Chapter 5: Debbie: 1984

The room still smelled of fresh paint mixed with turpentine. It took a lot of begging to get her father to finally change the color from baby blue to the current Lively Lavender. Her dad kept putting it off until the winter when his business was slow, no one wanted porches built or houses painted in the winter months. The slow season also gave her dad the opportunity to finish the upstairs bathroom. Up until six months ago, Debbie and her sister had to go down to the second floor, pass through the kitchen and living room to use the only bathroom in the house. With three women in the under one roof, a second bathroom was no longer a luxury, but a necessity.

The three-story colonial was once a summer retreat for the New York City privileged in the 1960's. The town had a lot to offer. Only a sixty-minute drive from Manhattan, Mohegan Lake was quaint and just quirky enough to appeal to urban vacationers. After the end of the Vietnam war, more and more people saw the value in purchasing the smaller summer homes and making towns like Mohegan Lake their permanent residence. Money conscience business men realized the benefit of commuting into the city, while providing their families with lush green yards and fresh air year-round at a reasonable price.

Debbie stepped out of the shower, dried off, and quickly squeezed the excess water from her hair. She soaked her dark brown locks in a foamy mousse, a ritual she performed daily. Wiping away the foggy mirror, she took in her reflection before letting out a sigh. Never happy with her looks, Debbie was always trying new methods to become more beautiful. Fuller eyebrows, thanks to Brooke Shields, were the current trend, so she was careful to only tweeze in-between each one. It was impossible to measure up to girls like Brooke. Never the less, Debbie studied many magazines trying to duplicate her flawless image.

Most girls wore their hair just below their shoulders and feathered back. Debbie's hair was naturally wavy, so she had to blow it dry soon after the mousse was applied in order to avoid the look of frazzled curls. A few girls at school would let the product air dry, causing their hair to appear like they had a wet head. Debbie only resorted to this compromising look if she overslept. One quality she knew she had going for her was her hair. She received far too many compliments on how perfectly each layer fell in line for it not to be true.

Her green eyes were also often appreciated. She was careful to apply complimentary colors she read about in magazines. According to her most recent copy of Cosmopolitan, "Purple, soft beige and any hue of verdant will make green eyes pop." This tip also had her switching from her usual black liquid eyeliner to a pencil in deep eggplant. The look turned out surprisingly softer virus the dramatic effect she was used to creating.

Debbie popped her head out of the bathroom to check the time. The alarm clock read 7:15, which gave her forty-five minutes to finish and head to the bus stop. Sometimes she could catch a ride with her neighbor Jenny, who was a senior had her own car. However, Debbie couldn't count on a ride. If Jenny offered, she jumped at the opportunity to avoid the bus, not to mention the bonus of arriving at school with an upper classman.

When the LaCata's made the move upstate, Debbie was nearly ten and Mary six. Jenny and a few of her friends were the first to introduce themselves when Debbie's family moved into the neighborhood. Debbie had been unpacking in her room when her mom loudly announced that there were some kids at the door looking to meet her. Both Debbie and her sister came barreling down the stairs anxious to greet some friendly faces. Mrs. LaCata invited the group into the living room; however, they didn't stay long. They were all clearly teenagers and would have no interest in spending time with kids Debbie age. Today, the age gap seemed less important.

Jenny's parents are divorced. Her father, Sam, owns an autobody repair shop. He is a big burly man with a long grey beard. He looks fairly intimidating, and his baritone voice equals his appearance. Most of the kids in the neighborhood are afraid of him. Jenny's stepmom is fifteen-years younger than Jenny's dad. Willow used to be a hippie and in a few ways still is. She is tall, thin and has waist long chocolate brown hair. Jenny gets along well with her, especially since Willow is a very easy-going person. She explained to Debbie that Willow has some pretty laid-back thoughts on parenting. Although Debbie's parents have little in common with Jenny's parents, the couples can be seen politely chatting by the fence from time to time.

Unfortunately for Debbie, she didn't see Jenny at all this weekend and knew better than to just show up in the driveway looking for a ride. Jenny wasn't particularly interested in school and skipped often. It appeared to Debbie that Jenny never got in trouble, at least not at home, for cutting. Truthfully, Debbie didn't care enough to ask her about it.

"Hurry up, Deb!" she heard her mother yell from the bottom of the stairs. Debbie's mom recently returned to work full-time after years of part-time shifts at Altmans's Department Store. Her mother took night classes on and off at the middle school to earn a certificate in bookkeeping. Finally, after two years, she finished the courses and landed a job at a family-owned hardware store.

"I still have forty minutes!" Debbie shouted in response. Debbie waited a beat for a reply, but her mother must have returned to her own morning routine.

Thirty minutes later, Debbie emerged from the bathroom with her hair and makeup completed. She slid open her closet door and pulled out her favorite pair of purple stitched Jordace jeans and a lavender sleeved baseball t-shirt to compliment the color theme. To finish the look, she selected her Reebok high tops in pure white. Debbie dressed, grabbed her purse, double checked her appearance in the full-length mirror, and scooped up the books from her desk.

Her mom was back in the kitchen leaning against the counter drinking a cup of coffee. She was outfitted in a silk white blouse and her hair was pulled back into a low ponytail. Taupe pantyhose covered feet were peeking out from bell bottomed black pants. She looked professional, too professional for the back office of a hardware store. Debbie's mother prided herself in looking put together. When she worked at Altman's she always looked remarkably better than the other ladies in her department. One night at dinner, she shared how she was mistaken for a manager. She chuckled at the idea, but it was obvious she was flattered at the confusion.

"Morning," Debbie's mom chirped.

Debbie returned the greeting.

"Is your sister moving it along up there? Her mom asked.

"No clue Mom. I am busy getting myself ready. I don't pay attention to what she is doing." Debbie snapped.

"Do me a favor and run up there and see if she is ready, please," her mother pleaded.

Debbie shot her a look of disapproval, then turned on her heels and walked over to the bottom of the stairs.

"Mary! She commanded. "Get yourself down here now or mom is going to leave you home alone!"

There was a muffled response and in less than one minute, Mary appeared in the kitchen.

"Thanks a lot," Debbie's mom quipped.

Mary was going to be twelve next week. Debbie had spent years getting stuck with her. Mrs. LaCata was the youngest of three and had no clue what it was like to be force to

drag a younger sibling around. Because she was the baby of her family, she couldn't understand why Debbie didn't want Mary hanging out with her and her friends. Whenever Debbie would complain about Mary, her mom would bore her with stories about how close she was with her older brother and sister. Mrs. LaCata would brag about how well they treated her, happily showing her off to their friends. Debbie didn't buy a word of it. She knew if she asked her aunt and uncle they would likely have a very different version of the experience. Fortunately, her mom would often reward with ten bucks, so Debbie tried to keep the whining to a minimum

Glancing at the clock on the stove, Debbie's eyes widened when she realized it was 7:55. She grabbed an apple from the basket on the counter, tossing it into her purse and left kitchen without saying good-bye. Debbie stopped at the coat rack by the front door to bundle up. She took one last glance at her face in the mirror above the mantle before heading out to the bus stop.

"Not bad," she said to reflection. Debbie wondered if JJ would notice the effort.

Getting his attention was something she worked at every day. It was difficult to know what JJ thought. He wasn't the type of guy that shared his feelings or spoke a great deal about what was on his mind. Debbie desperately wanted to change that. She wanted JJ to turn to her, to confide in her, and most of all, to want her.

"Have a nice d..." was interrupted by the simultaneous closing of the heavy wood door.