Manilow was coming back to the area in August, this time to the beautiful outdoor amphitheater called the Mann Music Center outside Philadelphia. I couldn't wait to get tickets, knowing Jill would return late in the summer.
There was one hitch this time: a local radio station bought out all of the tickets- about 10,000 for a promotional stunt. The tickets would be given away in the next several weeks and all summer leading up to the show. I had to first qualify by sending in a contest coupon. Every hour the station would announce several names and if your name was called you had a short amount of time to call back and claim the free tickets.
So, if I wanted to see Manilow this time I would need to get lucky.
I listened to the radio every free waking moment. Some people never returned the call back. Some listeners really weren't fans, at least not die-hards like me and Vicki . Many called because they were free. It was a frustrating stunt because here I was, dying to get a pair of tickets, with no luck so far, and people who weren't fans at all had tickets.
Weeks went by and still no luck. Quite a few "Smiths" were announced, just not the right one. Then when all seemed lost, around 2 a.m. one quiet night, as I was drifting off to sleep, I vaguely heard my name. Was I dreaming?
I grabbed the phone, still bleary-eyed, and dialed. The line was busy but I finally got through, giving them my name and code number.
I won! Two tickets were winging their way to my mailbox!
I had a pair of tickets and I was happy, able to finally sleep again. Then someone at work, who also won ticket(, but not a fan) knew I was a fan from the "Three Wishes" special. She gave me her tickets. Now I had four.
Then, in a last-minute stunt, the radio station started giving away tickets at local shopping malls. I went to one of the giveaways to soak in the fun. Hundreds of fans lined the mall . I saw many familiar faces and was nearly caught in a stampede when the location of the actual giveaway was switched to across the mall. I picked up two more tickets and now I had six.
I gave the extras to Vicki and Chris, who got shut-out. . By hook or by crook, Manilow fans got their tickets . Some traveled from mall to mall. Some stayed up with the radio night after night, listening together in shifts. Some traded or bartered for tickets . Others took out ads in newspapers.
Jill did come over but this time for only two weeks. Since she was new at work she didn't have much time off and was lucky to get what she could. We shared another great show together on a warm, starry summer evening. We didn't meet Barry this time but it didn't matter.
At times Jill seemed strangely distant, very unlike her. I'm sure she had a lot on her mind. But she continued to say not to worry so I didn't.
While she was in the States we worked on her "Fiancee Petition,' a special visa that would allow her to work and live in the States--only if she married an American. It was a long process so applying was the first step. There were forms to complete along with gathering birth certificates and identification photos.
For the first time Jill saw our "Three Wishes" video That's when she wasn't hiding her face with a pillow, peering up at times. She concluded that it was "nice."
We talked more seriously about the future in those two weeks. We decided to live with my Mom and go back to Norway frequently. I was making contacts about a job for her. Children were another matter. I knew Jill wanted kids someday. We spent a lot of time in baby departments while we were shopping together and I could imagine Jill would make a caring mother.
But I had to be honest. There was a 50% chance any child of mine would have O.I. We couldn't live in fear, but since O.I. is a genetic disorder it was possible to be passed along. I wouldn't want anyone, let alone my kid, having to go through what I went through.
"I'll see you," is what she said when we parted again, hopefully for the last time ever.
Jill didn't have a phone in her new apartment yet- another strange thing- so I couldn't call her as often as I had,. I felt out of touch at times. I know she liked her new life as a budding attorney, living in the exciting city of Oslo and working for a well-respected law firm. That's all she talked about on her last visit. Our letters continued as did our plans. Her visa was due any day now.
Then it happened. First my job. I couldn't blame the county for stopping my taxi rides. I was surprised they had picked up the bill this long, but Ed always reassured me by saying "Don't worry about it." Maybe the county Commissioners got on his case. I was well-liked and did good work but one day in the fall I was called into my supervisors' office. It's never a good sign when they shut the door.
Poor Ed couldn't tell me himself. I didn't blame him. He was good to me. Either I had to find another way to get to work- by bus, car, whatever- that was now my problem- or resign or be terminated. I had a week to make the arrangements.
Not learning how to drive bit me in the butt again. Mom offered to take me back and forth until I found another way but as luck would have it, her car was in the garage just then. It was old, a used car to begin with, and it was on it's last legs. I asked for more time, until the car was repaired but I had a week, period.
I couldn't afford to pay the expensive cab ride each way, but that's exactly what I did for several weeks as I fought to save my first job. What was the use of working when practically all of my salary was being spent on transportation alone?
The bus route was not accessible. This was still the pre- Americans with Disabilities world I was living in. Paratransit was in it's infancy and wouldn't cross county lines. I couldn't find anyone to car-pool with. There was no angel like Lori in my life now. I was doomed.
I didn't want to quit. I didn't want to go back to life on and off unemployment and disability benefits. I worked so hard to get off those government programs. Because of transportation I may be forced to take a step back...again.
Vocational Rehabilitation couldn't help anymore. I regretted not accepting the hospital gig, even temporary, and when I contacted them about a possible opening I was told no openings.
I really liked my work now. I was helping others and making a difference, real Social Work. I felt like such a failure now. It was my fault. I gave up looking for other ways to get to work after a while. .I hit so many brick walls that I didn't want to rock the boat with Ed. I knew I was on borowed time all along, so I rode out the county's generosity as long as it lasted.
Reluctantly, I resigned, giving them two-weeks notice. My co-workers sympathized with my plight but there wasn't much they could do. All they could do was wish me luck and offer encouragement that things always happen for a reason.
Cleaning out my desk was terrible. I was on borrowed time, and no matter how much sympathy and encouragement I received I was treated like a guy on the way out. I started sending out resumes again, but the same problems were still there. Transportation would haunt me wherever I went.
I sent Jill flowers that week, for no reason, other than to say "I love you." I didn't tell her about work. I felt something good was going to happen any day. As it turned out, I didn't need to tell her.
Usually I couldn't wait to open Jill's letters. This time I hesitated when I found the envelope on my bed after work. I changed into casual clothes first, glancing at her mail. It had taken an unusual length of time for her to write back
The letter began as always. Well, almost. Instead of "Dearest" Greg it began "Dear" Greg. That is where any connection to the literally hundreds of letters and notes in the last seven years ended. I couldn't believe what I was reading.
Jill was saying goodbye. She was ending our relationship for good.
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