Becky Becky Becky

Becky


I had never dated a white girl before. Sure there were always a few white girls in the hood, but I had never asked any of them out. I’ve always been curious though. Since moving down here to Virginia that’s pretty much all I’ve seen. I had a friend back home who only dated white girls. He would come around with all these new clothes talking about how submissive white girls were. He said they’d buy you anything, and they were easier to deal with than black women. Shit, I ain’t never had no problem with black women, except Mama. She’d give me attitude, but that’s just her.

I met Becky at work. She was doing quality Control at a parts factory I worked at. I would notice that sly glance my way every now and then, but Becky flirted with everybody. I never really took her serious. All our conversations stayed basically about work. She was cute though.I really didn’t even know how to ask a white girl out. One day me and Becky were talking about clubs and parties. I had told her that since moving down here I hadn’t had a chance to go out. She offered to take me out sometime, so I gave her my number. I still didn’t take her serious. Becky flirts with everybody. I just thought she was trying to be nice.

Becky did call. She called that Friday night. We had a nice conversation, but I had to tell her that I didn’t feel much like ‘clubbing’. I had worked a double and I just wanted some R and R. I think the decision I made next is what got me in all this trouble. I told Becky that if she was going out she could stop by and let me see what she had on. Big mistake! I knew she ‘d come before I even finished the sentence. I tried to justify it with myself all night, “I’m just go screw this white girl and get rid of her”.

Well Becky did come over, and the minute I saw her walking across the apartment parking lot I knew she was going to be trouble. She came over in a micro mini holding two bottles of my favorite drink.”Since you don’t want to go to the party, I’ll bring the party to you”. Becky. She said this with the sluttiest grin she could make. All I could do is hold the door open for her.

I’m not going to tell no-one what happened that night. You’ll just have to use your imagination. Since then though, me and Becky have been, ‘Me and Becky’. At first we tried to keep things low-key. At least I did anyway. It was weird going places or being at work. I mean this was all new to me, dating a white girl and all. I kept telling myself to break it off with her. She made that hard by buying me all this stuff. No, she ain’t just come out on no shopping sprees. I would just drop little hints at her about my cell phone bill and she’d pay it, even bought me a better phone. Then she’d get things like groceries, and house supplies.

”Well your fridge was empty so I just bought a few things”.

’A few things’, would mean a packed freezer. But this is what really got me, “If you moved in with me you could just keep the money you spend on rent.” Now who don’t want extra money? Plus we were at each other’s house everyday anyway. So she moved me out to the ‘burbs’. Me and Becky. Yep, I had jungle fever. I thought life was too good. I didn’t have to pay no bills. She still would buy me clothes and stuff. She did all the cooking and cleaning. What could be better?

At least that’s how I felt until the arguments came. Becky would find any little thing to suspect me cheating on her. Sometimes she was right, but for the most part I knew I wasn‘t going nowhere anytime soon. I did make sure I had enough money saved in case she wanted to put me out. I would do that with any women. Yet anytime I came home an hour or two late from work she’d think I was out screwing around. She’d yell and scream. I’d yell back at her, we never hit each other, but it was horrible seeing her act like that.
Sometimes the neighbors would call the police. I guess they thought I was beating the little white girl next door or something. The police would come asking questions and Becky would always tell them it was her fault so they’d leave. At least she had that much sense. I still remember how the cops would look at me, like, “Go home nigger.” what a mess.

I’d met Cynthia at my brother’s house. It turns out she’s from my home town. She was stationed here in Virginia. By her being from home we hit it off swell, but we never had plans to be with each other sexual1y. At least I didn’t. It was just cool to talk to somebody from home who spoke my language.

Becky had a fit when she found Cynthia phone number in my phone. I tried to tell her that we were just friends, but she wasn’t having it. Now anything I did had to be cause of Cynthia. Things got especially bad when she found out that Cynthia was black. She just couldn’t understand how I needed to talk to somebody who talked like me. I guess that was her own culture shock. Anytime my phone would ring she would look at me funny. She didn’t even want me to visit the little family I had down here. I still would see and talk to Cynthia. I even told her about Becky and the problems I had dealing with her jealous rages. Cynthia suggested I move out and back on my own. I agreed with her, but in my heart I knew that I probably wouldn’t. Not until I got a raise anyway.

One particular night I had gotten off of work and went to the bar with Mike and another guy I worked with. They had been asking me to throw darts with them since we all met. I called Becky and told her that I wouldn’t be home till late. “You better not be with that bitch!” This from a white girl? So I went. We were playing for drinks and it was a lot of fun. By the end of the night I had a nice buzz and I felt good to have relieved some stress. As I pulled into the parking lot of the apartment I knew I would have yet another fight waiting for me. So I pulled back out. I just wasn’t ready to deal with Becky’s bullshit. So I rode around and did some thinking.

I eventually went hone and she started in on me as soon as I got in the house. “Where you been? Who you was with? I called Mike, he say you should’ve been here!” Yap Yap Yap. I told her I didn‘t want to hear her mouth and that’s why I didn’t come strait in. That really set her off. Out of all the arguments we’ve had, I’ve never seen her this mad. She was yelling and cursing up a storm. When I tried to ignore her she’d get louder.

“ I know you was with that ugly black bitch!!!”

Now why she say that? It sounded like gun shots going off. “Ugly—bang. Black—bang. Bitch—bang. I grabbed her and pinned her to the wall. I then told her real slow to never say no shit like that again. It’s bad enough living with Becky. I’m definitely not go let no white girl talk about Cynthia like that. When I let her go she ran in the kitchen and grabbed a steak knife. Little Becky? Becky tried to come at me with a knife? I grabbed her and pushed her against the wall. And as I pried the knife from her hand Becky said the worst thing that any white girl could say, “I hate you, you fucking nigger!!!”

I don’t remember stabbing Becky as many times as they say I did. After I stabbed her once, I must have blacked out or something. The prosecutor told the jury I stabbed this ‘frail young woman’ 27 times. I really didn’t know what I was doing. I just remember hearing somebody banging on the door really loud. I went to open it and that’s when I noticed all the blood. As I thought to get help I rushed to the front door and opened it to two cops. Apparently one of the neighbors had heard us arguing and called the police.
I tried to explain to the jury what Becky called me and what she said about Cynthia. I guess they didn’t understand. Even though my lawyer tried to tell them that I wasn’t a bad guy the judge still gave me Life without parole. Cynthia writes me from time to time. Even Mike came to see me once. I don’t know if I’ll ever get out. But one things for sure, I’ll never date a white girl again.

COPYRIGHT Larry Clifford Allen 2005