BECKY
Hometown (small town girls)
Becky Traver’s mom was a ghost.
Becky dominated the seventh grade playground.
She was broad shouldered, broad hipped, pigeon toed.
She was fast maturing, acne prone and knock-kneed.
She was tough and didn’t seem like someone who needed parents.
Becky had a hard time with school. She was teased a lot,
but only so far as a person could go,
before she’d wallop ‘em. Chase ‘em down. Pin ‘em down. Make ‘em shut up.
There were moments and seasons where she seemed to have friends.
Certain teams excelled, if she were on them.
So we girls would be nicer to her, on the court or gym field,
and cheer her on at the track.
Sometimes we stretched beyond ‘nice’ and invited her to meet us for school spirit events
or volleyball at the town beach. You couldn’t call her to make plans though;
she didn’t have a phone.
And your Mom couldn’t speak to her Mom, because her “mom was never home.”
Becky Traver’s mom was a ghost.
Becky was not best dressed and she lacked proper instruction in hygiene.
We all wondered why she didn’t know the basics.
She’d have more friends if she bathed.
One day, I’ll never forget.
We had made arrangements to meet Becky on Main Street at a certain time.
On the way, we passed her apartment house and figured we’d knock on the door and pick her up.
We knocked and knocked but no one answered.
A couple minutes later as we were walking away,
I saw Becky climbing out a back window.
She came round the corner pretending she’d just gotten there, ready to meet us.
She walked ahead with some of the faster girls.
I looked through the window Becky had climbed out of. It was one big mess.
Naked rooms full of trash, empty bottles and clutter.
Draped over the sofa was her drunken mother.
At least the open window would air it out. Becky didn’t know I saw her.
Didn’t know I knew. She’d rather climb out a window than open the door,
rather sneak out the back than be embarrassed up front.
I don’t remember ever making fun of Becky after that.