Of course, my official first name is Rebecca, but I've been Becky for so long that it's stuck. I like it that way. I feel like a Becky. I definitely don't feel like a Rebecca, especially when my mother calls me, 'Re-be-cca!' (with her voice going up like a fire siren) when I've done something wrong.
Or more like, when I've not done something right that I'm supposed to do, such as:
- feed the animals
- clean up after me
- not take sticky drinks into the living room where I might spill them on the carpet.
There are grown-ups (like my Nanna, for instance) who don't worry at all about my 'm' problems--which are:
- my memory
- my mess
- my mania for MTV
- Mick (my mother's old boyfriend who keeps coming back when Dad's not around)
- my mother
Nanna should have worried about my mother when my mother wasn't my mother but Nanna's little daughter. Because if she had paid her more attention then my mother wouldn't be so difficult to get on with now. Although she has her moments when she is absolutely adorable to me and once when she was in a particularly good mood she went a whole day without criticising me. That was the day she forgave me for stealing the diamond from her engagement ring. She also said it was alright that I hid The Silence of the Lambs so she couldn't take it back to the video store and she had to pay a fine. She understood why I needed to hide the video, she said.
And the matter will not ever be discussed again, she said.
As I get older I like to be called Rebecca occasionally. Which is nice because I saw an old black and white movie called Rebecca and I sort of identified with the heroine. Although I've forgotten what the movie was about now. In fact I forget all sorts of things. As though all my life is a dream and I keep waking up from it and forgetting what happened.
Although some things stick in my mind. In fact I can't stop thinking about them. Like, the arguments my mother and father had before they split up. They split up all the time, so they have lots of arguments. Their main problem is they get back together again so the pattern keeps repeating itself.
I should do something about this.
But in the meantime I have decided to concentrate on looking after myself (like Ms Rubenach says sometimes when we are talking about these things in the circle we sit in when we are silent before we talk about personal stuff and problems and so on.)
The first thing I have decided to do is to make a garden like this one Nanna made in a shell and now hangs on the patio in the shade of the walnut tree which I fell through once.
But my garden will be wild with tiny cacti and succulents growing over caves and holes where weird little critters live.
I'll imagine them like in a nature movie, coming out at night to hunt and fight.