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Word Count: 100
Seven years ago, after a long silence, Linda called me. “I need to hear your voice, Rocky. Are you okay?”
I laughed, happy to hear her voice. “Those eating disorder days are way behind me.”
We called her Mother Tucker. She was a platinum blonde firebrand who never suffered fools gladly. No one saw through my lies faster, loved me as fiercely or hurt me as deeply.
“I’m your bad habit.” She’d say, her eyes flashing ice-blue flames.
Recently I learned the damned virus took her. I whisper through tears, “I need to hear your voice, Linda. Are you okay?”
I worked with Linda Tucker in the late 90’s. She saw me through the worst of my eating disorder. She’s also the one who nicknamed me “Rocky.” No matter how I fought it, the name stuck. My former coworkers still call me Rocky. For a time Linda and I parted ways (a story for another time…or not 😉 ) We hadn’t spoken for years when she turned up on Facebook and then called. R.I.P. Mother Tucker.