Forever Friends

“We’ll be Friends Forever, won’t we Pooh?” ask Piglet. Even longer, ‘ Pooh answered.

Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind. “Pooh?” he whispered, “Yes, Piglet?” “Nothing, “said Piglet, taking Pooh’s hand. “I just wanted to be sure of you.”        From Winnie the Pooh by A.A.Milne

My best friend came into my life when I was 4. I don’t actually remember meeting Becky but she is in many of my first memories. We had a very special and unusual bond. In all honesty, I would have to say ours was the most stable, respectful, healthy partnership I ever experienced in my life.

When we first met, Becky lived 2 blocks down the hill from me. When I went there to play, my mother would let me walk all by myself. I loved going to Becky’s house! The downstairs rooms were laid out with the kitchen backed up to a long hall with doors at each end. When the doors were open it made a huge circle, which we often took advantage of by roller-skating round and round until we fell down from exhaustion. We would laugh so hard and even scream when we got rolling too fast.

It felt completely different in her home than in mine. There, I was encouraged to play and have fun and I was allowed to be me. We were 5 when we learned her parents were building a house directly behind mine. We were thrilled! Now our lives were seamless.

Her mother, Wanda, couldn’t have been more different from my mommy. She was thin and wore black leggings and low-cut tight knit shirts of various vivid colors like orange, yellow and chartreuse. Her died hair was cropped short. Her sad eyes were hopeful but were always upstaged by red lipstick. Every time I saw her she was sitting in a large beige recliner watching soap operas and drinking coffee. She chain-smoked and kept the windows open year round to air out the house. It felt like she kind of ignored us, although I know now as a parent, she knew every move we made. At first when I went there I didn’t know how to act without being micromanaged, like with my mommy. After a while I came to appreciate Wanda’s lackadaisical trust in us and found I was careful not to do anything bad simply because I didn’t want to.

Everyone called her dad “Coach”, because he coached the boys’ high school football team. He was completely opposite from my father. He was friendly and outgoing and was loved by everyone. He was involved with his kids and was protective and attentive in a sincere way. He was always inclusive and encouraging of me, and would even engage in short spurts of imaginary play with Becky and me. My love for her dad grew over the years, especially when I got into high school and took his science classes. His teaching ignited my curiosity about how things worked in general science, biology, physics and chemistry. He was a delightful and engaging teacher, and his classes were the favorites of everyone in the school.

After Becky moved into her new house, our world expanded beyond the indoors. Nature did not need to coax us out to play. We couldn’t stay away! Sometimes we’d climb the huge trees in my yard. We helped the neighborhood boys build a gigantic tree house in the secret forest across the large field and down the hill from where we lived. Becky and I were both athletic and enjoyed playing softball, football, and soccer with the boys. We made mud pies, played with our dogs, blew bubbles, spent hours with my Aunt Leonie, roller-skated and always, always, always had a blast.

I was happiest when we were engaged in imaginary play. Becky was totally patient with my need to work out personal issues by becoming “Scott The Cowboy”. She would play this as often as I wanted for as long as I needed. Scott’s life was all about helping people in distress and going out of his way to save the day. Becky was content to play along, embodying “Miss Beverly the Bar Maid” who would wait long periods of time while Scott rode his horse out into the world to do what he needed to do. She was always there waiting for me when I got back—gunuienly happy to see me.

One day we were at her house playing and decided to pretend something new. Her dad’s jeep was sitting under the carport. He had acquired it at a military surplus sale. It was his trademark around town and his pride and joy, although it was old and battered with no top. The idea came to us at the same time to play gasoline station. First we went into the store where you pay, looking at all the candy. Once we had made our choices, we came out to the jeep and sat in it pretending to be going on a trip. We didn’t touch any gears or anything as we had promised but we did turn the wheel and pretend there was wind blowing through our hair.

After a while we realized we were getting low on gas so we returned to the gas station. First we had to figure out how to work the pumps. We each had a number of ideas about that. Because gas was pumped for you then, we had never even paid attention to how it worked. After we had talked it out and come to an agreement, we were ready to pump the gas. We went inside the little store and paid for $5 worth of ethyl. Then we went back to the jeep, opened the gas cap and filled the tank with sand from the driveway. We had no idea that we had done something horrible.

I had gone home for lunch when Coach came out and got in his jeep. He started it up and after some frightful noises the engine froze up. He went into his house, puzzled by what was going on and started talking with Wanda about it within earshot of Becky. She came in and proudly told him he didn’t need to worry about getting gasoline in his jeep because we had filled the tank with sand. Becky told me later that her dad’s face turned red and she had never seen him so ANGRY!

With Becky following closely behind him, he knocked on our back door. I opened it and he commanded me to come with him. He sat us down in my back yard on a railroad tie and asked us why we had put sand in his gas tank. He was fuming! I was afraid. We told him we had gone on a long road trip and when we got back the jeep needed gas. He told us that what we had done was very, very bad and that as a consequence he felt he needed to spank us and not allow us to play in his yard for 30 days. Then he turned us over his knee (me first) and gave a couple of light symbolic swats. He left us crying and feeling awful about his jeep and him.

My mother came out to see why we were crying. When she found out Coach had spanked me she became visibly distressed. She called my dad at work and about 10 minutes later he showed up livid with anger, too. By this time Becky and I had slinked unnoticed into the old log building in my back yard we used as a playhouse. We were still crying as we watched my parents yelling at each other back and forth. Then my dad stomped over to Becky’s house and knocked loudly on their door.

Coach came out and he was still FURIOUS! Immediately they started yelling at each other. My father kept repeating, “No one will ever spank my kids but Alice or me”. Coach was yelling about his jeep engine being ruined. Neither was listening to or hearing the other. As the argument escalated Becky and I moved further back into a corner and huddled down where we could still see our dads out the back window.

Suddenly my dad threw a punch at Coach who blocked it, grabbed his wrist, wrestled him to the ground and sat on him holding down his arms. After several minutes of more screaming and threats from both of them, Coach let my dad up. Daddy turned around and left quickly in a huff. He stomped into our house and slammed the door behind him.

Becky and I were really upset. Through our tears we decided we would have to meet at the fairy forest between our houses and play in my yard. Neither of us knew how long “30 days” was but we decided to wait for a better time to ask. We didn’t have any understanding of the extent of the damage we had done to the jeep or why everyone was so upset. We were clear, however, we were never going to put sand in a gas tank ever again!

For years Becky was my refuge–my ground. She, as much as a child can, kept me from going over the edge with all the tension and pressure that dominated my life. We never talked about that because she already seemed to know how it was for me. She was patient, caring and fun, delighted and inspired by my creativity.  She was honest always, and respected and loved me no matter what. The experiences I had being with her gave way to the idea that not every place is the same. This provided me with the hope I desperately needed—that someday I could leave and be
appreciated for being me. Becky has a very special place in my heart. After all, she gave me the world.