They Called Me “Backseat Becky”
Part Four
On a warm sunny Florida day a few weeks after prom, my Mom picked me up from school. We stopped off at the mall to do a little shopping. I remember exactly what I was wearing and how I had done my hair. An adorable floral cotton jumper with pearl buttons up the front, my beloved Birkenstocks, and barrettes on each side of my head holding up my long dark hair. I guess the day you almost take your own life stays vividly etched in your memory.
My Mom had wandered off, probably to whatever store was having the biggest sale and I was on my way to find her. I was running up the escalator when my right sandal caught one of the steps. My big toe shot out and became an instant meal for the teeth of the stairs. As I made it to the landing I was bleeding badly. I remember limping through the store with a pool of blood that had collected in my shoe, searching for my Mom. She was a nurse and I knew she would know what to do.
As predicted she had me cleaned up and bandaged in no time from supplies in her trunk. The skin on my toe was more mangled than cut so stitches wouldn’t have helped. As we pulled into our driveway I was happy to be home and was looking forward to putting my foot up and letting my Mom give me some TLC. It wasn’t long after that there was a knock on our front door.
I could hear her voice. The syrupy sweet sound had an ominous undertone that was hard to miss. Mama called me out of my room and said some friends had come to see me. As I walked into our kitchen there she was. Her crystal blue eyes sparkled with confidence and a smug power that filled me with dread. She had introduced herself to my Mom, and though they had never met, Mama knew who she was. Aside from being pretty, popular, and rich, Mean Girl #1 had a very well-known father in our community. She complimented my Mother on our home and Mama’s reaction was about the same as if the Queen herself had delivered the praise.
I knew whatever Mean Girl #1 was here for wasn’t something I wanted Mama to know about. So, I suggested we hang out in the front yard. “Bye, Mrs. Wilcox. It was soooooo nice to meet you.” I almost threw up. The contrived sing-song lilt of her voice was an invasion in my home. My safe place. MY home. With my heart racing, my brain spinning and my foot throbbing...I limped out my front door to face the troop who had come to our little cove to exact their vengeance.
The calculated payment they expected for my crimes was like choosing a knife or poison. They had planned this for who knows how long. They were unified and not one of them showed an ounce of compassion. “So here’s the deal” said the leader as she she stood in front of her pristine white Volvo that was comfortably parked in my driveway. “You have two choices, you can come with us to the woods where we will beat the shit out of you, OR I’m going to go back inside your house and tell your Mom what a slut of a daughter she has. After meeting her, I bet she won’t be too happy to hear that her daughter is nothing but a boyfriend stealing whore.”
Sweat started to gather everywhere. A slight dizziness. How had my life come to this? My chest began to tighten. Breathing was labored. This was a choice? My strict Christian upbringing wasn’t lost on anyone. They knew very well that being beaten was the only viable option I had. I pathetically tried to buy time. They were insistent. I told them I needed to go inside and ask my Mom if I could go off for a while. They gleamed with joy. This was the choice they had come for. Violence was what they wanted. I was no longer a person. I was a punching bag who deserved every painful blow. I was nothing.
The moment I stepped back inside Mama said “I can’t believe blankety blank’s daughter thinks my house is beautiful. Her home must be 10 times nicer than ours.” Mama had been sold. I knew she would believe whatever Mean Girl #1 told her. But I also knew that I couldn’t live in a world where they had won. I just needed time. Furiously combing every inch of my brain for anything to tell them I limped back outside. “Mama said I can go, but I just need to finish my chores. If you come back in 30 minutes I’ll be ready.” They all scoffed, “Well, gee, not sure, what should we do ladies?” “She’ll still be a slut who deserves a beating in 30 minutes, lets just come back.” Giggling laughter erupted as they all hopped into the Volvo. “See you soon Backseat Becky!”
I was in a state of absolute panic but a 30 minute postponement felt like a week. There had to be something I could do. Then I saw Daddy’s brief case. I knew what was inside. He was a retired police officer and traveled a lot. He was allowed to carry a pistol. I knew the code on each spinning lock. I had never shot a gun but I knew enough to figure it out. I took the gun to my room and sat on my denim colored carpet staring around at all the things that were mine. The cordless phone rang. I answered it. “We’re down the street slut, we’re coming back. You better be ready.” I hung up but not before I heard all the girls laughing and taunting me in the background. I even knew where they were. They were at a girl’s house who I had grown up with. I thought she was my friend.
What was the point? No matter what I did they weren’t going to leave me alone. If Mama and Daddy found out what was being said the shame would kill me anyway so why not just take care of it myself, on my terms? I must admit I felt a sense of personal control that I had been lacking for so long. If I was a blown away bloody mess none of them could hurt me anymore. They would have to find someone else to feed their vampire need to suck away life. I would win...right?
I sat on my floor trembling and hopeless, holding my Daddy’s .38 Special. So many contradicting thoughts and feelings, aching pain, self-doubt and shame. Christmas at Mam-Maw’s surrounded by my family, Nat King Cole, and Hershey’s Kisses. Crying at night so hard I thought my heart would stop. Laughing with my amazing art school friends who lifted me up in a way I had never known. Constant fear of what would happen next. Being on stage and experiencing the life-breathing electricity that made me feel alive. Facing my parents if they found out.
With a hand that felt like cement, I lifted the gun. God would understand.
My younger sister NEVER knocked. We had shared a room until I was 11 and I assumed that privacy was a given after that. But barging in unannounced was her jam. And because of that I’ll always thank the Big Guy upstairs for nosey, annoying, little sisters. “What are you doing Becky?” “ Nothing, what are you talking about?” Holding the gun behind my back. “On my God, what is wrong?” Uncontrollable tears, gulping for air, incoherent explanations.
The phone rang. She was 14, but she stepped up like a Boss. “You will leave my sister alone. I would hate to have to tell my Father what you’ve done. He’s a retired police officer and knows every cop and judge in this town. You come here again and just see what happens.” I sat transfixed. She put the phone down, turned to me and simply said “They aren’t coming back.”
Staring at this sprite of a child through a kaleidoscope of tears I savored my reprieve like a starving man with his first bite of food. My soul filled with a tiny hope. Maybe, just maybe...
The girls didn’t come back. I knew they were still out there along with all the other haters. But for the time being I was allowed to remain intact. School was out and summer had begun. My family always went to St. Augustine for one week each summer. Being 16 and having my own car made the trip much better than years prior. I felt so grown up cruising the beach. I didn’t have to worry as much about running into those who would see me damned. But I still couldn’t stay out of trouble with my parents. I was such an emotionally twisted mess that acting out became the only way I could release the pressure that was my constant companion. And deep down, I blamed them.
If only I had made it home for curfew that night. As I snuck my way through the pool area, hoping my parents were long asleep, I saw my Mother leaning over the 4th floor balcony calling for me. She was angry. I knew I was in trouble. So I did what I did best in that scenario. I ran. With the clothes on my back, a half a tank of gas and a few dollars in my purse, I drove off into the night. I went to a friend’s house where I knew I could stay the night. I would figure it out in the morning. Now was all that mattered. I got high, hung out, and crashed.
When morning came I realized that the damage was done. I knew how worried my folks must have been but I couldn’t go home. Looking back, it all seems so simple. Just go and say you’re sorry. Give them your car keys and take your lumps. But I was terrified. I wasn’t any of the things I knew they wanted me to be. I felt their disapproval and disappointment like the burning heat of summer. I loved them and hated them at the same time. I felt like a stranger. I felt like they would never accept me the way I was. Pretending to be a person they could be proud of was an acting job I didn’t want. I just wasn’t that talented.
I have 6 sisters total. 5 are much older than me. I decided my best chance was to go to the one I thought my parents would least expect me to go to. I was hungry and tired and scared, and I thought she would help me. Now please don’t get me wrong, I love my sister to this day and this part of my story isn’t a condemnation of her. It was a long time ago and I guess she did what she thought was right at the time. But if I’m to tell this story with purity I have to tell it all.
She welcomed me in. Homemade spaghetti and a glass of sweet tea was like heaven on a TV tray. Two bites in and there was a knock at the door. There he was, a tall handsome officer of the law, his sunglasses reflecting my Sisters face. “You have a reported runaway here Ma’am?” My eyes darted to the table by the front door. My keys were gone. She set me up! It was like an explosion happened inside my soul. Betrayed again.
I lost all sense of composure or ability to control what came out of my mouth. I became a screaming banshee with the most colorfully vile vocabulary one can imagine. Mirrored sunglasses man intervened. Clearly underestimating me, he asked me to sit out front and calm down while he talked to my sister. What an amateur move. I didn’t need a car. Both my legs still worked. So in my ragged jean shorts, faded mauve t-shirt and Birkenstocks, I tore off. Down the front steps of the apartment complex, through the parking lot, over a chain link fence and into a thicket of woods. I remember thinking “I’ll show them. How funny when they open the front door and I’m gone.”
There I huddled, sweating beneath the bushes, night falling, mosquitoes biting, heart breaking, thinking of that plate of spaghetti and perfectly sweetened tea, sitting barely touched.
In that moment I couldn’t imagine things getting much worse. But I was mistaken once again...
Please stay tuned for my 5th installment coming soon.
As always, Thank You for reading.