overweight, five foot tall daughter to wear a blue knit dress on the first day
of school. The first day and I was ruined for the next four years. I knew
that no one in high school would be able to forget that stuffed whale look that
my mother insisted was so cute. Even the teachers would be laughing at me.
Sensing that I was about to slip into my bedroom and change into jeans and a T-shirt,
my mother quickly set me out on the front steps and told me to get to the bus
stop.
Bus stop! No one had
said anything about riding a bus!
I dawdled on the
steps. We had only lived in this neighborhood a few weeks, and I didn’t know
anyone that would be riding the bus. Most of my friends lived on the other
side of town, and they were going to Bragg High, which they assured me was the
coolest high school in town. I, on the other hand, was going to William McRee
High School, and I had heard from my friends that it was a terrible school –
complete with race riots and designated smoking areas. Still, my biggest fear
wasn’t that some of the troublemakers were on our bus. My biggest fear was
that I wouldn’t know anyone – on the bus or at school. I was terribly afraid
of being alone. Alone and in a skin tight dress that made me look like a whale
and feel like a misfit.
While trying to
decide if I could spend the next four years standing on our steps and hiding
from my mother, someone stepped from behind a bush that was at the corner of
our yard. It was a girl I had seen a few times walking up and down the street
in front of my house.
“Going to the bus
stop?” she asked.
“Uh – umm…,” I was
terminally shy.
“Come on. My name is
Tracy Morton. I live over there,” she pointed back down the street towards a
green house on the opposite side. “It’s my first day in high school. What
about you?”
I was beginning to
feel a little more comfortable. Tracy was about the same size that I was, and
she was friendly enough. Luckily for her, she didn’t have a sadistic mother.
She was wearing jeans and a T-shirt. I slowly stepped off the steps, and the
two of us began walking up the hill to the bus stop.
Tracy was talkative
to say the least. She had an older brother named Andy, and two sisters, Faye and
Sheila. Andy was fifteen, Faye was eight, and Sheila was eleven. Tracy and I
were the same age, thirteen, although her birthday was coming up in September,
and mine wasn’t until December. All of this I learned while walking to the bus
stop– and there were only two houses between my house and the stop.
I wanted to tell
Tracy my name and all about my older brother Rick who was in the Navy, but we
had reached the bus stop – and all the other kids. There were seven people
already on the corner. Tracy waved her hand at them: the tall stocky muscular
girl, the blonde beauty, the lanky skinny boy and the pint-sized skinny boy,
the overweight boy with pimples, the cute guy with long black hair, and the
tall, tan Greek god that I fell in love with the second my eyes met his. Just
then Tracy nudged me and said, “What did you say your name was?”
“Katrina.” I was
almost shaking with fear.
Then suddenly, Tracy
was talking again. Only this time she was helping to make this an awful and
unforgettable moment in my life.
“Hey, everybody, this
is Katrina!”
Now, everyone was
looking at me, the blue stuffed whale. And the looks on their faces reflected
my worst fear: this was going to be a long, embarrassing year at WMHS. At that
moment, I decided something very important: I didn’t like Tracy one little bit.
As I stood there
wishing I could melt into the pavement, the cute guy with long hair came to my
rescue.
“I’m Max,” he began,
“…and these are my friends.”
Max went around
introducing everyone. Johnny was the Greek god. Erma was the muscular girl.
Sally was the beauty. The lanky skinny boy was Amos and the shorter one was Frank.
The boy with the pimply face was Mason.
Suddenly I wasn’t the
center of attention anymore, and I didn’t feel quite so out of place. Out of
this crowd, only Johnny and Max seemed perfect. After all, Tracy was chubby
like me. Erma was very tall and built like a football player; Amos had buck
teeth and a bad haircut; Frank looked as if he was about seven years old; Sally
laughed like a hyena and had the voice of a little tiny girl. Poor Mason was
plump, wore horn-rimmed glasses, and had pimples covering his face. Even a
blue whale looked good next to him. But best of all, there didn’t seem to be
any bullies at our stop.
Before the bus
arrived, we were joined by two more boys, Terrance and Dale. Terrance was tall
and thin with dark brown hair hanging to his shoulders. He began talking to
Max and Johnny and they all seemed to be good friends. Dale was shorter and
muscular. I imagined that he was a football player. He had dirty blond hair
that was in a flat-top. He stayed to himself and spoke to no one.
As the bus
finally roared around the corner at the bottom of the hill, another boy was
approaching the stop from the direction of my house. Pointing in the boy’s
direction, Tracy announced that we’d better watch out. “There’s Travis
Cartwright,” she said in what seemed to be an agitated voice, “Or should I say
Trouble?” As Travis drew nearer, he looked more and more like he belonged in
reform school instead of high school. He looked much older than the other
guys, even though I was sure Johnny and Max were 15 or older. He was sporting
a thin mustache, and his long brown hair was a mound of curly knots. I guessed
that he hadn’t washed it all summer long. He wore a shabby white T-shirt and
faded jeans. A pack of cigarettes was rolled up in the sleeve of his shirt.
Still, something about Travis was appealing. He somehow made me feel intimidated
and passionate at the same time.
Then the bus eased to
a stop, and the door flew open. As I waited in line, I could hear laughter and
jeering coming from the bus. Could they be laughing at the blue whale, I
wondered. Finally, I stepped onto the bus, which seemed filled to capacity.
Behind me, I could feel Travis’s hot breath on my neck as he pushed me and the
others forward as though he owned the bus.
Very few seats held
less than three people. Johnny had found an empty seat, but Tracy had forced
him to share it with her. I thought of sitting with the two of them, but I
feared that Tracy and I might take up most of the seat. I certainly didn’t
want my Greek god to dwell on my size. Just then, I noticed that the one black
girl on the bus was sitting alone. I looked down at her, and she smiled up at
me. She had the most sincere smile I had seen all day, and I quickly sat down
beside her.
I knew Travis was
right on my tail, but I didn’t know he was taking that literally. Before I had
a chance to get comfortable, Travis was shoving himself into what remained of
our seat. I gave him a disapproving look, and he stared back at me straight in
the eye. His dark brown eyes seemed to swallow me up, and I quickly turned
away from him.
I turned my face
towards the black girl. She was a little chubby, with a round friendly face.
Her hair was the darkest black. It was kinky and long; hanging down about
half-way to her waist. Her skin was the color of the purest milk chocolate and
her eyes were as black as her hair. She was wearing a white button-up blouse
and brown polyester pants. Quite suddenly, I realized that I had met her
before.
