Earning my tuition

chapter 1

Chapter 1

In the spring, my friend Marci announced that she’d accepted a summer job in Utah. She was incredibly enthusiastic about the work. It came with a number of benefits including help with school tuition.
After she left, she called saying that if she completed the orientation and committed to work the summer and that they’d pay her tuition for the entire following year.
Although this sounded far too good to be true, I said nothing.
A week after that, she called again asking if I’d like to join her and babbling on and on about how wonderful things were. I wasn’t interested but said that I’d think about it.
“I know that it’s only been a couple of weeks,” she rattled on, “but I’ve been eating like a pig. Must have gained at least fifteen pounds already. Some of the girls gained even more. Suddenly, she announced that she had to go… Something about lunchtime. And before I knew it, my Marci was gone.
As if this was a bad omen or something, my life began to go very wrong after that. The summer job I’d had for the last three years, abruptly ended. The business was sold or something like that. Then, I received a letter stating that my scholarship wouldn’t be renewed. I called, trying to find out why, but kept being switched from office to office and ended up with no answer.
My parents offered a couple of thousand from their savings. However, the rest of the cost was up to me.
Here it was, the middle of June and already, my summer was blown. I felt myself sinking deeper and deeper into a funk with no hope for the fall or school.
It was about this time that a picture post card from Utah arrived showing Marci with several friends (or who I thought were friends). Her face was fuller, her middle was thicker and I saw a glossy eyed smile that wasn’t the Marci I’d always known. I guessed she’d gained at least twenty-five pounds. Possibly, the image must have been a misprinted distortion. There hadn’t been time for her to gain an actual twenty-five pounds. Obviously, I didn’t recognize any of the girls she was sitting with and yet, they all seemed so intimate with each other.
On the other side of the card, she said, “Having a terrific time. Passed orientation. Am being sent to the second level in Canada. May be out of touch for a while. Call this number if you decide to join me. Love, Marci.”
The bottom of the card had printing saying Thurber Wellness Institute and a phone number from Utah.
I spent the following two weeks searching for a job. But the economy being what it was, all the good temporary work was already claimed. There was pizza delivery work if I used my Mom’s car. They claimed the tips were good. I didn’t believe them.
Finally out of desperation, I called the Thurber Institute. The phone rang for a long time and when someone answered, it sounded as if he’d just woken.
“Marci?” he mumbled, “When did she join us?”
“About four weeks ago,” I answered.
I could hear papers rustling.
“Ah, hmmm,” he muttered, “Ahhh, yes. Finished testing... Initial classification… Eating well… Thirty-seven pounds… Shows potential… Moved to our heavy farm in Alberta for her second classification…. You say you want to join her?”
“I ah… Ah…” I stammered, not knowing how to answer.
I finally blurted out, “Well, I’m actually looking for a summer job. I wanted to ask her opinion.”
“Ah, huh…” came an answer over the phone, “Can’t visit her there unless you’re a member. You want to join us? Maybe go up, see her for a visit?”
“I suppose I could do that.”
“Okayyyyyy…” he let the word drag out as if he were reading something...
I could hear him typing as this pseudo interview moved on.
“Name?”
“Sarah Middleton.”
“What city?”
“Ashepin.”
“State?”
“W isconsin.”
“What major city are you near?”
“Milwaukee.”
I could hear more typing.
“Age?”
“Twenty.”
“Do you have a passport?”
“Yes.”
“Alright then. Be at the northeast corner of Fourth and Wisconsin in Milwaukee at nine in the morning next Tuesday and bring your passport. Our van will pick you up there.”
“But don’t you want my address or anything else.”
“Nope. We’ll handle all that on the bus. You’re allowed one small carry-on bag.”
“But…” I started to say.
“So… Are you coming?” he interrupted as he started to sound impatient.
“I suppose,” I said hesitantly.
“Alright. I have another call. See you on Tuesday.”
I started to say something, but he was gone.