It Happened to Nancy

by Beatrice Sparks

  I CAN’T GO TO SCHOOL. BUT I CAN’T STAY HOME EITHER. THAT WOULD BE EVEN WORSE. HE’S HERE. HE’S PART OF EVERY LITTLE AND BIG THING AND MOLECULE AND DUST PARTICLE IN THE APARTMENT. I’VE GOTTA GET OUT OF HERE. I WISH I NEVER HAD TO RETURN.

  Thursday, January 31

  4:30 P.M.

  I told the gaggle I had an internal-combustion headache mixed with PMS. I don’t even know exactly what that means, but they bought it and left me alone. Thank goodness Lew is working on some newspaper thing for the new sports program, so he’s just a “Hi” shadow in the hall these days. When am I ever going to tell him? How can I tell him? Should I tell him? I feel I’ll explode if I don’t, but I’ll disintegrate if I do. BUT YOU’RE NOT THINKING ABOUT THAT ANYMORE, RETARD PERSON, REMEMBER? THINK ABOUT THE BIG GAME WITH SPRING VALLEY IN A COUPLE OF WEEKS AND THE VALENTINE DANCE AFTERWARDS. OKAY, I WILL! I CAN! AND I AM!

  Tuesday, February 5

  5:54 P.M.

  Guess who was waiting for me when I got home from school? Officer Williams and my mom. They both seemed so serious I thought something terrible had happened. I mean to Dad or someone. But it wasn’t that, thank goodness. It was just that the police were putting out another APB or something, which I guess is like wanted posters or something, on *&=-+. They wanted me to search my memory and think if I had ever seen *&=-+ with any other kids. Of course I mentioned Margie. I was so depressed I couldn’t even remember her last name till I looked it up in the yearbook. Then, thank goodness, Missy came and helped me relax so I could think straight again. After a while I dimly recalled the time when I’d seen *&=-+ with a couple of kids in his old beat-up convertible. Missy and the policeman had me lie down on the couch and close my eyes, and Missy softly rubbed my arms and hands as they tried to have me clear my mind of everything but the car and the kids. After a while I recalled that one of the girls had been in the junior high band runoffs at Charlesville last year. They had me remember her band, our colors, their colors—and I did! Ours were blue and gold, and theirs were green and white. Officer Williams was thrilled about that and said he could easily find out what junior high school in the area had green-and-white colors.

  For a minute I relaxed, thinking this whole gig was over, and then he hit me with the fact that he’d be back in a few days with that yearbook, and I’d have to pick out the girl, maybe the other one too. I knew I couldn’t pick out the second girl, but I was too tired and defeated to mention it.

  6:30 P.M.

  I am so exhausted…WHEN IS THIS THING EVER GOING TO END? ARE THEY EVER GOING TO LET ME ALONE? HOW CAN I EVER GET MY LIFE SORTED OUT WHEN I’M SO INVOLVED IN EVERYBODY ELSE’S? I FEEL TERRIBLE.

  Wednesday, February 6

  2:15 A.M.

  Dear Self:

  I just woke up from one nightmare to find myself in a real one. I had recalled one day when Dorie and El and I were riding our bikes down by Luke Clear Lake, and I saw out of the corner of my eye *&=-+ and a little boy, maybe even in grade school, going down the path toward the unfinished end. I remember wishing all the chiggers and no-see-ums and mosquitoes in the world would get him; then I pushed it out of my mind and yelled that I’d race the kids to the end of the trail. Now my brain is racing a katrillion miles an hour…surely he wouldn’t with a little boy maybe seven or eight? I had no way in the world to identify that kid—I just saw his back. If he did…would he have it too?

  Oh, horrors, horrors, horrors, I think I’ll wake up Mom and tell her; then she can tell Officer Williams. I can’t possibly stand any more and besides, I think I’ve got a fever. I think I’ll go hop in bed with Mom and just cuddle and let all the pain and anguish be warmed and loved away. But maybe I shouldn’t…it’s my period and Missy said body fluids, especially blood and semen…oh, how I wish I knew more. I’ve got to get some books. I wouldn’t give this to anyone…anyone in the world, especially my sweet, wonderful mom.

  3:10 A.M.

  I really am sick. I want to call Mom, but I don’t want to. She’s had enough heartaches with me…but I’ve got to…I’m scared. Maybe I should just lie still and die. I wonder if this is how it happens. I hope it doesn’t hurt this much when it happens to Margie and the two girls and the little boy, if they all have it too.

  4:14 A.M.

  Oh, dear Self:

  It’s 4:14, and I’m not dead yet…but I can’t stand it anymore. My chests hurts so much, and I can’t breather…why don’t I die. Oh, Mom, Mom, Mom, come help me. I cried her name out loud, and I’m trying not to. Help me, Mom…help me, somebody. Please, please help me die, but don’t let me die alone.

  Saturday, February 9

  9:32 A.M.—Hospital

  Dear Self:

  I’m so glad Mom brought me a new loose-leaf. I wouldn’t want her to read my old one. I keep it hidden under my shoebox in the closet. She doesn’t need to know all my sorrows and fears. She’s got enough of her own with me and Dad, and her job and everything! Poor Mom. Poor, poor Mom.

  She even broke up with Maury, her nice friend from the office, after she found out I had…

  I’ve been in the hospital for I don’t know how many days with pneumocystis carinii pneumonia (also known as pneumocystis pneumonia, or PCP); that’s what it says in this little book my new doctor gave me. Dr. Talbert said he couldn’t treat me anymore because of my…it’s not his field. I guess I might as well face it and use the word HIV.

  HIV

  HIV

  WHICH LEADS TO AIDS

  AIDS

  AIDS

  WHICH LEADS TO…

  Now I’m being morbid and paranoid and dumb.

  Dr. Sheranian seems kind and caring, but I notice that he’s always very sterile with gloves and stuff. The nurses are the same. Dr. Talbert and his nurses always were just like people…that’s dumb, because these people are people, but they’re kind of aliens too, white aliens, sometimes green, but I guess that’s just the hospital rules. I WANT OUTTA HERE. NOW! NOW! NOW! BUT WHO CARES WHAT I WANT!

  11:59 A.M.

  More tests, more medications, more IV stuff. My chest hurts, my neck hurts, my bum hurts. I hurt every inch of my body like I didn’t know hurt could hurt! I can hardly read my writing, but I can’t stop. It’s like the one string that holds me here. Wherever here is. I guess the meds are kicking in, because I feel myself floating off into lala land. The hurts still hurt, but

  it’s

  sooo

  o

  o

  f

  a r

  a

  w

  a

  y

  Tuesday, February 12

  8:02 A.M.

  I asked the nurse what day it was, and she said Tuesday. I don’t have a clue how long I’ve been here, but it seems forever. Anyway, I’m feeling better.

  Better than what?

  A lot better than how I’ve felt for some time, so there!

  Self, I’m glad I’ve got you to talk to, otherwise I’d know for sure it was affecting my mind. Mom promised she’d tell the gaggle I’d gone to Dad’s again. I hate to ask her to lie…but…you know how it is.

  2:07 P.M.

  I know I’m getting better because my handwriting is almost readable. It’s funny how weak I am, though. Even the pencil seems heavy.

  I’ve gotta leave you now because I’m going to start reading up on some of the stuff Dr. Sheranian left. He smuggled me in a piece of See’s candy, which I said was the only thing in the world I wanted to eat. He said if I told anyone about it, he’d make me clean all the bed-pans on the floor for two weeks, and if I gave him any more trouble after that, he’d make me do all the BM pans in the whole hospital forever!

  I called him a hard-nose, and we laughed. It’s the first time I’ve felt capable of laughing in a longgggggg time. Two nurses came in then, and he told them to “get their butts out,” that we were having a deep medical conference.

  5:30 P.M.

  Mom just left. She had an appointment to show an apartment house, and I know we must really NEED m
oney now. I’m going to start seriously reading and take notes so I’ll know what the heck I really have and how it works. Missy tried to tell me a little, but like I said, I always had the feeling that she was trying to shield me as she prepared me for whatever. We’ll see.

  Thursday, February 14

  7:30 P.M.

  Valentine’s Day—what a bummer! I’m reading a brochure, Teenagers and AIDS. It’s scary! I thought I was almost the only one who had it at first, outside of the big cities, where people have indiscriminate sex and use IVs and stuff. The book says that about 30 percent of people who have AIDS are diagnosed in their twenties, WOW! that means most were infected in their teens. It also says that AIDS is spreading faster and faster among kids, who don’t even dream it could happen to them, and that they are the most at-risk of all people!

  I didn’t even understand what AIDS (Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome) meant before. It always seemed so dull and boring and sterile when it was talked about at school. Believe me, it’s not dull now. I can’t learn enough.

  Okay, “Acquired” means it’s a disease that you can be infected with—that you get! It’s not an illness people are born with, like hemophilia or something.

  “Immune Deficiency” means a breakdown in your body’s defense system against disease. AIDS is a tiny germ or a virus that can live inside a living cell.

  The AIDS virus is called HIV, which means human immunodeficiency virus. It works like this: When the HIV virus enters your body, it invades a cell that is part of your immune system. That cell turns into a major virus factory, churning out copies of the HIV invader. Those copies of the original virus attack other cells in your body that are the key parts of your immune system. Then you start getting every kind of disease that you are exposed to, including rare ones that you would never get with a good healthy immune system and normal health.

  When people have normal health, their immune system can defeat most kinds of viruses, including those that cause flu. But when you have AIDS, your body won’t fight off infection hardly at all. Actually, over time you become less and less able to fight off any and every disease.

  EVENTUALLY ANY ILLNESS YOU’RE SUSCEPTIBLE TO CAN LEAD TO YOUR DEATH. Now it’s not your death, it’s my death! And I don’t like it!

  I DO NOT WANT TO DIE! I’M JUST FIFTEEN YEARS OLD! THIS IS SUPPOSED TO BE THE BEST PART OF MY LIFE. WHEN I TURN FROM A GIRL INTO A WOMAN! WHEN LEW AND I…WHICH WE NEVER WILL… Oh, dear God, how can I ever stand it?

  Friday, February 15

  2:30 A.M.

  I’m writing by the little spark from my Bunny Night Light clock, which I’ve had since I was five years old, remember? Mom can’t understand how it has existed through our many moves and changes. The thing I can’t understand is how my eyes can adjust like a cat’s to see in the almost dark.

  Anyway, I’ve been thinking about me and all the things I’ll never be able to do.

  Most of all, I’m feeling very hollow inside about Lew and me. We’ll never be able to “MAKE LOVE.” I don’t mean that animalistic, almost cannibalism kind that El and I saw that time on her uncle’s TV X-rated channel, which we watched while were baby-sitting. It was crude, rude, filthy, degrading and disgusting…like…you know.

  I don’t want it to be that way. I want it to be like the way I feel inside sometimes, soft and warm and belonging with a glowing, tingling building up inside until it just takes over completely. Me and Red talked about how we thought it would feel, one time when I was sleeping over at her house. Now I’ll never really know. Well, maybe I’ll know…but what if…I couldn’t stand it if I gave it to Lew. I could never, never, never forgive myself for that through the eons of eternities.

  I’m going to read everything that has ever been written about the HIV virus and full-blown AIDS. I guess I really did think that just drug users and bar-hopping gay guys on the streets of San Francisco got it; that’s mostly all you see on the news. No, not really…that’s what I wanted to believe, I guess. But at least in a few weeks I will know every single thing! I’m sure Dr. Sheranian will help me. He’s a specialist in the field.

  9:10 A.M.

  This morning when Dr. Sheranian made his rounds, he asked the two interns, or whoever they were, to go on so he could talk to me. I really feel a lot better. I asked him how I could give AIDS to someone like my mother, or someone—I didn’t say a boyfriend, but I know he knew from the way he patted my cheek and ran his fingers through my hair.

  He told me no one need ever catch it from me if I’m careful, and he turned to page 23 of one of my leaflets and told me to read that part. Then the nurse came in to do her thing. Gotta go and let her prod me and poke me and put more stuff in my IV and give me more pills, etc. BUT I BELIEVE DR. S., AND I AM NOT GOING TO WORRY ANYMORE!

  9:57 A.M.

  I lied! I am going to worry some more! I am going to worry every minute of every hour for the rest of my life!!!

  NO, I just wanted it to be easy, and I’ve got to be realistic…it’s not going to be!

  Oh, dear God, how could this have happened to me? Please, God, don’t let it ever happen to any other girl like me. Please, please, please don’t. What could I ever have done to deserve this?

  My tears are like gagged pieces of ice cutting up my eyeballs and hamburgering my face. That means blood…and my blood is poison…I’m afraid to even touch it myself.

  Oh, please, I hope I die soon.

  12:06 P.M.

  My fever has popped way up again. It’s so depressing, because I thought I was going home tomorrow.

  Dr. S. came by and said it’s because I’ve let myself get so riled up. He’s talked me back down to reality and sanity, and he’s going to bring me a positive book about people with AIDS. Dr. S. says that’s the kind of attitude I’ve got to teach myself to have. Dr. S. always makes me feel better because he’s not afraid to hug me and he laughingly tells me I’m a Paranoid Puddle afraid of my shadow. I said, “I’m like the lepers in the olden Bible days,” and he gave me a nogie and said leprosy is now called Hansen’s disease and can be cleared up easily with antibiotics, which hopefully they’ll be able to do soon with AIDS.

  They’ve given me something and I’m getting sleepy.

  I’m so glad he came. I guess AIDS isn’t the boogey-boo I let myself believe it was. I am a Scaredy Cat Paranoid Puddle…I mean…I was. Past tense.

  Saturday, February 16

  11:29 A.M.

  Dr. S. had a nurse bring the book he talked about up to me. It’s about people who were so brave, and so positive, and treated so badly. Yet they didn’t whine and cry-baby like I do. I’m so glad I get to see AIDS from their side. I can’t stop reading.

  ?Whatever Day It Is?

  7:32 A.M.

  Yippie. Dr. S. came by and said I can go home. Mom will be picking me up in an hour or two or three or whatever wonderful time she gets here. I’ve been reading Dr. S.’s book almost steadily. The people in it are beginning to seem like wonderful, close, hurting friends. I wish I could have talked to them. More than that, I wish I could talk to someone my own age! Now!

  It’s killing me to keep all the heavy, growing, absorbing, taking-over-my-life stuff inside. But AIDS isn’t unbearable! One guy, after he moved to his new town, had lots of friends, and everybody loved him, and they weren’t scared or pulling away or anything. It’s going to be like that for me too. It truly is, and I am sooo happy to know that. I’ve known it all along, actually. I was just doing my thing of being a boob.

  I am going to be happy, happy, happy! AIDS is not casually contagious! No one will be afraid of me. I’m going to tell everybody as soon as I get out of here. It will be such a relief, and it will be just like always.

  8:22 A.M.

  The bubble has burst again! My world has changed from a sphere of sunshine to one of black, depressing, sucking-down jello.

  I was standing in my doorway waiting for Mom to come, and two people dressed like astronauts went into the room next to mine. I couldn’t imagine wh
y they had hats and body suits and stuff on. Then I heard someone say an AIDS patient had just died there. That cracked me into little pieces.

  If AIDS is not as contagious as they say, then how come all that’s necessary? BODY FLUIDS? Oh, yes, it’s got to be BODY FLUIDS, but what in the hell all over does that mean?

  8:43 A.M.

  Maybe they are careful like that with all really contagious diseases, do you think? Maybe! I’LL WORRY ABOUT THAT TOMORROW…AFTER I TALK TO DR. S. But I’m not going to see him again. I’m never going to see him again!

  Tuesday, February 19

  6 A.M.

  It’s so wonderful to be home, and loved and feeling well again. The sliding-glass door to the terrace is open, and Imperical is singing his little heart out in his cage. The sun is coming up outside and inside my heart as well. I want to dance and sing that old song that my grandma liked:

  “Whoop a dee dee, I’m glad I’m me. There’s no one else I’d rather be. I smile on every flower and tree. Whoop a dee dee, I’m glad I’m me!”

  I’m sitting here reading the twelve letters that the gaggle wrote to me, over and over. They love me so much. I’m a fortunate person to have friends like that. I’m going to have Mom call them tonight and tell them I’m back.

  I wonder if she’ll let me go back to school tomorrow. Probably not, but I’m sure I can go Thursday or Friday.

  I’m still feeling a little weak, but the old ME is back, ravenous and raring to go! Go! Go! Go! Go!

  I wonder who will come to see me first. I hope it’s guess who. I can’t wait to see his beautiful, warm, world-embracing smile and feel his soft, sometimes not so soft hand, after he’s been working after school and playing whatever sport is on and everything. I hope he’ll hug me right in front of Mom…but I know he won’t! El and Red and Dorie will, though…but I want his hug. I need it. I honest, truly do. It would be the most healing thing there is.