Becca, Clouds and Weddings

Now that I posted about Beanpole, Becca is wondering why I have not posted about her. Well, first of all, I have not blogged about anything in eons and am returning now, just after school's out. And, to be utterly truthful, an old college pal wrote me and complimented my writing and I thought I'm a lazy bum and then I decided to blog.

Regarding Becca: When someone is around for years and years and years you might not blog about her, but she has definitely received mention. She is a great writer and one of her essays - a combo of traditional rigorous research, contemporary culture, and a frank voice - was recently published in a well-known magazine that shall remain unnamed. She has published other work, as well. Does that count for me - my friend's publications?

I met Becca in high school. I was the new girl, and she was the serious girl who knew everybody and put herself down a lot. She encouraged me to speak up in class (something about which I did write in our alumni newsletter, so there), and she accepted me as I was, despite my lack of cool. Obnoxious Guy made fun of the elasticized waist on the back of the blazer I wore the first day, but Becca never did that stuff. Nowadays, Becca still knows everybody - she moved away for years, came back, and is fully installed, as if she never left. More importantly, she looks really good. Reference photo above. See what I mean? (Beanpole! She is straight.)

Becca was not at my wedding. It is hard to say "my wedding" after seeing the Sex and The City movie, because the main character is all ego-freaky about her wedding, but if I say "our wedding," it sounds like Becca and I are married, but we are not. (Incidentally, Sarah Jessica's wedding dress was a horror, especially since her boobs were too small for it. Those breast things are sticking out, and let's not get into the teal blue taxidermy on her head.) Okay, Becca was not there! Not at The Sex and The City wedding, and not at mine. Follow my digressions, please. At that point we were not in touch, and she was a high school pal whom I had not seen in ages. I did not want some of the people who were at my wedding to be there, and I wanted other people who were not there to be there, and it was all please-your-parents-ish. If Becca had been there I am quite sure it would have been better, but she wasn't, and I am still married. And both Becca and I had excellent wedding dresses sans the dead bird.

At Becca's wedding I had two clouds of guilt over my head. First, because she had not been at my wedding. And second, because I was seated with the most lovely couple, both of whom (I'm whoming a lot today) were classmates at the pre-Becca school I attended. Since Becca knows everybody, she eventually found them. She had told me that they were "the nicest people she had ever met," and she had traveled with them in India. Mrs. Nice-People was a former friend from sixth grade. I was new to private school, and she was a sweet, long-legged and friendly kid who sat with me. We were good friends - I remember sleeping on her top bunk - until The Popular Girls started paying attention to me, at which point I promptly dumped the now-Mrs. Nice-People. At least that's how I remembered it. Sitting there, next to them, as a shallow-child-turned-shallow-adult.

So I'm at this wedding with Ball & Chain, who is happily oblivious to my guilt-clouds, and downing kosher appetizers. (There was Jewish-wedding guilt, too, but that's another story.) Mr. Nice-People is thrilled to see me because, well, he's just thrilled to see me. We had only been in that class together for one year, as he arrived as a freshman, and then I left. He kept saying "I can't believe it! Lucy van Pelt!" or something to that effect. Mrs. Nice-People seemed much more believing and definitely less interested. I was sure she was remembering what an awful girl I had been, and I kept wondering how to say something about what an awful girl I had been. I randomly recalled two coincidental meetings with other members of her family over the years, both of which were awkward: Mom (part of Mom and Dad when I had known her) at a lesbian potluck when I was lesbianing in college, sister dating the fiancee I had ditched and then evil-eyeing me at a party at his house. Anyway, when Mr. Nice-People said goodbye to me, we hugged, but then he did not completely let go, and holding on to my waist with both hands, he looked into my eyes and told me how great it was to see me. I could see Mrs. N-P in my peripheral vision. It was was guilt cloud number three, but admittedly a small thrill.

There are other stories I could tell about Becca or Beanpole or Mrs. Nice-People, as women seem to be most of the main people in my life, and we all kind of come and go, like something out of Gertrude Stein. Recently I had a painful exchange with my dear sister. Becca once described to me the essence of her family, the way - no matter what - family stays together. She said she would tolerate anything from her sister because she was her sister. In high school, we would have scoffed at that type of loyalty, or an admission that friendships come and go. "Friends 4-Eva." But I think Becca was on to something. As my family tries to get up after a few awful swats, I am more conscious of the connection. Becca's insights help.