I wanted to be Rosemary's friend from the moment I met her. I was 7 years old, the new girl in class, and Rosemary already had a best friend, Jean Sullivan, a girl she walked around the schoolyard with, a girl she invited over to her house. I tried to get Rosemary to like me better than she liked Jean, but I was unsuccessful. Then fate intervened, Jean moved and I got my wish.
Read MoreHe was the first man other than my father I ever loved. I would dress for him on Saturday nights while other children my age stayed outside enjoying the last rays of day…
Read MoreYou wonder, sometimes. You walk around the mall and see a lovely young girl with pink cheeks and shiny eyes and a warm, trusting smile holding the hand of a skinny boy who struts a little because you'd strut, too, if someone looked at you the way she looks at him, and you sigh and think, isn't that nice? Isn't love grand?
And then you're waiting in line and there's another girl beside you. Not much older than the first, she is well-dressed, pretty still, but her brow is furrowed and a line, like stitches, divides her forehead. Her mouth droops as though invisible weights tug at the corners, though it is only a child, about 2, who tugs at her sleeve.
For a month, I drove everyone crazy.
I'd be at a restaurant with my 15-year-old daughter listening to her talk about school and boys, TV and boys, cheering and boys - the usual discourse of 15-year-olds. And in the middle of a story I'd suddenly find that I wasn't listening to her anymore.
Read MoreAs far as this baldness thing is concerned: Hey, you guys, you're being duped. Whoever told you that bald is unattractive? Whoever said that women lust less after men with shiny tops than those with bushy manes? Why are you so attached to dead cells that grow from holes in your head, that hang limp and lifeless and contribute nothing to your well-being anyway?
Read More"Tell me about the war, Dad?" I ventured, a long time ago when I was a child and needed a story to take to school.
"Were you scared? Did you think you might die?"
"Your father doesn't like to talk about the war," my mother scolded. "Run along and do your homework."
"But this is my homework " I protested.
Read MoreEvery afternoon she races in from school, raids the refrigerator, then heads for the piano. "So how was your day?" I shout over Jimmy crack corn and I don't care. "Fine," she answers, distracted, immediately lost in the notes of a song she has been drumming on her desk and rehearsing in her head throughout the day. "How'd you do on your vocabulary test?" "We didn't have it. Wanna' hear me play Remington Steele?
Read MoreChange the names and the date; the story is always the same. A boy who is upset is followed to his car by a girl. She tries to calm him down, gets in the front seat and winds up dead. Two teen-agers with fast cars drag to see whose souped-up engine is more powerful and never find out because they die trying. A young, inexperienced driver gets behind the wheel of a car built for speed, takes a corner too fast and…
Read MoreExcuses, excuses. No one ever says "I was wrong" anymore. "It was my fault." No, it's always the other guy, always someone's else's mistake. You know what I mean?
Dinner arrives. It isn't what you ordered. So you call the waitress over and explain.
Read MoreThe Patriot Ledger
Beverly Beckham
1985
What I will always remember about Maureen is that she was a good mother. I didn't know her well. I saw her only at racquetball so she was more acquaintance than friend. Yet, during the five years we played in a women’s league, there developed among a group of us a bond…
Read MoreLast week, President Regan compared abortion to slavery…
Read MoreThe Patriot Ledger
The Patriot Ledger
Beverly Beckham
Mary and Billy on their wedding day
And here they are 40 years later.
ABOUT COLUMNS ARCHIVES WHAT’S ON MY MIND GALLERY IT’S NEVER TOO LATE BOOKS CONTACT
Copyright © 2020 Beverly Beckham
Web Design by: SKILLARA | Marketing + Media
