Tunesday : Echo Beach

Echo Beach

(Gane, Mark) Performed by Martha and the Muffins

I know it's out of fashion
And a trifle uncool
But I can't help it
I'm a romantic fool
It's a habit of mine
To watch the sun go down
On Echo Beach, I watch the sun go down

From nine to five, I have to spend my time at work
My job is very boring, I'm an office clerk
The only thing that helps me pass the time away
Is knowing I'll be back at Echo Beach someday

On a silent summer evening
The sky's alive with lights
A building in the distance
Surrealistic sight
On Echo Beach
Waves make the only sound
On Echo Beach
There's not a soul around

From nine to five, I have to spend my time at work
My job is very boring, I'm an office clerk
The only thing that helps me pass the time away
Is knowing I'll be back at Echo Beach someday

Echo Beach, far away in time
Echo Beach, far away in time
Echo Beach, far away in time
Echo Beach, far away in time
Echo Beach, far away in time
Echo Beach, far away in time
Echo Beach, far away in time
Echo Beach, far away in time
Echo Beach, far away in time
Echo Beach, far away in time
Echo Beach, far away in time
Echo Beach, far away in time
Echo Beach, far away in time
Echo Beach, far away in time
Echo Beach, far away in time
Echo Beach, far away in time

Echo Beach is another song that I first heard on The New Music; another song that I always hoped they would play as I babysat on a Friday night. We bought a cheap compilation CD when the girls were little (titled something like "Summer Cruisin") and Echo Beach was on it -- not only did Dave and I both have flashbacks of warm nostalgia as those opening chords began to play, but it became a favourite singalong song for the girls, too. Ultimately, I'm putting it here because of all that, but also so I can talk about another childhood friend of mine: Becky.

I did mention Becky not that long ago, here, in a reflection on my friends in Stouffville, and as I wrote then, Becky lived just outside of town in the tiny resortish village of Musselman's Lake (like Echo Beach, get it?). Their home was more cottage than house -- like I said before, it reminded me of a Hobbit hole -- but that was its charm. Becky and her sister shared a tiny bedroom, and when I would sleep over there, it would be on the floor between their twin beds; just enough room for my stretched-out body. The home had one more bedroom, a tiny bathroom, a family room just big enough for a couch, one chair, a wood burning stove and a TV (the only decoration I remember -- other than plants suspended by macrame hangers -- was one of those framed posters that said, "If you love something, set it free: if it comes back, it's yours; if it doesn't, it never was"), and a decent-sized kitchen that was built off the back. Meals were usually eaten at an outdoor picnic table when the weather was fine. Although they lived just blocks from the lake, I don't remember ever going there to swim, but we did go to the concession stand at the beach for french fries and Popsicles.

Becky's parents were total hippies -- her Mom was a big lady who dressed in flowing gypsy-like skirts and peasant blouses and her Dad was a skinny little guy with long hair and a beard -- and they were always lovely to me. I remember they drove a Subaru -- probably the only one I've ever been in -- and when my own mother would refuse to drive me out there, Becky's Dad was often willing to come get me. Like I said before, they likely smoked dope (which I never actually saw) and Becky's Dad gave me my first (half) beer when I was way too young for it. Her Mom read tarot cards and they had a Ouija board; there was a very special vibe in their whole home. I once used the Ouija board with Becky and her little sister -- they told me that they were in frequent contact with an entity that had lived in the area a long time ago -- and we definitely seemed to have a conversation with something, but even at the time, I couldn't be sure that it wasn't the girls who were moving the planchette (yes, I googled that word). 

Becky herself was a good friend and hilarious to be around, but there was something definitely dangerous about her. She got breasts very early and they were very big and she wasn't opposed to flaunting them; just walking down the gravel roads out there by the lake, sucking on a Popsicle, Becky oozed sex and I wanted to be a part of that vibe; was afraid of being part of that vibe (we were twelve, thirteen). As I wrote earlier, the Whelan brothers were the only other kids from our class who lived out there, and I half hoped/half feared that we would run into the older boy on one of these walks.

Bernard (pronounced "Bernerd") John was in our class and he was a stocky, quiet kid who liked to read books about WWII and play war games on the playground. His brother -- John Bernard -- was a year older, but had flunked down into our grade at some point; I think it must have been before I started at that school in grade 3. John was lean and wolfish and had the air of a criminal, even in elementary school. I think I've told this story before, but since I can't find it, I'll tell it again: One day in grade 7 we were having an art period, and as this boy Timmy was absent that day, I sat at his desk to be beside my best friend Cora. We were supposed to be colouring something and I opened Timmy's desk to see if he had any pencil crayons, and when he didn't, I wrote him a note that said, "Dear Sir, fuck you. Love, Krista." The facts that should be known about that: Timmy was my on-again, off-again "boyfriend", so he wasn't a random target, and I had never said the f-word out loud or written it down before -- this was to scandalise Cora, and hopefully, make her laugh. She frowned in disappointment at me when I showed her the note, and since I didn't actually have the nerve to leave the note in Timmy's desk, I crumpled it up and threw it in the garbage can before recess; just a failed attempt at blue comedy. Later the same day, John showed me the note that he had retrieved from the garbage, all nicely smoothed out, and told me that he wouldn't show the teacher if I paid him $2/week, probably for the rest of my life. I couldn't do that, told him so, and watched as John marched over to show the note to Mr. Todd, our straight-laced and beloved teacher. I was sent to the Principal's office, and although he informed me that he had every right to give me the strap for this offense, my punishment was to get my mother to sign the note. Doomed, I was. I waited until the last minute before leaving for school the next morning to show it to Mum -- she was, like every morning, still in bed -- and although she promised that we would "be talking about this later, Missy", she did sign the note and I was able to return it to the Principal. He explained that the worst part of my offense was how hurt Mr. Todd's feelings were that I would use that language about him, even in jest, and horrified by the misunderstanding, I made my first attempt at defending myself. I explained about the pencil crayons and trying (and failing) to make Cora laugh, and even though we did all call Mr. Todd "Sir" out of love and respect, the note was for Timmy. And besides, I had thrown out the note, and John had grabbed it, and he tried to blackmail me...As I talked, probably blubbering in my misery, the Principal's face grew very confused and then enlightened, and eventually, John probably did get the strap. And he probably deserved it a hundred times over for deeds seen and unseen -- this kid's fate was written on his forehead even back then. As for me, after having the day to think about the note, my mother was more understanding than I could have hoped for and just talked to me about the need to think before acting.

Between grades 7 and 8, both John and Timmy were transferred to other schools for their years of bullying another boy, Paul. That was totally surreal to the rest of us -- that meetings and decisions between students and school boards could take place over the summer and none of us would know about it until familiar faces were missing from the classroom in September; we in the class had no idea that this bullying had even been happening; it was apparently an on-the-bus-thing -- and although I had sad feelings about Timmy (my "boyfriend") being gone without warning, I was relieved that John was gone too. So, at some point during grade 8, I was out at Musselman's Lake with Becky, walking the gravel roads, sucking on our Popsicles, and we passed John who was leaning against a tree, smoking and coiled as if ready to pounce. He and Becky nodded hellos -- they were neighbours after all -- and John turned to me, and looking me up and down appraisingly, said, "So, it's true what they're saying about you." I did and didn't want to know what he meant by that and it was Becky who asked him the who and the what, and he just leered and said, "It's true is all". I was not one bit attracted to the bad boy, but right on the cusp of my burgeoning sexuality, I was totally confused about whether or not I should be flattered that anyone was talking about me; was worried that hanging with Becky -- who couldn't help but be sexual, with her breasts and her anything-goes homelife -- would mark me as "anything-goes" too. It suddenly felt really dangerous being Becky's friend, and as we were by then only sometimes buddies, we didn't hang out at each other's homes too much after that; by then I understood my mother's warnings about impulsive actions that one later regrets.

My mother didn't like Becky much -- even before she got her breasts -- and she certainly didn't make it easy for us to hang out together. One summer (between grades 4 and 5? Grades 5 and 6?), I got a phone call and it was Glen (a boy from our class) saying that Roger (another boy from our class, and Timmy's best friend) wanted to know if I would be his girlfriend when school started again. I didn't know if I was being teased or not, so I just said I'd think about it (but if Roger had asked me himself, I would have totally said yes). A couple of days later, I was out back playing with Terri-Anne, and Mum called me to the phone. I went into the kitchen, picked up the receiver from its cradle, and it was Glen again saying, "Remember when I called you the other day?" I said yes. He said, "Well, I was just kidding, okay? Forget about it, all right?" I said no problem and went back outside. No sooner had the screen door slammed behind me than my Mum came marching out, saying, "Who was that on the phone, Krista?" 

"What? No one, Mum." I was so embarrassed in front of Terri-Anne -- I wouldn't have confessed the details of this phone call to her, never mind my mother.

"Tell me who that was, Krista, and what they were 'kidding' about."

Mum was listening in on the extension? "It was nothing, okay?"

"Well, if that was Becky asking you to go sleep over at her house, you can just call her back and say the answer is no." And she stormed back into the house.

So, Mum was listening, but she thought that Glen was Becky? And even though I had a friend over, she thought I was on the edge of asking to go out to her house at Musselman's Lake? It was all so irrational and embarrassing, but at least I didn't have to talk about the whole humiliating boyfriend/girlfriend business. I know my Mum looked down her nose at Becky and her family, and sure, Becky was probably the only friend I had whose family had less money than mine (and, therefore, the only one Mum could feel superior to?), but she didn't even know all the reasons why she should have kept me away from there (or maybe she did?). I want to add here that for a brief spell, Terri-Anne, Becky and I were a tight trio (maybe grade 4?). Like I said last week, Terri-Anne's Dad owned a radiator repair shop and he offered to make us totems: like dog tags that he would fashion out of sheet metal and use letter punches to write our group name on. We didn't have a group name and I wanted it to be something girly like "The Three Mascaras" or similar, and thankfully, that was shot down. He eventually made us "The 3 Tomboys" and I loved that solid symbol of our friendship; would hold it in the palm of my hand and run my thumb over the indented letters; I wish I still had it around. I'm trying hard to remember if Terri-Anne and Becky ever hung out without me (I doubt it) or if they ever were at each others' houses (I seriously doubt that): because if Terri-Anne's parents thought she was slumming by hanging out with me, I can't even imagine what they thought of Becky.

Becky was a free spirit and the sort of influence that an uptight kid like me needed to have in small doses; I've always needed a friend around who might suddenly make me feel scandalised (even if I routinely fail any time I try to be that friend to someone else). After grade 8, Becky went to the local Stouffville High School while I was bussed off to the Catholic school and we never hung out together again. But I did see her one more time: When we were living in Lethbridge -- I was in grade 10 or 11 -- I saw Becky on TV. The low-budget Canadian show Live it Up! did a segment on high school kids who took care of eggs as a lesson in parenting, and there was Becky -- beautiful and electric -- cradling her egg and laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. I was mesmerised and knew that I was missing out by no longer having Becky in my life.

Echo Beach, far away in time

Echo Beach, far away in time

Unfortunately, this washed-out picture is the only one I have of me and Becky:

And as an afterthought: Too bad it's so hard to find women on facebook -- Becky is unfindable by her maiden name, but I was able to find John Bernard and Bernard John. The little brother looks fit and happily married with a nice looking family and good job and John, seemingly doomed even as a little kid, looks like he's suffered through some hard living; posting about trying to get his license back and enjoying visits from his daughters. I can't imagine anyone from those old days ever thinks of me, but I do wish them all well.