Bell Bottom High: Book 2: Sophomore Sorrows Read online

  BELL BOTTOM HIGH

  Book 2:

  Sophomore Sorrows

  B.J. Williams

  Tallahassee, FL

  Copyright © June 2017

  By: B.J. Williams

  Bell Bottom High

  Book 2: Sophomore Sorrows

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without the expressed written permission of the publisher, except by a reviewer.

  Published by:

  Amani Publishing, LLC

  P. O. Box 12045

  Tallahassee, FL 32317

  (850) 264-3341

  Contact me on social media at:

  Email: [email protected]

  Facebook/Instagram: B.J. Williams

  Cover photo courtesy of: Shutterstock.com

  Cover designed by: Adrienne Thompson

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to all the young readers who want to know about life in the seventies compared to life today. And to the adults who can still remember those days.

  B.J. Williams

  Contents

  CHAPTER 1

  Reecy Jones

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  About the Author

  CHAPTER 1

  Reecy Jones

  “Why did we have to watch that nasty film today on venereal diseases?” I asked, walking out of the seventh period Health class at Bell High School with my best friend, Joyce Campbell. We looked like an odd couple since I was average height and skinny while Joyce was short and chubby. My face was brown and bumpy while hers was dark and smooth. My double-d’s protruded from my chest while hers laid almost flat. “I know it’s supposed to scare us away from having unprotected sex, but it really grossed me out. What did you think about it?” I asked, glancing over at Joyce.

  “Huh?” Joyce responded, as if she was half listening. Holding a stack of books pressed to her chest, she walked with her head down.

  “Are you all right? You don’t look like you’re feeling well.” I knew my best friend. This wasn’t her typical after-class behavior. Joyce was usually much more talkative and bubbly.

  “I’m okay, Ree. I just sort of have a stomach ache. What were you saying?”

  “I said, what do you think about the film we just saw? Didn’t it gross you out?” I asked while readjusting the books I was carrying in my arms. We stood side by side at the bus pick-up area.

  “I think it was okay. It didn’t bother me much. They show it to all the sophomore students during the first semester. What’s the big deal?” She shrugged.

  “I don’t know. I just don’t think we should have to watch stuff like that in school, that’s all. Besides, only nasty girls get those diseases anyway. We might have some fast girls in our class, but I don’t think we have anybody that nasty.”

  Joyce turned away from me as the bus pulled to a stop in front of us. Changing the subject, she asked, “What are you wearing to the basketball game tonight?”

  “I’m thinking about wearing a white smock top and my new bell bottom jeans I decorated with studs last night. I can’t wait for you to see them. They’re so cool.” I responded, taking a seat on the bus and sliding over to the window so Joyce could sit on the outside. “What did you bring to wear?”

  “Oh, I just brought some old jeans and a blue sweater.” Joyce gestured. She fiddled with her hands on top of the stack of books resting between us.

  “I’m glad you’re coming over after school. I have to fix dinner before my parents get home, and then, they’re taking us to the basketball game.”

  “That’s fine with me. I wish my parents enjoyed going to the games like yours. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t ever get to go to a game.”

  “Yeah, they’re all into it since both of my brothers like to play. Josh finally made Captain his senior year. Hopefully, he can lead the team to a district championship. And Tyrone is enjoying his first year as a forward on the team at the University of Arkansas at Pine Bluff.”

  In a few minutes, Joyce and I were getting off the bus in front of my white, wood-framed house. I saw my mother’s red Buick parked in the driveway and wondered why she was home this time of day. She didn’t normally leave her job at the sewing factory until 5:00 p.m. We lived a quiet life in a modest community located in Clifton, a small town in southwestern Arkansas near Hope, situated in an area better known as the ARK-LA-TEX, because the three states, Arkansas, Louisiana, and Texas, were in close proximity to one another. There wasn’t anything significant about Clifton besides being known for the wonderful magnolia trees that lined downtown and provided us with fragrant blooms most of the year. With a population around 20,000, the only major stores were the Dollar General, K-Mart, Dairy Queen, Kentucky Fried Chicken, and the Piggly Wiggly. All the other local stores were mom-and-pop joints that had been in existence since the beginning of time. Everybody else worked at the paper mill, garment factory, or the roofing company. Thank goodness, my mom worked at the garment place and Dad worked at the roofing plant. Nobody wanted to work even near the paper mill, because of the horrible smell. But it did pay out good money for the seventies.

  The first thought that entered my mind was that something had happened to Grandma Gladys. She had been living with us for the last three years and depended on me to assist her after school every day by providing a snack and medicine for her diabetes. “Oh, God,” I said, hurrying to the front porch. My heart was pounding in my ears like it wanted to explode. Grandma was my best friend next to Joyce.

  “What’s wrong?” Joyce asked, trotting behind me.

  “My mom is never home this time of day. I think something may have happened to my grandma. I’ve got to get inside and see what’s going on.”

  I opened the screen door, unlocked the main door, and pushed it open. Rushing into the living room, I saw Grandma sitting up on the sofa with Mama’s head buried in her lap, sobbing. I didn’t know what to think. I’d never seen my mother cry except at funerals. Although I felt relieved that Grandma was living, I was suddenly overcome with fear again. Surely, someone had to be dead for Mama to be carrying on like that.

  “Hi, baby,” Grandma said. “What’s wrong? You look like you’re staring at a ghost.”

  “I—I’m just surprised to see Mama crying. What’s going on?” I asked, creeping into the room with Joyce right on my heels.

  “Hello, Grandma and Mrs. Jones,” Joyce said. She loved my Grandma almost as much as I did.

  “Hello, Joyce,” both women replied. “Come on in and have a seat,” Mama stated, sitting up in the sofa. She was clutching a handkerchief in one hand and used it to blow her nose.

  I placed my books on the wooden coffee table, and sat down on the cloth sofa next to Mama. Joyce placed her books on the table and sat in the chair beside the front door so she’d have a clear view of her surroundings. She waited patiently for the drama to unfold.

  “Mama, are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” I asked, staring at her swollen face. Obviously, she’d been crying for a while before we arrived home. Even though Mama was petite size, she was a physically strong woman who normally commanded attention. Only today, I could see the frailness in her body and wrinkles across her forehead that I’d never noticed before. Seemingly, she’d aged several years overnight. I held my breath wondering what the bad news would be.

  Tugging on her white cotton blouse, Mama batted her eyes several times. She glanced at Grandma, then turn
ed back to me. Trying to pull together a smile, she held on to the handkerchief in her hand and lowered her head.

  I abruptly stood up. It was like an explosion went off inside of me. “Oh, no, its Daddy, isn’t it! Something’s happened to my daddy, right?”

  “Oh, no, baby. Your daddy’s fine. Now have a seat, and I’ll tell you what this is all about.” Mama reached up, took my hand, and pulled me back down on the sofa next to her. After placing an arm around my shoulder, Mama softened her voice.

  “You know our country is at war right now,” she began.

  I shook my head wondering what the Vietnam War had to do with Mama’s tears.

  “Anyway, you know they have this thing called the draft, and the government can take any young man of age and place them in the military. Well, it appears that your brother, Tyrone, received his notice yesterday, and he’s going to be shipping out real soon.”

  “But, Mama, they can’t take Tyrone. He’s in his first semester at college. How can they do that?”

  “Apparently, it doesn’t matter with the black boys. They need more men to go fight, and they’re taking him out of school to go overseas.”

  “Are we going to be able to see him before he leaves?” I asked, searching Mama’s face for reassurance. I didn’t care about the war, I only cared about my big brother.

  “I hope so, baby. I didn’t get a chance to speak with him for long. I was so upset when he told me the news over the telephone, I couldn’t talk. He’s going to call back later on this evening when your father gets home.”

  “Do Daddy and Joshua know yet?”

  “No, I haven’t told your father, and your brother is staying after school to practice before the game tonight. Your grandmother called me at work when she heard from Tyrone, and I rushed right home. Now I don’t want you to worry,” Mama said, touching my chin. “It’s going to be okay. We’re going to get through this as a family.” Then, Mama looked over a Joyce and saw tears staining her eyes. “What’s wrong, baby?”

  “I was just thinking about my brother, Alfred.”

  “That’s right,” Mama exclaimed. “I forgot your brother is in the military stationed in Vietnam.”

  “Yes, ma’am, he’s been gone for over a year now. And I really miss him a lot, but he writes pretty often.”

  “I’m so sorry, sweetie. I know exactly how your family feels.”

  “It’s okay. I mean, we still worry about him all the time. You should see my mom when a letter comes in the mail.” Joyce wiped away a lone tear.

  “I know. I bet she gets overjoyed to hear from her only son. You tell her I said hello, and I’m going to call her real soon. We’re going to have to help each other through this terrible war.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I’ll be sure and tell her.”

  “Reecy, why don’t you and your friend go on back to your room while your Grandma and I start dinner?”

  I stood up, hugged my mother, then reached over and hugged my grandma who’d been sitting quietly. She was wearing that ole tattered pink duster with her arms folded across her shrinking chest. Grandma wasn’t much of a talker. She was a deep thinker and a prayer warrior. No doubt she’d been praying silently all while we’d been talking. Lately, she’d been feeling a little better and doing more to help around the house. Mama didn’t like it, but Grandma insisted on trying to earn her keep. In the end, it wasn’t worth arguing with Grandma about.

  “Come on, Joyce, let’s take our books to my room and listen to some music,”

  I said, grabbing my stack of books and leading the way to my bedroom.

  “Well, I guess you’re still in love with Michael Jackson,” Joyce said, smiling as she admired the posters of Michael and his brothers on the walls of my room. Placing her books on the white desk, she walked around the small room searching for any new posters since her last visit. I had added a few of Aretha Franklin, the queen of soul. But Michael was my one true love.

  “Yes, he’s still my favorite singer,” I responded, looking at my latest picture of him. I wanted my natural to look just like his one day.

  “I like that big afro he has,” Joyce said, smoothing down her pressed hair. “I’ve been thinking about wearing my hair natural like yours. I’m tired of Mama burning my ear with the hot comb.”

  I laughed. I’d had the same experience with my Mama. And for me, it just wasn’t worth it. I’d learned how to be happy and nappy above all things. “I know. Why do they always have to burn your ears off?”

  “I don’t know, maybe it’s a mama thing,” Joyce replied. I joined her in laughter.

  “I think an afro or maybe some braids would look really nice on you. I could braid it up for you real nice,” I said, admiring Joyce’s thick head of hair. Even though it was hard pressed, it still had some thickness to it.

  “Let me think about it. I might take you up on that,” Joyce said, returning her attention to the Michael Jackson poster. “And he can dance, too. I saw them on American Bandstand Saturday morning, and they were getting down. Did you see it?”

  “You know I did. I don’t miss nothing on TV showing the Jackson Five,” I responded, plopping down on my twin-sized white bed. “They’re some talented brothers.”

  “Look, I’ll be right back. I need to use the bathroom.” Joyce took off down the hallway before I could respond. She was gone for several minutes. I was beginning to worry when Joyce reappeared in the doorway.

  “Are you all right? I was about to come knock on the bathroom door to see if you were still in there.”

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” Joyce said, entering the bedroom. “Do you have any sanitary pads around here?”

  “Sure, I have a few in the drawer over there. But didn’t you just have your period for this month?”

  “Yes, but I saw some blood when I went to the bathroom. So, I need to borrow a pad from you right now.”

  I gave my friend a Kotex sanitary napkin and waited in my room while she returned to the bathroom. Listening to the radio, I pulled out the latest edition of Right On magazine to read for the second time this month. I was sitting on the bed Indian-style when Joyce returned a few minutes later with her face and shoulders drooping. I knew she hadn’t lost her best friend because I was sitting right there, but I couldn’t tell that from her facial expression. She sat down on the bed next to me and fiddled with her fingers. That was a sure sign she was trying to figure out how to tell me something. We’d been bestie’s forever. We shared everything with one another. I could read her better than any book I’d ever read, and I’d read a lot of books.

  “Joyce, we’ve been best friends since kindergarten. You know you can tell me anything. I know something is bothering you and you might as well tell me what it is.”

  Taking a deep breath, Joyce lowered her head for a second, then looked up at me with fear in her eyes. “Well, there is something I wanted to talk with you about. I know you didn’t like the film we saw in class today, but I’m scared because I think I might have chlamydia or something.”

  I chuckled, and said, “No way, you’re kidding me, right? That’s a venereal disease.”

  “I know what it is, Ree. I paid close attention to the film.” She fidgeted in her seat.

  I stopped laughing. My heart almost stopped beating. Joyce didn’t look like she was joking. “Joyce, come on. How can you have a venereal disease if you’ve never done it with a boy?” I stared at her like she’d lost her mind. Thinking that we were both still virgins, I carefully studied Joyce’s face. Hadn’t we agreed we’d tell one another when we were ready to do IT for the first time? When my friend didn’t respond, I waved a hand in her face, and said, “Hello, Joyce. Did you do it and not tell me about it?”

  “Ah, something like that,” Joyce replied, staring at the floor.

  “What!” I jumped from the bed. My heart jumped into my throat. I wanted to swallow it whole, but I couldn’t get it down. “When did you do it?” I asked, standing over Joyce with both hands placed on my narrow hips.

 
“It happened over a month ago…”

  “And you haven’t said anything to me for a whole entire month. How could you do that?”

  Joyce looked up into my surprised face, and said, “I don’t know. I guess I didn’t want you to know. I didn’t want anyone to know.”

  “But I’m not anyone. I’m supposed to be your best friend. I thought we agreed to tell one another when we were ready to do it.”

  “I know. I know we agreed to that…”

  “Then what happened?” I demanded, folding my arms across my fully-developed chest. Tapping one foot, I stared down at Joyce.

  Joyce lowered her head again. “I was too ashamed afterwards to tell you. I just wanted to forget that it ever happened. And then last week, I started itching real bad in my private area. I also had a yellowish discharge along with a burning sensation when I used the bathroom, just like they talked about in the film. And now with the bleeding between my monthly cycle, I’m really worried,” Joyce said, fighting back the tears.

  “Well, maybe it’s just a yeast infection. Either way, you need to go see the school nurse first thing in the morning.” I knew Joyce was hurting. I heard it in her voice and saw it on her face. Still, I was angry with her for not confiding in me sooner. I felt betrayed by someone who’d shared every aspect of my life. It hurt me that Joyce had not done the same.

  “Will you come with me?” Joyce asked, sounding meek. When I didn’t readily respond, she continued, “I really need you now, Ree. I’m sorry for not telling you everything before today. Can you ever forgive me?”

  I sighed. “Yes, I have to forgive you, silly. But tell me something, what—what was it like?” I asked, sitting back down on the bed. I was burning to hear all the details of her first sexual experience.

  “All I can tell you is that it hurt. I really hurt like crazy, and I don’t ever want to do it again. That’s why I didn’t tell you. I’m so sorry.” The tears were coming now as I watched them rush down Joyce’s face. She wiped them away with the back of her hand and sniffed.