Brenda was a mean girl. We were thrown together because we were all Sunday School together. She was snooty but tolerated me the best she could in Sunday School because I was preferable to Mary Bragg, an overweight girl who constantly complained other girls were “talking” about her. We usually weren’t, because we’d already done that and moved on. I guess I was a mean girl wanna be.
At any rate, Though Brenda could tolerate me at Sunday School, it was a different story at school. Sometimes I tried to buddy up to her, only to be rebuffed when a real friend came along. The thing about Brenda was, she was mad about horses. I had a horse. From time to time, her yearning to ride a horse got the best of her and she’d ask to come ride my horse. I was would have played with a rattlesnake if it hadn’t bitten me too many times, so I was glad to have her. We doubled up on Ol’ Frosty and plod along being good friends as looming as the ride lasted.
Once in a great while, Brenda and her older sister Sandy, also a mean girl, the age of my older sister Phyllis, would invite Phyllis and me over. One Sarurday, we all climbed on the honeysuckle-covered fence in their backyard and slid all one long, glorious afternoon. I remember Phyllis asking if they were sure it was okay. Sandy answered , “Sure, we climb this fence all the time.” We rode that fence to the ground. The next day in Sunday School, Brenda was mad at me. It seems they’d gotten a “whuppin” for our afternoon’s shenanigans and Mr. Davis “wished he could get his hands on us!” I never cared to go back over.
Several years ago, I saw Brenda’s obituary in the paper. I wonder if she’ll talk to me in the unlikely event I meet up with her in heaven. I know for sure I won’t be swinging on the Pearly Gates with her.