Brat

By Bobbi Kay

In the early seventies rock music ruled the airwaves, belled bottom jeans and bandana headscarves swept the fashion magazines. Belamie McConnell is not your typical teen, she is an Air Force brat afforded luxuries of world travel and being fluent in several languages.
Belamie grows up strong and independent, circled by a loving family and good friends. Life is close to idyllic until James McConnell receives order for Clark Air Force base in the Philippines.
Everything Belamie knows or perceives her life to be, all plans mapped out for her future, changes in an instant.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bobbi Kay
• Release date: Dec 25, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310577826

Bobbi Kay

Bobbi Kay resides in the beautiful Rocky Mountains of Colorado. BRAT is Bobbi Kay's first published novel and was conceived on the back of a Harley Road King riding to Minneapolis to visit family. Drawing heavily from personal experience as a military child, BRAT is only the beginning of Belamie's tale. Look for The Biker's wife, a second novel starring Belamie, coming soon.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

The sound of playing cards rhythmically slapping against bicycle spokes echoed down the poorly paved road. Dusk settled gently, summoning neighborhood streetlights to begin their flickering beam dance.

Moisture laden air pasted Belamie’s bangs against her forehead. Her light cotton tank top cringed against damp glistening skin, an occasional faint breeze shifting wisps of long light brown hair across her shoulders. With a firm grip on the turned up handlebars, Belamie effortlessly steered the stolen bike. Placing her left hand behind her she twisted around, checking on her best friend peddling methodically behind.

Sari seemed as if she just stepped down from pages of a glamour magazine, even eloquently supporting a heavy white plaster cast, resulting from bunion surgery in late April. The hospital casing surrounded her in certain fame, enveloping around her as a fairytale. Every inch of plaster from toes to kneecaps shared heartfelt wishes, funny drawings to make her laugh and phone numbers by the dozen.

Belamie’s homespun girl-next-door cuteness, as her mother described her, sprinkled dimpled cheeks in a light dusting of freckles, the sunspots becoming more prominent when she played outside, deepening and fluttering about her face. To Belamie’s dismay, not one single remedy her Grandfather Anderson presented to rid her of the spreading freckles ever worked, though she tried everything with high hopes.

Between base hops, the McConnell family always returned to Boone, Iowa, the birthplace of Belamie’s parents Jack and Jean. On summer mornings, ever so faithfully, long before sunrise and while family still slumbered, Belamie tiptoed outside, opening the never locked front door, shutting the creaky screen door with a soft caution.

Standing barefoot in the grass, toes curled up, she collected dew condensation, lavishing it down her face and neck. She would rid her face of these spots Grandma had unfailing nerve to call angel kisses, if it was the last thing she did.

Peter, her younger sibling, on one occasion followed her, sitting Indian style on the concrete porch, a bowl of Wheaties balanced on his lap. In amusement he followed his sister’s odd ritual, offering up keen knowledge on the subject.

You know Belie; dew is plain old water formed in droplets. It appears on exposed objects in the mornings or evenings because of condensation. It’s related to temperatures. In late summer it forms on surfaces which aren’t warmed by conducted heat, like grass. Dew should not be confused with guttation, which is how plants release excess water from the tips of their leaves.

He took a huge bite, crunching cereal with an open mouth, something he would never do in front of his mom and dad. It felt rebellious.

Thank you Einstein. Belamie smirked. I hope for your sake, you put the milk back in the fridge and not on the counter. It gets warm and nobody likes spoiled milk.

The interesting fact about warm milk is……. Peter began.

Belamie squinted tensely, pretending to go after him. Peter jumped up like a rabbit hopping across the porch inside slamming the screen door behind him.

Belamie and Sari immediately tightened friendship bonds after meeting at the Maharaja Hotel. Many transitional Air Force families stayed there waiting for off base housing before moving onto Clark Air Force Base.

Sari’s family luckily spent four years stationed in Hawaii before heading Deep South to Mississippi. She’d hated that last year and looked forward to Clark. Tanned and long-legged, she carried with her a soft southern twang.

Belamie, the opposite, hated her fair freckled skin, she covered daily in sunscreen. She modestly played down her striking features, unknowingly by doing so, attracted more attention then she cared for.

Never the less, they constantly busted into vivacious laughter. They were so much alike, Belamie’s mother labeled them kindred spirits. In high hopes, they’d finish school, marry, settle down on the same street, raise their children together, and live happily ever after.

Silly girls.

Sari slowed her bike enough to sidesaddle. Wiping flaxen strands of wet hair from her forehead with a swipe of her wrist, she laughed. Sari had the greatest laugh, light, airy and contagious.

I hope you brought cigarettes! She licked her lips. How the hell can lips be dry in this humidity and every other part of your body bleeds water?

Belamie giggled, Yeah, and I thought Michigan was humid!

She tugged her blue flowered cotton top away from her chest, allowing pooled up water to run down in a straight line filling her belly button. Jungle humidity crested the list for hardest thing to handle here.

Gross. She rolled her eyes praying the dampness would not affect the rolled doobies in her shorts pocket. Unquestionably the best perk around here, she fingered them delicately; pleased she’d remembered more than cigarettes.

The weed, ever plentiful could be purchased off base in large grocery sacks at a paltry price.

And you brought the sodas right?

Sari patted her knapsack tied to the back rack of her bike, multiple glass bottles clinked harmoniously together. They looked at each other knowingly.

Don’t even go there! Belamie grinned.

Sari could not resist humming the Coke Song while Belamie sang in perfect harmony.

Their rather un- impressive master plan loosely consisted of riding ten-speeds through the back gates of the Maharaja Hotel and Diamond Housing Development. Beyond the hobbled shack, dense forests, winding paths lead nowhere safe, especially not for two American fifteen-year old reckless teens.

Unfortunately, boredom plagued their spring beginnings of 1973, perhaps exploring a foreign country’s backland might at least bring a little excitement. They knew the back gates were off limits, who listens to parents anyway?

Securely strapped around turned up handlebars, Belamie’s new transistor radio broadcasted American local base station, Far East Network, FEN for short.

The knob cranked to the highest volume, allowed flowing music intertwined amid crackles to emerge from the small speaker. The static remained unnoticed as they continued. Loving to sing and dance, their sweet voices carried throughout the neighborhood, similar to birds in ballad.

Sari leisurely passed ahead swinging her cast free leg back over the boy bar, her brown sandal resting on the twirling pedal. She sang along to Grand Funk Railroad’s We’re an American Band, strident as possible, laughing at the sound of her voice, slowing down allowing Belamie to catch up.

Both drummed their bike’s handlebars to a unique fresh sound, the chimes of cowbells.

Soupy hot air complete with 101 degree temperatures lifted humidity levels. The setting sun lingered unrelenting.

Unbelievably, locals seemed unaware how scorching it was. They wore long sleeves and pants, cooked outside in unbearable heat, roasting dogs and pigs, sometimes other forms of unidentifiable meats on open fire spits. Air-conditioning was a luxury few had.

Belamie had never been so miserable in her life, even in shorts, tank top and hair flipping lightly in the steaming breeze, she felt uncomfortable within her own skin.

All she wanted was to pedal faster so the motion would carry her away somewhere cooler. A place where no cockroaches crawled out of shower drains and trees did not drip greenish brown worms that fell onto her shoulders.

Pushing towards the back gate, the short ten minute ride had already taken twenty.

Dinner settled in Belamie’s stomach like a lead balloon. Thursday night’s menu consisted of pork chops, mashed potatoes with gravy and some god-awful mushy greenish vegetable.

Belamie seated left of Jack, her sister LizzyB to his right, Jean besides LizzyB and her brother Peter at the opposite head end of the table.

Tonight, Jack performed his usual meat ritual, cutting gristly fat from the chop, placing it neatly on his plate’s edge. At meal’s end he opened the salt container and poured, savoring it similar to a decadent dessert.

Belamie, not amused, always turned away in disgust. It made her sick to her stomach, seeing animal fat gobbled up in such a manner.

After dinner, Jack settled down in his overstuffed leather armchair with an after dinner beer in a frosted Oktoberfest Krug. Jean always kept several mugs in the freezer for him after a grueling day at the office.

Everyone knew his day was grueling because he announced it loudly; expecting happiness and sympathy from loved ones. Jean would pop a Heineken, carefully pouring just right, so frothy foam clung along the rim.

Belamie rolled her eyes, thinking how her mom made everything look like a commercial.

After washing and drying supper dishes, Belamie ever so sweetly, asked permission to spend the night over at Sari’s. Jack never minded given it was not a school night and once cozy in his chair, supplied with beer and television, he wanted nothing more than to settle in, welcoming night’s peace and quiet.

Sari’s dad ranked at full Colonel. Tom was youthful looking, standing tall at 6’5, wiry frame and excessively long arms.

Sari’s mother, Beverley, scraped six feet sporting the solid and fit body of a volleyball player. She’d played in college, still showing excellent body tone.

The Wagner’s roomy home, stretched double the size of Belamie’s with five bedrooms, three baths, formal dining room, large kitchen and a two-car garage.

Belamie loved being there; enjoying perks of the best toasted tuna fish sandwiches in the world, watching house girls, Marti and Bessie scoot around on half coconuts laced to their feet, polishing floors while they worked throughout the house.

Colonel Wagner was much cooler than her own dad, allowing them to stay up late, listen to loud music and dance on the beds.

Jack had conniption tizzies every time he heard Belamie’s music, always yelling for her to turn it down a notch.

Sari bunged her bike, exhausted from the demanding heat. She dangled her feet over the pedals, cast and sandaled foot dragging on half dirt, half paved ground. Gravel filled open spaces between her toes.

Her casted foot felt like it was melting into the road. She breathed in deep, sucking hot air into her lungs making her cough. Perhaps another time it’d be more enjoyable. Her foot began to throb.

Damn it is fucking hot! She rolled long straight blond hair into a twist knot fanning about her face with her free hand. I have never been so hot, this place sucks!

My Mom says fanning yourself makes a person even hotter because more body energy is used. Belamie smiled innocently batting her eyelashes.

Her mother was always full of such wisdoms.

Sari shrugged slightly and stopped fanning.

Pulling dusty bikes over, they rested under one of many Flame trees so plentiful in the Philippines. The trees blazed with colors of red and gold, creating illusions of leaves on fire.

Belamie hazily gazed up praying the nasty greenish brown worms dangling from bent branches were fast asleep. If one dropped she would surely scream.

Darkness loomed closer, signaling additional creepy crawlers out from mysterious hiding places beneath the ground. Dark brown cockroaches, the size of matchbox cars, poked lengthy antennae over grateless water drains, slowly prodding and scurrying into release. The insects buzzed, clicking about, preparing night for their own.

Belamie swatted the large mosquito suckling on her kneecap, her skin turning red around the bite, swelling nicely. She’d forgotten to protect her skin with bug spray.

Regretting this immensely, she licked her finger wiping the area, pressing down to release the throbbing.

Give me one of those cigs.

Sari cooed, reaching down inside her cast scratching the itch she could never reach, not even with the wire hanger by her nightstand.

I hate this! She growled, cigarette dangling from her bottom lip. Thank God it comes off next month, this is pissing me off! The cigarette bounced up and down between her lips, flicking ash down the front of her shirt.

Belamie dragged deeply on her menthol, tilting her head slightly right, taking in the neighborhood’s stillness, mosquito bite forgotten.

She half heartedly listened to faint laughter and water splashing from the nearby Maharaja Hotel pool. Peter and his friends played there, having a blast.

Belamie moaned, feeling twinges of guilt about stealing Peter’s ten-speed out of the garage like a thief in the night, but it had been so damn easy. He was going to be upset with her; this entire invasion broke the privacy rule 101 that she created.

I hope we don’t have a problem with the gate guards, always the worrier and over guarded of the unknown, Belamie dropped her cigarette snuffing the cherry out with the tip of her sandal.

Are you kidding me? We are Americans and we can go outside the gates if we want! Sari scoffed waving her hand dismissing the statement.

Her fleeting thought of not continuing the journey was now ancient history. The short rest, excited about the forbidden, boosted her energy.

Sari’s statement in fact dug a great deal further than that. As Americans, they were allowed to do most anything in this Country, from underage drinking, getting into nightclubs, or walking around downtown with open containers of liquor.

Americans exhausted money and the locals flocked in frenzy with goods, food, drink, sex, even grocery sacks of high quality pot. Ty/Stick was a popular choice for teenage entertainment.

The young women slowly began walking their bikes into the dark, streetlights and titanic yellow summer moon guiding way. Flying bugs made popping noises and light taps as they bounced off street lamps.

Venturing closer towards the Diamond subdivision’s end, houses sparsely set apart, every noise turning their heads mentally mapping new surroundings.

School break increasingly filled with boredom and nothing to do. Too bad they needed more challenging ways to occupy their time.

Sari had suggested this excursion last week while leaning nonchalantly against the swimming pool gates, sharing a joint. Thoughts of exploration scared and excited Belamie all at the same time.

Now feeling a pit boiling up in her stomach, Belamie passed it off as slight paranoia. She distracted the eeriness by chatting happily about cute boys, latest fashions and what to wear the first day back to school. Nearing the back gate, they giggled uncontrollably.

With the route still in planning stages, they decided to ride the path, keeping close to the housing development’s high stoned fence. Belamie hung her Nikon camera around her neck, planning on taking many pictures.

Passing the last house in the development, they waved cheerily towards the family outside. Mother and baby splashed bare feet in a small plastic pool. Belamie noticed blue dolphins painted around the sides and for some odd reason the fish made her uneasy. She was sure it was Twilight Zone episodes she watched on Sunday nights.

Her heart fluttered as she gripped the bike’s handlebars a little tighter. She jumped back on the bike deciding to coast the rest of the way, slowly turning around to see the father standing next to the pool, hands on hips watching them with concerned eyes.

She smiled as if to say everything was fine then turned to Sari who followed her lead and they rode side by side. Being invincible is the best part about being a teenager, now isn’t it?

Look! There’s the gate. Belamie grinned excitedly turning the radio off.

Gate guards on duty that evening, Edward and Raulie, studied the young women’s approach with caution and concern. Immediately standing, they deserted their dice game unfinished on the small wobbly table.

Few residents passed through these forgotten gates. There was no reason to leave the neighborhood’s safeness. Nothing interesting existed on the other side. Routinely the guards chased off harmless vagrants and gypsies, most searching for honest work.

There were others though, banditos searching access into