Hippie Boy: A Girl's Story Read online

  I sat glued to the car seat, waiting for more news. I didn’t dare leave because I worried that Dad would try to send me another message and I would miss it. The temperature had climbed to one hundred and one degrees. My tank top was now drenched and sticking to my back. I turned on the radio again, hoping to distract myself with music. I flipped through all of the AM stations, then made a run through FM, finally settling on country music. I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel for a few minutes, and then pulled out my journal and wrote a couple paragraphs about my day. I glanced at the clock. 12:05 p.m.

  I had the windows rolled down, but the heat was making me sleepy and I didn’t want anyone breaking into the car while I dosed. So I rolled them all up, leaving only an inch crack in each. Then I closed my eyes and tried to leave the day behind.

  The knocking on my window startled me out of my sleep. I looked up to see the same police officer who had delivered the note from Dad. I quickly rolled down the window.

  “Just wanted to let you know that we’re taking your dad to a court hearing in about fifteen minutes,” he told me. “You can come if you want. The courthouse is just a couple of blocks up the hill.”

  “Great. Thanks.”

  I knew I looked a mess but I didn’t care. Once again, I waited for him to leave. Then I rubbed my eyes, grabbed my purse—which now contained Dad’s wallet along with my brush and lip gloss—and jumped out of the car. I sprinted up the hill to the Arby’s and glanced at the clock on the wall. It was 1:30 p.m.

  I spent the next ten minutes in the bathroom. I splashed cold water on my face and used toilet paper and hand soap to clean the smeared mascara off my face. Then I brushed my teeth and repeatedly ran the hand dryer in an attempt to dry out my sweat-drenched tank top.

  I walked back outside just in time to see a line of men in orange jumpsuits slowly making their way up the hill. Their hands were cuffed behind them and they were all connected together by a long chain that wrapped around each of their waists. I scanned the line until I found Dad.

  He stared straight ahead as he walked and seemed to be having trouble keeping in sync with the other guys. I watched as he bumped into the man in front of him, then quickly stepped back and shook his head as if in apology. Compared to my slight, five foot two frame, Dad had always seemed big to me. But his five foot nine stature looked small and insignificant compared to the two men he was sandwiched between. Fresh tears began streaming down my face. I had to do something to save him.

  When I arrived at the courthouse, the police officer who had told me about the hearing directed me to sit in the back left section of the courtroom. I saw Dad seated on the right side, in the front of the room with the rest of the guys in the orange jumpsuits.

  "Everybody rise,” a man said.

  The judge, a stern-looking man who appeared to be in his early sixties, entered the room.

  He immediately started going through the cases. As the case numbers were called out, the defendants were ordered one by one to stand in front of him. The judge briefly listened to the charges being levied against them and then decided whether to release them on bail or have them held without bond. Finally the judge called Dad’s case number.

  Dad stood up and took his place in front of him. The judge listened as the patrolman who had arrested Dad told him about the warrant in Texas on embezzlement charges.

  "Well, it looks like he should be extradited to Texas,” the judge announced after the officer had finished talking.

  I felt like I had just been scalded with a branding iron. This couldn’t be happening.

  "No!" I yelled from my seat in the back of the room.

  Everyone in the courtroom was suddenly staring at me. The judge looked bewildered.

  "Who is this girl?"

  "She’s my daughter," Dad said quietly.

  The judge motioned in my direction.

  “Why don’t you come up here,” he said kindly.

  I made my way down the center aisle toward Dad, ignoring the whispers and stares. I clutched my purse in my left hand and grabbed Dad’s hand with the other.

  "How old are you?" the judge asked.

  "Sixteen,” I said between sobs.

  He turned to the patrolman.

  “Can you please explain what’s going on here?”

  The patrolman, who had finally removed his reflective sunglasses, told the judge that I had been with Dad at the time of his arrest and had been waiting in the car throughout the day for word of Dad's fate.

  “Let me make sure I heard you right. You said you left her alone all day sitting in a blazing hot car?” The judge glared into the patrolman’s beady eyes. “Is this how you would like your daughter to be treated?”

  The patrolman didn’t answer. I felt a twinge of hope. I shifted my purse so I could cross my fingers.

  The judge shook his head in disgust and then turned to face Dad.

  "Do you know how lucky you are to have a daughter who loves you so much?"

  "Yes, I do, Your Honor." Dad’s tone was somber and deferential.

  The judge contemplated the situation for a couple of minutes.

  "I am ordering that you be released on a five thousand dollar fugitive bond," he said finally.

  Dad squeezed my hand and I felt a rush of relief wash over me.

  I looked back at the judge. He smiled down at me for a brief moment and I felt tears running down my face again, but this time they were tears of happiness.

  “Thank you, Your Honor,” Dad and I said in unison.

  I glanced over at the patrolman. He looked like he’d been punched. I flashed him a smile and then rushed back to my seat to wait through the remaining proceedings. Dad was still in police custody so he walked back to the county jail with the other defendants. With the rebuke from the judge still fresh in his mind, the patrolman made sure to escort me back down the hill and told me I could wait in the administrative area of the county jail until Dad gathered the necessary funds. At first, I thought that we would have to come up with the full five thousand dollar bond and I assumed Dad was standing at a payphone, making collect calls to the people on the list.

  About an hour later, though, the same police officer who had delivered Dad’s letter and told me about the hearing came out to where I was waiting. He said a bail bondsman would put up ninety percent of the bail. Following his instructions, I counted out five hundred dollars from Dad’s wallet and slid it through a slot to the administrative clerk, who was stationed behind a thick, bulletproof window. Another twenty minutes passed and then Dad walked into the room where I was waiting. He was back in his jeans and button-down striped shirt. I glanced at the clock on the wall. 4:45 p.m.

  “Let’s go, Ingrid,” he said, motioning toward the door.

  Neither of us spoke as we vacated Ronald Reagan's birthplace. But as soon as we were back on the freeway, Dad let out a laugh.

  "Well, Ingrid, that was a close one," he said, shaking his head.

  I waited for him to thank me for saving him from jail or at least ask me how I had survived the day. Instead, he turned on the radio and started flipping through the stations as if nothing had happened.

  I turned toward my window so he wouldn’t see the humiliation and hurt on my face. I was suddenly embarrassed by my swollen eyes, which were still stinging from all the crying I had done. A familiar voice inside me was screaming; berating me for needing and loving him so much.

  “Yeah, that was a close one,” I said, the music drowning out my words. Then I closed my eyes so Dad would think I was asleep.

  CHAPTER 16

  WHILE THE FUGITIVE bond we paid in Illinois got Dad out of his jam there, he was still required to check in at the Fort Worth courthouse within thirty days and pay another twenty-five hundred dollars in bail or sit in jail until his hearing in October.

  His meeting with his hydraulic jack supplier had ended in a screaming match and Dad said he was finished dealing with him. But now we were without merchandise and had less than seven hundred
dollars to purchase more inventory. Even worse, Dad wasn’t sure of what he wanted to sell. Jacks were out and no one seemed to be interested in wrenches or socket sets anymore.

  We spent a day driving in silence toward Texas without a game plan. Dad wasn’t speaking because he was too stressed out about the prospect of jail and how to come up with the bail money to avoid it, and I wasn’t in the mood to talk because I was still nursing wounds from his arrest.

  I couldn’t stop from replaying the day in my mind. In those long seconds when the patrolman pointed his gun at us, pulled Dad out of our car, and took him away from me, everything had changed.

  Dad had stopped being the person who was always going to save me. He had become the person who needed to be saved.

  It had all been way too close for comfort. What if I hadn’t screamed out, “No!” from the back of the courtroom? What if the judge hadn’t felt sorry for me? Dad would still be locked up in a cage, waiting to be transferred to another cage in Fort Worth. I would essentially be locked up in some stranger’s house until Mom scraped together the money to get me back to Utah. And then I would be stuck at home with Earl for the summer—which was unthinkable.

  It still stung that Dad didn’t ask a single word about how I had managed to make it through the day while he was in jail. Was he ever even concerned about what I had been through? And would it kill him to acknowledge that it was because of my quick thinking that he was free?

  I wanted to talk about it, to hear him describe what his day in jail had been like. I also wanted him to ask me about my day so I could tell him how I had stood up to that sheriff and had refused to leave the county jail vicinity without having Dad with me. I wanted to explain how I had circled the county jail building, searching for him, and how I had holed myself up in that car all day waiting and worrying. I wanted to tell him how it had ripped my heart out when I had seen him walking up that hill in the orange jumpsuit, chained to the other inmates. Most of all, I wanted to hear him say how proud he was of me for interrupting the courtroom proceedings and keeping that judge from shipping him off to a Texas jail.

  We spent the night sleeping in the station wagon to save money. The next morning, about an hour into our still-aimless drive toward Texas, Dad announced that he was going to call his old friend JD for help. JD, like Dad, was a hotheaded, stubborn, charismatic, self-employed salesman who dabbled in anything he could get his hands on. When I was in fourth grade, JD and his long-time girlfriend, Kerrie, had set up a jewelry business in Logan. Some days after school, Connie and I headed over to their rental house and spent the afternoon stringing necklaces and bracelets, for which we received a dime each. Then JD and Kerrie took the items to arts and crafts shows, set up booths, and passed our work off as authentic turquoise jewelry made by Navajo Indians.

  JD and Dad drove each other crazy but when one of them was down, the other could usually be counted on for a lift. As it stood, Dad figured JD owed him a favor because a few years back, Dad had raised ten thousand dollars to get him out of a jam.

  I waited in the car while he made his call to JD from a pay phone. I crossed my fingers, hoping the conversation would go well. I could tell just by looking at Dad that the pressure was getting to him. His face was pale and his mouth looked like it had been tattooed into a permanent frown. He had hardly eaten anything in the past two days. I may have been able to get him out of the jam in Illinois, but I had no clue how to miraculously make twenty-five hundred dollars appear so Dad could stay out of jail in Fort Worth. He needed someone to help him, and JD sounded like his only hope.

  Dad stayed on the phone for twenty minutes and then hopped into the car. I couldn’t tell by the look on his face how things had gone. I waited for him to speak.

  “Well, Ingrid,” he said finally. “Looks like we are heading to Austin. JD’s selling ceiling fans there right now and said he would help.”

  I uncrossed my fingers and inhaled, feeling the relief wash over me.

  “That’s great, Dad.” I reached over and patted his leg like he always did to me. He stared at the road ahead of us and shook his head, like he was trying to wake himself up from a bad dream.

  “Yeah, I guess so. You know I hate asking people for help―even if they do owe me.”

  We landed in Austin, Texas, a day later and camped out at Kerrie and JD’s house. I didn’t want to get in Dad’s way so I helped Kerrie sell some of her fake Navajo Indian jewelry at a nearby swap meet each day while he and JD hit the streets selling ceiling fans. In less than two weeks, Dad had the twenty-five hundred dollars we needed.

  He decided we should head straight to Fort Worth so he could pay the bail and be done with it. He still wasn’t sure what we were going to do for a living and was back to being silent. I knew not to bug him when he was in a mood like this so I kept silent too, hoping the cloud would pass.

  “You thirsty?” he asked about an hour into the drive.

  “Yeah.”

  “Me, too. Let’s take a little break.”

  Dad pulled off at the next exit and stopped at a small convenience store. I grabbed Sugar Free Dr Peppers for both of us and set them on the counter, where Dad was waiting to pay. By the time we got back to the car, his mood had shifted.

  “Did you see all of those T-shirts and sunglasses in there?” he asked as he turned the key in the ignition.

  “Yeah, I saw them,” I replied, pulling back the tab on my drink.

  “You know what I’m thinking, Ingrid? I think I’m going to start selling some of that.”

  I glanced at Dad. He was smiling and drumming his right hand against the steering wheel. It was like someone had flipped on a light switch inside of him. His mood had suddenly jumped.

  “Just think, Ingrid. Can you imagine how many little mom-and-pop c-stores there are? There are thousands of them. Every town is full of them. And the owners are all looking for a way to make more money. I can get those T-shirts, glasses, videos―all that junk―for next to nothing.”

  “I think it sounds like a great idea,” I offered, catching his enthusiasm. “I’ll bet it would be pretty easy too.” In my mind, it sounded a lot easier than hunting down loners who looked like they had some money they wanted to part with.

  “Yup, Ingrid. I’ve made a decision. I’m going into the trinket business.”

  As soon as we got to Fort Worth, Dad drove to the courthouse to make his mandatory appearance and pay bail. I waited in the station wagon and fed the parking meter with quarters the hour he was gone.

  When he returned, we headed to the wholesale district and spent the next two hours picking out sunglasses, cotton-polyester T-shirts, and an assortment of videos.

  “Yeah, Ingrid, I definitely think this is our answer,” he said as we loaded the boxes of merchandise into the back of the car.

  Back in our seats, Dad rolled down the windows to let some air circulate through the hot car and turned on the radio. He turned left out of the parking lot and started driving down the city’s back roads. I didn’t ask where we were headed next. I was just glad things were back on track. I nestled into my seat, closed my eyes, and let the country music wash over me.

  About ten minutes into the drive, Dad flipped off the radio. I opened my eyes and glanced over at him. A mischievous grin was painted on his face.

  “How would you like to go check out that car of yours, Ingrid?”

  His words caught me completely off-guard. Of course I’d thought about the car the minute Dad said we would be heading toward Fort Worth. And I had spent at least an hour fantasizing about the car nearly every day since I had landed in Wichita and Dad had told me about it. But after everything that had happened in the past couple of weeks, I figured the car was the last thing on Dad’s mind, and I didn’t dare ask about it.

  “Are you serious? Really?”

  “Of course I’m serious. You didn’t think I had forgotten about it, did you?” Dad laughed and shook his head. “Sometimes I don’t know about you, Ingrid.”

  All of t
he stress and hurt and anger from the past two weeks melted away in an instant. Dad had remembered his promise about the car.

  My heart raced as we headed to another wholesale warehouse where Dad sometimes did business. I was so excited I couldn’t even speak. I couldn’t believe that it was finally for real.

  We pulled into the warehouse parking lot and Dad drove around to the back. There, parked by itself, sat the most amazing Volkswagen Beetle I had ever seen. It was baby blue with a white roof and dark blue racing stripes on the side. The car was perfectly shaped in smooth half-oval. There wasn’t a dent or rust spot on it.

  “Is that it?” I squealed. “It’s beautiful!”

  Dad laughed.

  “I knew you would like it. Did you think I would get anything less for my number one girl?”

  Before he could bring the station wagon to a complete stop, I flung open the door and jumped out. I raced to the Volkswagen and peered into the driver’s side window, taking in the black vinyl interior. Then I made a circle around the car, running my hands along the stripes and over the hood, which radiated warmth from the Texas sun.

  “I love it, Dad!” I yelled, turning back to look at him. “This is so cool. I can’t believe it’s for real.”

  He beamed. “Well, I promised you I would get you a car. Now I just have to come up with the money to get the motor fixed.”

  My whole body tingled. I felt dizzy with happiness. I wanted to dance and sprint around the parking lot and whoop with joy. I had daydreamed about this day plenty of times, but my imagination never came close to matching the feelings I had inside. I ran to him and wrapped my arms around his waist.

  “Thank you, thank you, thank you! I don’t even know what to say. This means everything to me.”

  Dad squeezed me back. “Well, we’re here. You might as well go get to know your car.” He pulled out a key from his pocket and handed it to me.

  The words “your car” replayed in my mind as I raced back to the VW. I opened the driver’s side door, climbed in, and spent the next few minutes going over every detail. I moved the seat forward until I had it adjusted to my height. I played with the radio knob and moved the switch on the heater. I opened the glove compartment and put my wallet in it while I pretended to be driving.