Chapter One
DIZZY
Being an adult means learning to survive in the uncertainties of life in healthy ways
—Donna Bess
Farrell’s Ice Cream Parlour in Altamonte, Florida, was a sweet sensation with a magical appeal to delight everyone and a surefire cure for the blues. With décor from the early 1900s with old-time red and white striped period costumes and straw boater hats, everyone was saturated with laughter, cacophonous piano music, and happy families enjoying their favorite flavors. Judy and I often went there in high school to manage our life difficulties and drown our sorrows in a sea of ice cream. But one day, we were there for a different reason. The day we thought was so far away for the seven years it had been since we have been each other's sidekick was only a blink of an eye. I remember our conversation like it was yesterday.
“Can you believe we are FINALLY high school graduates class of 1977?” I said with joy exuding from every syllable. Judy, beaming from ear to ear, nodded, “I knooooowww.” Judy excitingly drawing out the word to punctuate the freedom of that statement, raised her hand to indicate it was time for a high five. Our hands met across from each other in the booth as she hollered, “We did it, and now our lives are our own to live as we please.” I responded, “Well, maybe in three-anda half months, when we turn eighteen, it will be our own. But for now, we have the summer to enjoy our freedom from school, working to save money so we can move out ASAP, along with, of course, beach trips and a ‘little’ shopping, with emphasis on little!” We laughed in synchronous joy, with the understanding that much money would be needed for us to move into an apartment as soon as we celebrated our birthdays.
A waiter who was a gorgeous boy-next-store type of guy with sandy hair and bronze skin appeared. “You’re new here, Dave,” I said, noting his name tag. His smile revealed a perfect smile of gleaming white teeth. “Yeah, I started last week. I guess you guys are regulars if you know that.” We both laughed, and I replied, “You can say that; who doesn’t like a lot of noisy laughter and ice cream?” He chuckled with a cheeky grin and a glint in his eye as he looked at Judy, “We have yummy sandwiches too.” Noting his flirty look at Judy who paid him no mind, I laughed at his attempt to upsell our check. “We have eaten them a few times, and what we had was good, but let's face it, there is a reason this place is known—for its ice cream!” He laughed, again beaming at Judy, and asked what he could get for us.
Dave was the type of boy that appealed to me, but Judy was not smitten. She was drawn to the bad boy—heavy metal, rough talking, far from the boy next-door. Dave was kind and therefore his flirtations fell completely flat for Judy, but they made me laugh. Judy, still beaming with the freedom she felt as we had officially moved from being high school students into adulthood, was feeling adventurous. “We each should order the ‘Trough’ and see if we could eat it,” she said. I raised my eyebrows to indicate the ridiculousness of that statement. Ferrell’s signature sundae was called the Pig’s Trough and contained a double banana split with six large scoops of ice cream and all the toppings. The singing, dancing, and joking servers enticed the customers to gorge on the mountainous contents. Sirens rang with raucous cheers if you managed to consume it all. Looking at Judy like she was allowing the joy of graduation to cause all sense to leave her mind, I said, “Judy, you and I both will not be able to finish one, let alone each of us finishing one by ourselves!” She laughed, “You are probably right, but let’s try.” Judy was 4'11" and petite with a tiny appetite to match. I, on the other hand, was 5'6", with an additional thirty-five pounds on her. I knew which of us was more likely to eat three days’ worth of calories in a single setting, and it wasn’t Judy! Denying her my participation, I said, “You go ahead, and I will cheer you on!” She laughed at my admission that though I could probably do it, I wasn’t willing to risk the profound stomachache that would likely result. Having a parade of servers singing, sirens ringing, and wild applause for the well-won battle of gluttony was not worth it to me. No thank you!
Dave left with our normal order, and we laughed at the ridiculous consideration and the acknowledgment that neither of us needed to risk the effects of such a conquest.
Judy had been my saving grace since our last year of elementary school, and we always counted it providential that we met. In our minds, the circumstances of our miracle meeting meant we were destined to be friends forever. Born two days apart and ten miles away from each other in New Jersey, but not meeting until sixth grade in Florida, surely pointed to something greater than coincidence. We believed it was fate that we would always be around each other, especially when I found out my parents originally planned to name me Judy until my mom discovered that my dad had an old girlfriend with that same name. Not surprisingly, my name was changed.
Judy was the oldest of three children in her family; I was the youngest of three children in mine. We were straddled in life with only brothers, so we became the sisters we wanted and needed. She spent almost as much time in my room as in her own room. Judy was by my side for dinner, vacation, every weekend, and many times in between. As young teens, we rode our bikes to Kmart to shop for matching clothes. Despite our differing body shapes and sizes, we managed to secure enough matching outfits to become known as the “twins” to our friends at school.
Like our sizes, our personalities were very different. Judy was quiet and pensive, and I was loud and boisterous. I often laughed loudly, annoying some, but she never minded that about me. And even though she would hide behind me when I laughed, she politely defended me when others complained. Our differences make me laugh even today, decades later.
With neither of our families remotely interested in attending church, Judy and I spent Sunday mornings with Casey Kasem’s American Top 40. From 9 a.m. to noon, we sat on the floor in my room, writing down each song and the artist on a piece of paper with the help of a speaker-turned-writing table. It was a special hangout time that lasted all through high school.
I couldn’t understand why the girl who could be popular by anyone’s standards chose to be friends with me—and me alone. Even when she became a cheerleader in eighth grade, she only associated with the squad members when required. Otherwise, we were always together throughout junior high. As the “tiny one,” she needed a base to practice her cheers, which I was happy to assist her with. I had been taking tap, ballet, jazz, and acrobatics for six years. I prided myself on my not-so-stellar cheerleading skills, which is why I never chose to participate officially in that activity. But Judy overlooked what I thought were inadequacies and made me feel included by teaching me every cheer. I was then ready to attend every game and cheer from the stands as part of the pep squad.
We started playing tennis most weekends at the high school, which was a short bike ride away from both of our homes. We knew the point was to hit the ball back and forth, but other than that, we didn’t have much skill at that particular sport. Our lack of knowledge never stopped us from our commitment to spend about two hours each weekend perfecting our volley of the ball. Junior high was amazing. By the end of junior high, we slowly departed from our “twin” identity as our likes and dislikes naturally changed. Though our personalities were changing as well, our relationship was unhindered.
Surprisingly, high school was even better than I could have imagined! As we received more freedom, we would leave on our bikes in the morning and be gone much of the day. We rode around for hours, only stopping for lunch and bathroom breaks at one of our homes, and then back to the road we went. About once a month, we used our allowance money to take the city bus to the mall. After we were done shopping, we visited our favorite German restaurant, where we could sit at the bar and eat our turkey sandwich with chips and feel so grown up. This once-a-month outing was always much anticipated and incredibly enjoyed.
As we matured, our relationship entered greater depths. I began to understand who Judy was and why she was so comfortable with only me as her close friend. This revelation was sharpened in the eleventh grade when we both were given cars for our sixteenth birthday. Judy’s dad, whom she rarely saw and hardly mentioned, bought her an older model green Gremlin. She took pride in that car but somehow felt a little resentment that he seemed to think buying her a car would make up for his absenteeism as a father.
Hearing about how her dad treated her helped me understand how difficult it must have been to grow up in a broken home. Her situation also helped me develop gratitude for my family because I had two parents that loved me. My situation at home was far from perfect, but it was where Judy and I preferred to spend most of our time. I received my gold Nova hatchback a few weeks after Judy received her car. Our expression was, “Have wheels, will travel.” And travel we did, with great enthusiasm!
Another shocking revelation about Judy’s demeanor came one morning when I picked her up to go to the beach. Packed for a full day of fun in the sun, I pulled into her drive and honked the horn. She came out the door in our matching bikini and a long shirt as a cover up, but her face looked haunted and angry, not matching the excitement I knew we had for this glorious day. Following her with my questioning eyes, I searched for a clue as to the dark mood surrounding her. She walked quickly down the drive, jumped in my car, and said, “Go!” As if I was her getaway driver from some hostile situation.
I quickly backed out of the driveway and asked what was wrong.
She glared at her mother, who was mowing the front lawn. “Her,” she growled. I glanced and waved as her mom looked our way. “What happened?” I asked. Hot tears streaming from her eyes, she asked, “Why does she need to dress like a teenager?” Her mom was mowing the lawn in a bikini. She was not fat, nor was she thin. Still not understanding, Judy said, “If I get some clothing she likes, she wants something similar, and I hate it. It embarrasses me.” Not fully understanding, I replied, “I’m sorry.” Unsure how to address what seemed like a great offense, I changed the subject—a skill I had mastered over time to deal with her random but not completely infrequent sadness.
Judy’s mom also liked to be in the crowd when Judy’s cheerleading friends came over, which was probably why Judy stopped inviting them over in ninth grade. Whatever the case, my heart went out to her, and I understood why Judy was more comfortable in my home. We spent the night at her home only a handful of times. My parents embraced Judy as part of our family. I was never told no when I asked if she could come over.
Shortly after our sixteenth birthdays, both Judy and I were hired at
Disney World. We worked the same schedule in the same location. Our last two years of high school were filled with togetherness to and from work, beach trips, mall trips, and making sweet memories.
Neither of us had the support of our parents to go to college, and we knew working for a few years to get some money would be necessary. My father declared emphatically, “I will not pay for you to go to college to get married and have babies.” Her parents were not interested in helping her, stating that she needed to make her own way. However, with hopes and dreams of a brighter tomorrow, our ambition was not stifled. Judy and I graduated from high school with different paths in mind. Judy longed to be a journalist and travel the globe. She sought independence from her family as her life of hurt became increasingly evident. As for me, I didn’t want to wander far from my father. I desired to attend a local college and become a teacher.
Our more independent personalities began shining brighter as time moved on. Summer still included mall trips and beach trips, even though our clothing styles were now markedly different. Mine was more ultra-feminine with satin, lace, and ruffled pastels. Judy’s look was more heavy metal and dark. She wore t-shirts with the faces of the bandmembers from Kiss with their tongues hanging out.
On September 2, just twenty days before her eighteenth birthday and twenty-two days before mine, we headed to a Winter Park salon to get our hair done. Winter Park is an upscale area with boutiques and specialty shops lining the downtown streets about fifteen miles north of our Orlando-area homes. We intended to follow our salon appointment with some window gazing and lunch. However, rain and unseasonably cooler weather put a damper on those plans. Deciding to skip lunch and shopping, we headed to Disney World, about thirty miles south of where we lived to get our paychecks instead.
We cruised down the interstate with my car radio serenading us with ABBA, Barry White, Donna Summer, and the like. Although Judy liked to listen to Kiss and other heavy metal/rock music, we only heard that when she drove. We learned to enjoy our differences, which brought humor to the relationship. The dreariness of the weather didn’t match the joy we had in the car. As we drove, the weather changed to a sprinkling of rain, and the sun began to peak through the clouds like it did every afternoon in Orlando.
Suddenly, coming around a bend in the highway, we were met with a surprise—one that would change my life forever. The traffic was at a standstill, and the line of cars was too close for me to stop safely. My dad’s lessons about defensive driving immediately came to mind: “Never slam on brakes on a wet road. Pump them in quick bursts.” My foot was pumping madly on the brake, and my eyes were wide with adrenaline now slamming my heart into my chest. Judy screamed, “Donna!” with a terror that could not compete with adrenaline pulsating through me. With the median to my left, I quickly assessed where to put my car and contemplated each action in some weird slow motion, the kind only seen in movies.
First I pumped my way to the wide median, as it seemed long enough for me to stop, but then wet grass declared otherwise. As I approached an area surrounded by guardrails, reason led me to see that turning the car around was the only option. Otherwise, I would plow through the railing into the open space that leads to the highway running beneath the opening. Turning wide right then sharp left to get the car to comply towards the other direction was working. As I made the U-turn, I thought we were in the clear. However, before I could breathe a sigh of relief, my right rear tire hydroplaned into oncoming traffic. Suddenly, the crunching sound of metal at the right rear bumper sent my car in a counterclockwise spin. Before we stopped spinning, a second hit from the front driver's side, sent the vehicle backward a few feet and then a spin clockwise. Judy screamed my name again, and something hit my lap. A third hit and crushing of metal in the rear lurched my car forward. Then another spin happened, and the car finally stopped, facing the same direction I originally intended.
Silence.
