The Wendy’s Girl
I don’t think it’s all too uncommon that people randomly remember things about their past without anything obvious triggering such memories. Tonight I heard Sugarland playing and, for one reason or another, I was reminded of a girl I used to work with at Wendy’s. This was the period of my life where things were the greatest and the worst. I was 17, on top of the world. I was recently out of a two-year relationship with my first love ever (which we would shortly thereafter get back together, for the sole purpose of letting her crush me all over again). I had a low-paying job flipping burgers (amongst other tasks, lol) and nothing more than a hazy pathway that was the road to my future.
I remember the carefree feeling I had during that time. There were no weights on my shoulders and nothing in the world bothered me. It was the last year of my life that I felt totally free, heart and soul.
Anyways, I hadn’t been working there very long (and I would soon after join the Army…I think within two months?), when I met this really cute girl named Katrina. Everyone called her ‘Kat’ for short. I can’t say I remember the first time our eyes met or the first thing she ever said to me, but I remember there was a strong attraction between us. It wasn’t long before we were flirting at work and making small talk. I found out from someone else she had a boyfriend (B.J. was his name – how ridiculous I thought). Apparently that didn’t matter to her. We ended up making out in the back one night when Irma was on duty (Irma was the shift leader and she totally rocked, plus she liked me so I pretty much got away with whatever I wanted). That was the best day I’ve ever had at work…ever. Even though the feelings Kat and I had for each other were just lust, it was incredible nonetheless.
Kat never broke up with her boyfriend, at least, not while I was around. In fact, I remember sitting out in the parking lot after work talking to her for hours about our futures and lives while she waited for him to pick her up. She told me how she wanted to go to some art school somewhere out of state, and I made up stories about my future. Who knows what ridiculous plans I thought I had back then. Either way, none of it mattered when I finally quit that job and left for the Army. Sometimes I wished I had kept her last name or phone number just so I could call to see how and where she ended up. We always talked about keeping in touch, but never made a conscious effort to follow through with it. I wonder if she still feels “free” or if she has the same weights on her shoulders that I have on mine?
I think the song that reminds me the most about this story is Georgia, by Carolyn Dawn Johnson.
