Chapter 48: Wooing Becky

"You're not going to mail this," Becky said to me as she folded my letter to Alice and put it in her book bag for safekeeping.

I had never intended to mail the letter to Alice; I had written it for Becky at her request. But I was concerned that the letter would be seen by others, her girlfriends or worse, her mother. Oh well, I thought, let her have her fun with it. She's fifteen now and a responsible young lady. Hell, she's even ready for sex.

From the way she was beaming I knew I was wrong to suspect she would be nervous, as I had expressed in the letter. If anything, Becky's behavior was making me nervous. She acted like she could attack me right there in the cafeteria. And on the way to class she left nothing to the imagination. She made it quite clear to the kids who watched us walk down the hall that we were having sex. They just didn't know that it hadn't happened yet.

But it didn't work out the way I had outlined in the letter. When I got home that afternoon my mom was there, moping around.

"You're going to be late for work," I observed when I saw that she wasn't wearing her nurse's uniform.

"I'm not going," she said, watching to see if I needed further explanation. I didn't. I knew what was troubling her. She had been like this since Heather had been gone. She asked me over and over to describe the man who had taken Heather away. After the second or third time she knew Jeff better than I did, right down to the tattoo around his left nipple. For the record, it was a serpent's head, complete with a long tongue. I knew that I had gone too far with the description of the man who had taken her daughter away. What if she filed out a missing person report? But she pushed me, wanting to know the make and color of the truck, the state where it was registered and what was written on the mud-flaps.

"Have you called in sick?" I asked, thinking that it was not too late to prop her up and send her on her way.

"Yes, they seemed to understand. I have sick time coming."

"I'm sorry, mom. I should have stopped her from leaving. Becky tried harder than I did. I should have tried harder."

"I'm glad you didn't, honey. You could have gotten into trouble."

"I should have taken him on. It would have made Heather mad and she might have left anyway, even if I hurt him," I said, picturing Heather becoming upset with me and Becky screaming for me to stop.

"I didn't make anything for you to eat, Honey," my mother said, like it had just come to her that we had an agreement. I was to pay for the groceries; she was to prepare one hot meal for me each day.

"That's okay. Do you want me to order something? What do you feel like eating?"

"I couldn't eat anything. Order something for your self," she said.

Becky came in the backdoor and I could tell she was surprised to see my mom there. She looked at me and I winced to show my discontent with the situation. My mother left us alone, thinking, I'm sure, that we were going to study. I told Becky that I was going to order something to eat and she said that she was hungry too. "I told my mom I wasn't hungry. Now that I find out we're not going to have sex I suddenly am. We're not, are we?"

"Not unless you know of a way to make her disappear," I said. We ordered a large pizza and sat down to do some homework while we waited for the pizza to be delivered."

"That smells good," my mom said, having come out of her room just as the delivery-guy left.

"I'm sorry about Heather, Mrs. Stevens," Becky said. "It's a shame that we couldn't talk her out of leaving. She was doing so well."

This warmed my mom up. She sat down and talked to Becky about Heather, repeating all the stuff she had been saying to me over the past few days. "I came home and found the tree gone and Heather too," she said, still making a connection between the too.

"We took it down, Mrs. Stevens. It was taking up so much space in the living room that we thought it would make you feel better," Becky said.

My mom seemed to see the logic in Becky's statement. She had a second piece of pizza and talked more about how much she missed Heather being there. Becky let her talk, agreeing with her most of the time but also making comments that made my mother see things differently, like she was accepting the harsh reality. Becky expressed her sympathy for my mom's loss and then made the unexpected pronouncement, "there is one bright side; you'll have more space."

"Say, would you like her room, Sonny?" Mom asked, looking at me.

It had been years since she had called me Sonny. I wondered why she reverted to a name that had not been used since I was in the second grade. I didn't answer. "The room will just go to waste. You may as well use it. She's not coming back."

When she admitted that Heather was not coming back I jumped at the chance to take the room. "Okay, I'll move in there," I said, thinking that my mother was resigned to the fact that Heather was gone, possibly forever. I looked over at Becky and she nodded to me, agreeing, I think, that I was doing the right thing.

We went to inspect the room. It was about one-forth the size of my room at the Oldham home and it was cluttered with Heather's belongings. In other words, it was a mess.

Becky and I spent the night cleaning my new room. We took all three pieces of furniture, the bed, a nightstand and a small table, out of the room. The mattress, I decided, would have to go. We discarded most of the junk we found, storing only the things that my mom claimed were irreplaceable. The closet was loaded with more junk, some of which was transferred to my mom's room because she refused to part with it. Did she hold out hope that Heather would return?

At ten p.m. when I walked Becky home we were feeling a sense of accomplishment. We had made the room ready for my occupancy but more important we had revived my mother from the depths of despair. She was actually enthused about the transformation of Heather's room. What's more, there was no doubt that she would return to work the next evening. Unsaid, but in the back of my mind, Heather's room had a door and offered more privacy than the sleeping bag on the living room floor.

Becky must have been thinking the same thing. "How soon can you get a new mattress?" She asked.

"I'll check with the furniture store after school tomorrow. I'll take anything they have in stock, as long as it's new. Quality is not important; it's not like I'll be using it that long," I said, regretting the way I put it the moment it was out of my mouth. Becky either didn't notice or didn't want to make an issue of what I said.

"I'll go with you," she said.

"That's going to be a sight to see," I said, laughing. "A couple of high school kids ordering a new mattress and asking if they can deliver it the same day. Can you mister, can you?"

We laughed and Becky thought of something. "Perhaps we can try it out in the store," she said, making me laugh harder than before.

"I'm sorry about tonight," I said when we reached her house.

"It's okay. I had a good time," Becky said.

"Thanks," I said, sarcastically.

"I didn't mean it was that good. It could have been better if things had worked out. I guess you'll have to write Alice another letter and tell her how it was when we finally got together."

It was more than a suggestion. It was more than a request. Becky was ordering me to write a second letter. The next day at lunchtime I pushed a folded sheet of paper across the table to her as soon as we took our seats. I watched her unfold the paper and was rewarded with a delightful smile of anticipation. Becky paused when the paper was open and in front of her, looked at me, pursed her lips in that special way, and began to read.

January 15, 1987

Dear Alice,

You end some of your letters by asking, 'how are you, Sammy?' The reason I have not answered the question previously is because the dominos don't always fall my way, things could have been better. It's like trouble follows me around and lands on my shoulder. I know why you keep asking that same question; it is because you are concerned about how I am getting along. Well, Alice, let me assure you that everything is going just fine and I'm going to be okay. A good friend such as you deserves to know why the dominos are falling my way; it's because of my girlfriend, Becky.

I know I've told you about her before but let me tell you some new stuff I've found out. Becky makes the dominos fall just right. She's the one person that finds something positive about any situation. She stood by me when everyone else wanted to send me to a deserted island.

The way she looks at me makes me want to do good, to be good and to think good thoughts. I look at her and it's like I can see inside her; I see good.

I'm sure that I've told you that Becky is cute. That is not all. She's smart and she is fun to be with. She can also be serious and a little pushy. When my sister was running away with a guy it was Becky that kept me from kicking the guy's ass and making matters worse. She also tried to talk sense into my sister but it was no use. When she found my mother feeling sorry for herself, it was Becky's understanding and gentle coaxing that made her look at things differently. My mom offered for me to have Heather's room and Becky and I spent that night cleaning the room and getting it ready for me to move into.

She knows everything about me, and I mean everything. When we looked at our handiwork, Becky reminded me of something Ellen had said, "Now I'm the fucking maid, get it?"

The next day, Becky went with me to buy a new mattress for the room. I had unwittingly told her that quality was not as important as fast delivery because it would only be used by me for a short time. I regretted what I had said immediately because it was a reminder that I would be leaving when the school year was over. But Becky pretended not to notice the reference to my departure and joked that we would test the mattresses on display.

At first, the salesman was skeptical. Having two teenagers with an urgent need for a new mattress was a new experience for him. "Do your parents need to approve your choice?" He asked, meaning, I'm sure, "Are your parents going to be willing to pay for your purchase?"

"My boyfriend slept on the floor during football season but now that it's over and he's lifting weights he needs a more comfortable place to sleep," Becky explained to the apprehensive salesman. The mention of football brought recognition to his face.

"You're the apple-corer boy, aren't you?" He asked, sternly looking me up and down like he expected me to produce my tool and take a chunk out of a mattress. Becky answered before I could tell him that he was correct.

"My boyfriend needs quick delivery. Do you have a mattress in stock?" She asked.

We made our selection based solely on availability and the salesman's assurance that it would be delivered later that day. There was still one hitch; since the bank was closed and there was no way to verify that my check was good, the owner of the store needed to approve it.

We were sitting on one of the display models, deciding what else we needed to shop for when the owner made his appearance. As it turned out, he was a football fan and my admission to being the apple-corer boy probably carried more weight in his decision to accept my check than Becky fluttering her eyelashes at him. But I gave her credit for swaying him to take a chance on me.

"I couldn't have done that without you," I said to her as we left the store.

"You're helpless without me and don't forget it," she said. We shopped for bedding, with me watching while Becky made the selections. "Don't you dare try to make up the bed until I get there," she said as we parted.

I'm totally dependent upon her, Alice. I don't know what I will do without her when I have to leave. I know how to make a bed. I made my own bed at school all last year but if she tells me to wait for her to help, I wait. She had to have dinner with her family before she was allowed to come to my house to study. We parted, counting the minutes until we would be together again. Being away from her is pure torture.

May I remind you, Alice that was how I felt about Becky before we had sex together. Next time I will describe how I feel about her now.

Your friend,

Sammy

I could tell that Becky had finished reading the letter but she didn't look at me, her eyes fixed on the last sentence. A tear rolled down her cheek. She wiped it away and looked at me.

"It won't change anything, will it Sammy? Please tell us it won't change things between us."

Her question stunned me. I hadn't thought about what her response to the letter would be but I certainly hadn't expected that kind of question. I had written the letter because she had requested it, not to stimulate a response. "I don't know," I answered, honestly.

I was saved by the bell. Becky placed the letter in her book bag for safekeeping and we went off to class.