Friday, March 30, 2012

The Yearbook: Becky

The year was 1982. We danced to Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” album and watched “E.T.” on the silver screen. John Belushi died and Prince William was born. We exercised  to Jane Fonda video tapes and never missed watching “Dynasty” on TV. Gas cost 91 cents a gallon and a stamp two dimes. We were spooked by the Tylenol scare and held our breath as the recession began.
It was a year of promise and pain, of sweetness and sorrow.

But it was OUR year. 

We were the Class of 1982, and we were ready to take on the world.   





Becky (Yearbook post/1982) 

Gina, well, I believe you know what I have to say. I have so much to tell you but I’m not a very good writer. But I’ll try my best. Sorry for being such a bitch this year but I had problems. Thank you for standing by me and for understanding. I sure do hope that you get everything out of life because you deserve it. But I don’t have to worry about that because I know you will go after what you want and not stop for anything. If you ever need me to support you or back you up for anything, you know I will be there. You don’t even have to ask me. Love, Becky


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3/30/12

Becky was a bitch our senior year. But only the second half. It started  after Christmas break. I think something happened when she went to visit her older brother in Chicago. She left the day after Christmas and spent the week with him, including New Year’s Eve. I tried talking to her about it every now and then, but that just made her bitchier. I knew her well enough to know that it wasn’t me or  Ellen she was angry with, but since we were her closest friends, she took it out on us.


Even Ellen not talking to her for a week didn’t change things. Finally, a week or two before graduation, she seemed to come around. Whatever she was pissed about, whatever happened I guess she made peace with it. I was glad to have the old Becky back. As much as I always tried to support her, even I was getting tired of being her target. Why is it that the people we care about the most are the ones we hurt the most? 




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