High School

Missy Frazier and Silliness

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I had a hard time fitting in during high school — I hadn’t gone to school with the same people for middle school and elementary, and my interests weren’t necessarily the same as the people I knew. Also, and this is true today, I took myself too seriously and wasn’t always willing to laugh at things that were funny. Missy Frazier, who drove a Oldsmobile 78 in 1988 and who was one of the first people in our class to get her drivers license (sorry so many of the stories center around cars: This was Houston in the 70s and 80s, people — the bike stories will come, but, they gather speed slowly). As such, she had power and style — the Olds 78 was not only incredibly big engine with an unbelievable beige paint job, it also had power windows and locks that were controlled by VACUUM TUBES. Gather round children, and we’ll tell you stories.

Anyway, Missy Frazier and her car were the source of much joy for me in 9th grade. She let me tag along many places, she invited me over to watch her very sophisticated and funny parents playing cards with their friends (and her older sister create her awesome aura of awesomeness). This was the era of Love Shack from The B-52s, and the memory of driving down the empty roads between our school and our suburbs with the song at full blast, laughing and singing, is a joyous one.

ImageMissy and I started designing outfits for holidays — painting boxer shorts and t-shirts with an entire rainbow of puffy paints. This was a way to declare our friendship with each other, to stand out in the crowd, and to while away the hours after school. We’d start with an idea, and then riff on it and add to it until we felt the outfits were sufficiently crazy, laughing all the time about how silly we’d look. In this classic outfit, although Missy wasn’t a vegetarian, I had just become one, and we painted “Gobble Gobble Save the Turkeys” on the front. 

Those days were hard ones, figuring out how to fit in at Westbury, learning how to be a proper Rebellette … just wait for an upcoming story … and mourning my friends from middle school many miles away on the other side of Houston. If it weren’t for Missy’s unbridled joy for life and her open-hearted acceptance of my odd ways, those days might have shaded into impossible. I’m grateful for her love of silliness, which sustained me and encouraged me in those long-ago days.

Ed Williams & The 280 ZX

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SCAN0031-2In the summer of 1992, just after my high school graduation, I took a job assisting a real estate professional in Katy, Texas, about 30 miles from where I lived in Houston. My mom had just married my stepfather, Lou, and I was dealing with the sadness around that by going as far as I could for as long as I could until it was time to leave for college.

One day, my trusty beloved blue Toyota Corolla broke down. My mom needed her car, my high school boyfriend needed his car, and I couldn’t figure out what to do. I needed to get to work, for my own sanity and for my work ethic, and I hated to ask for help. After panicking for a while, I decided to call my friend Ed Williams, himself a 1992 Westbury high school graduate.

Since I met Ed, he’s loved cars. He drew cars at school, he talked about cars when we drove to school, he knew everything about every kind of car, and he hoped to be a car designer when he grew up. After making it through high school without a car, he had recently acquired a low-slung, red, sexy, complete junker of a car, an ancient 280ZX. He loved that car far more than it deserved.

Ed was hesitant — and yet Ed is a very kind guy. With some gentle persuasion (begging) he agreed. I walked over to his house in my very fancy work clothes in the early pre-dawn, and he gave me the keys to that car.

I hadn’t driven a stick shift in a year or two — as a matter of fact, I’d only been driving for a year or two, and had already been in several accidents. So his trusting me with his stick-shift, red 280ZX was an act of faith — an act of kindness.

That car was a total piece of crap. I’m not sure if it was a terrible car or I was a terrible driver or a terrible combination of both, but that was the longest round-trip drive I’ve ever taken. The car smoked, it stalled, and its rusty frame frightened me. I could barely get in and out of its low-slung seat. I prayed and prayed to get all green lights so I wouldn’t have to stop, downshift and start the entire painful process over. But I got to work. I got to work on time. I called Ed, telling him that both the car and I had made it without incident, and I brought the car back to him that evening.

I hate driving, it’s something I’ve always been especially bad at. I hate asking for help, acknowledging weakness is not a particular strong suit, either. But my memory of that day, stopped at the Katy Freeway toll booth and praying I could get the car started to drive away, reminds me of what it is to feel cared for. Of what it is to feel not alone in the world. Ed, loaning me his beloved car that he knew I could barely drive — That is just one yesterday that makes me appreciate Ed Williams and my own journey.