Renee

As a friend she left a lot to be desired, but still, Renee and I had known each other since before our memories were old enough to stick and certainly before we had each ceased to suck our thumbs. She lived two doors down on the boulevard; easy walking distance, a half-yell away.

As three-year-olds we had the same bathing suit; a black and white picture shows us standing in my kid-pool, little girl-potbellied, looking for all the world as though nothing mattered beyond the yard, the cold water, and sunshine.

Things went that way for us awhile. Then, as we grew, changes began to take place. Renee’s protruding front teeth, tendency to stutter and general hyperactivity made her fodder for the neighborhood kids, including myself sometimes. I do not know what other circumstances contributed to her anger and toughness, but I am sure that we kids did not help matters. She and I stayed friends most of the time, but inevitably something would trigger an unrest between us, a thing of child-size importance which pissed one of us off. Then Renee would beat me up.

I took her beatings on a regular basis. She kicked and punched, scratched and bit. But mostly she was a hair-puller. I fought back as best I could, but Renee always won. I was the one who left crying, somewhat torn up, clumps of my blonde hair falling to the ground and fleeing the scene like tumbleweeds. When Renee and I were engaged in battle, she was the predator, I the prey. As I picture our brawls today, I see myself entangled, caught amid blows from which I was literally unable to escape. Finally, mercifully, we would break free and breathless, I would run into the house, sobbing, telling my mom. I hated Renee at those times, swore her off for good, but somehow we always came back to each other.

My other friends and I had little “games” we’d play with Renee. Games for us, not her. She had earned a well-deserved reputation as a bully, someone to be feared and taunted out of earshot. Waiting for the school bell to ring, we, absent of her, would plot: “Let’s pretend we like Renee, but we really don’t." Sneaky, high-level, and guiltless. This way we were all against her, but she’d never know.

Renee’s mom was a gentle woman, long-suffering. Eventually divorced, her health seemed to be constantly hanging in the balance. I loved Mrs. G., and even as a child felt a little sorry for her. But for all of her sweetness, she was fiercely protective of Renee and never once hesitated to yell at us if we did her daughter wrong. Even in high school, as two of us got ready to go to a dance together, she came over and berated us for not inviting Renee to go along. Renee was always excluded and how could we do that to her? she complained. As children, our mouths hung open in shock and wonderment at how she could speak to us that way. How was it any of her business who we went to the dance with or without? But she was right, too.

As a parent, I have taken on the mother bear-like traits of Mrs. G. When my own daughter has been slighted, my first instinct is to fight her battles, stick up for her, call the other mother and ask how their child could be so heartless. I understand. I understand that Renee may have had problems, but she had a mother, too. And for her, love overcame all.

Sadly, things didn’t turn out that way for me and my own mother and that is something I will never, ever understand. But I do know that as bad as things may have been for Renee and her mom, and even if they didn’t have much of a relationship before Mrs. G. died a few years ago, she’ll always know that her mother was there for her, even when no one else was. And in ways that she may never even realize, that makes her a lucky girl.