Our Rebecca was the perfect daughter:
A’s in almost all her subjects at school,
a wonderful help around the house—
both with domestic chores and looking after
her two younger siblings. As a parent
I had no complaint; her mother worried
a little about her lack of social skills,
and we both wondered that she had only two
friends (both girls) that ever visited our home.
“Well, I guess Becky is our little wallflower”,
I said, “and that’s good enough for now.”
When she was a senior in high school
she accepted a lead role in the school play,
a bright, fast-moving drama, with music and dancing.
“She’s going to dance?” I asked; “This I’ve got to see”.
—because she’d never even been to a teenage party,
as far as I knew…But in the audience on the first
night, her parents watched in wordless wonder
as she danced across the stage: lithe
and supple were her movements—and only
a little restrained—our baby is coming out of her shell…
then, when we went again on the penultimate night,
there was even more wonder: her movements
on the stage were not only perfect, and in time
with the music, but there was also a strange abandon
and a grace that made the audience erupt with wild
applause—and all knew that the applause was for Rebecca,
and not for Adrian, the dance partner she
so beautifully eclipsed on the floor…
Before she left that Saturday for the last show,
she said she’d be late—post-performance party.
I think I heard her come home in the wee hours,
but must have drifted back to sleep—until
roughly awakened by my wife, her voice full of
anxiety in the dark: “I heard voices in her room”,
she said, “and then low and rhythmic sounds…
I eased open the door quietly, and there was Becky
In bed! Making love! With Adrian! The lead actor!”
“You sure?” I asked. “Of course I’m sure, go break it up!”
“Why? I’m happy that she’s no longer the wallflower!”
“But…but…” “No buts”:
“Now she’s got the nerve to take the chance,
Let the little girl dance…”