It Happened to Nancy

by Beatrice Sparks

  I’m realllllllly going to miss Adam, but the crap-happy school I’m going to erase completely out of my mind and never think about it again…I wish.

  Thursday, October 31

  1:32 A.M.—Halloween

  Dearest dear Self:

  I’m sorry I haven’t written in you for so long, but you know you are ever in my heart, right? Right!

  I have been so busy trying to catch up scholastically and socially and every other way that I’ve hardly had time to breathe. And I have been so contented, nurtured, loved, babied, spoiled and all the other good and belonging and happy words there are that…well, I promise I’ll be better about writing in the future, okay? Am I forgiven? Thanks.

  Tonight Lew and his buds had a party in Mr. Detmer’s old barn. It was so scary that I’m sure people could hear us screaming in the next town. Jed’s dad is a doctor, and he had IVs running into purple-and-green corpses. And there were headless people and arms and stuff that the guys must have gotten at a costume place or made out of papier-mache or something, and they must have used gallons of catsup.

  Lew took me through the spook alley, and I was hanging on to him like I’ve been wanting to do for ages, although not in that exact setting.

  After we’d eaten their gross menu

  Hot dogs with blood (catsup)

  Green toe-jam (chopped pickles)

  Throw-up (mustard)

  Sunburned skin peel (potato chips)

  Arsenic (apple cider)

  Mud pies (marshmallow brownies)

  we danced, and I thought I’d gone to Heaven.

  I couldn’t believe it when a big gong sounded once and the guys all began scrambling because they’d promised Mr. Detmer they’d end at 1 A.M.

  Now for the nicest part. Lew drove just me home. Of course, the backseat was filled with arms and legs and other gruesome tidbits, but that didn’t matter. Nothing mattered besides the fact that just the two of us had our own space, our own world, our own us.

  Friday, November 1

  Life is so wonderful I resent having to waste time sleeping.

  Saturday, November 2

  Lew has gone to visit relatives for the weekend. In a way I resent that too, because between student government, every sport that was ever created, getting good grades, the school newspaper, etc., etc., etc., he has little time for me. I resent all of the above, but never—well, hardly ever—the time he spends with his mom. She was in what they call a state of MS remission for a while, but now she’s getting worse fast. I’m proud that Lew is good to her. He takes her on long walks in her wheelchair and carries her in and out to his car for church and special events, which she loves. He is really wonderful and considerate and patient, the way I’d always like to be, and most of the time am not.

  Friday, November 22

  I’m taking piano and flute lessons again and working hard at school and studying at home, and I’m trying to be as considerate and respectful of my mom as Lew is of his…but…I gotta admit I’ve got a way to go…a lonnnnnnnng way. Aw…come on, Self, give me a Brownie point or two for trying. I may not be good, but I am better—so there!

  November 28—Thanksgiving—Blessed Thanksgiving!

  Dad flew home to have Thanksgiving with Mom and me. We drove to Hilton Head and stayed at Dad’s cousin’s beach house. I felt like a little kid again, walking down the windy shore with Mom holding tightly to one hand and Dad holding tightly to the other. Sometimes we’d run away from each other and play hide-and-seek, sort of, in the tall rushes on the dunes. We’d stretch out flat on our stomachs or backs, and you could practically step on someone before you’d see them. Once Dad burrowed into the sand and Mom and I both looked until we each, in frustration, yelled, “I give up.” Then Dad popped up right between us.

  We ate dinner at our charming little lighthouse-looking place overlooking the pounding waves at Rocky Point. It was the kind of making-a-memory day that Thanksgiving was meant to be, ending up with us playing the old one-two-three, snap-your-fingers game. Only this time, instead of using states or cars or colors or girls’ names, etc., we used things we were thankful for, and we played till the logs in the fireplace had turned to red embers. Even then we hadn’t run out of things to be thankful for. Although we were sometimes getting down to mini-blessings like “liver” and “sea slugs” while we laughed and playfully hit on each other. Oh, I forgot to tell you. I got to do all the driving!

  1:52 A.M.

  I’m in the bathroom flushing the toilet so Mom and Dad won’t hear me sob. About an hour ago Mom’s muffled crying woke me up. I hurried into the bedroom and snuggled up next to her in bed. She whispered that she was “crying from complete happiness,” but…I DON’T THINK SO! Not with Dad sleeping up in the loft! I softly rubbed her shoulders and back like she has so often done mine when I needed her, and she soon fell asleep. Now I’m wide awake and wondering about…everything.

  Sunday, December 1

  We took Dad to the airport, and we all cried. Only then did Mom and Dad hug each other like they really meant it. It was happy but sad too, because none of us wanted to break up. After a while, Dad hesitantly asked. Mom if we’d both come to Phoenix for Christmas if he sent us tickets as early presents. Mom and I jumped up and down like she was part of the gaggle and said, “Yes, yes, yes,” over and over again. Do you think possibly?…maybe…I’m afraid to hope…but I do hope so anyway.

  Saturday, December 21

  Lew hurt both legs skiing. They had to bring him down the mountain on a snow cat. I wanted to be there with him, but of course that’s impossible. He’s in traction, so he’ll have to stay with his uncle and aunt in Colorado for what will seem like forever to me. I wish I could do something more than just write.

  Saturday, January 4

  Dear Self:

  I’m so sorry I haven’t talked with you for so long, but I’ve been living in Heaven since Lew broke his right leg and hurt his left ankle. His mom asked me if I’d drive his car and take him to and from school, and it’s turned into my being a full-time Lew-sitter. But I don’t mind, oh, goodness no, I don’t mind, in fact I insisted!!! I need to be needed. It’s good for me! We’re together from early morning every day until sometimes late at night. He’s in a wheelchair, but he can lift himself, by upper-body strength, in and out of the car. I take him to the library and to all of his meetings and games and stuff. The maid takes his mom where she has to, or wants to, go. I’m as used to their house as mine and certainly getting acquainted with wheelchairs with both of them in what they call their “racing machines.” Lew’s isn’t as fancy as his mom’s. Hers runs on batteries, and she shifts it like a car. I think I’m good for her, and she and Lew are better than they’ll ever know for me! I’m feeling better than I have felt in ages.

  I hated to leave for the three days Mom and I went to Phoenix for Christmas, but Lew’s brothers were there, so I’m sure they didn’t miss me. Actually, I deeply hope that they did miss me a little…no, I want them to have missed me a LOT!

  We had fun in Phoenix, putting up the tree in the patio by the pool and taking Mom over to Adam’s so she could hear the Almost All Red Aborigines, etc. It was deeply hurtful when we had to leave. I know Mom and Dad still love each other in many ways, but Dad has pictures of Liz all over. I could see that pained Mom.

  I missed the gaggle. They are like my sisters and not my brother. I wanted them to be with us, to do all the fun things there are to do in Phoenix, especially Dorie. She needs some new interests in her life. She’s not the same since…you know. I wish I could do something…but we’re all helpless to fill in that hole.

  Lew’s left leg is, okay and his right one is in a walking cast, so he’s back on his feet. He’s happy, but I’m somber. It was so wonderful feeling needed, necessary, helpful, actually essential! I’ve never felt so…so…fulfilled in all my life. He’s always telling me how much he loves me for what I did for him. Like I didn’t love doing it? Like it didn’t make me feel good?

  Sunday, January
5

  Life is still magnificent, glorious and heavenly, with just one horrible battering. The police called and said no one has been able to locate Collin. They wanted to come talk to me some more. I yelled, “NO, NO, NO,” and broke down completely. I don’t know what else they want me to tell them. I’ve dumped my whole load of gagging garbage. They seem to expect me to go back and wallow in it, wallow in it, wallow in it…for nothing. I won’t! They can’t make me! The police keep beating me down to a pulp while +-*&+_ continues out there unchecked, spreading his sunshine…well, hardly sunshine, more like death. But I won’t think about that anymore. Come on, Scarlett, help me, help me think about it next never day.

  Tuesday, January 14

  Dearest dear Self:

  Please, please tell me I’m wrong, but I know you can’t. I’m beginning to run down again, aren’t I? I can feel it like air being let out of a balloon. I’m trying so hard to eat right and to exercise and to rest and not let my emotions control me, but I can feel some unknowns slowly sucking the energy out of me like evil black, slimy, living things.

  Oh, forget the above. I’m just being paranoid. I’ve got to snap out of it. YOU’VE GOT TO HELP ME, Self! I know you will and thanks. I’ve just got an attitude problem. Boo-hoo to me.

  Wednesday, January 15

  I am soooooo depressed. It’s like I’m floundering in black quicksand. The world has slowed down to an ooze and has just lost its color and happy sounds. There is no way out, north, south, east, west, up or down. I can’t! I won’t let anybody see me like this!

  Friday, January 17

  Black, cold sleep is my only means of escape. Mom doesn’t know it, but I’ve stopped eating altogether. Even Imperical’s singing grates on my nerves. I’ve never felt like this before.

  ?__________

  Mom picked me up bodily and forced me into Dr. Sheranian’s clinic. Before, it seemed bright and yellow and white. Now it seems as black and gray and gloomy as everything else. His lightheartedness is like chalk grating on a blackboard, and I want outta here! One of the nurses gave me a shot which mellowed me out some, and then they started on the prodding, poking, sticking, checking routine again. Somewhere in the midst of it I passed out.

  ?__________

  I’m here in the hospital AIDS ward, and I’ve made Mom promise everything she holds dear that she won’t tell the gaggle. At this point their happiness and healthiness just make my blackness more black…I resent them! I almost hate them! Though not nearly half as much as I resent and hate myself! I read somewhere once that people see the world and everything in it in direct ratio to how they see themselves. That really is true for me in my present state! I hope this ugly feeling doesn’t last long. It’s too brutally painful: physically, spiritually and mentally!!!!!! I hope I die soon. I really do.

  ?__________

  Mom didn’t want to lie for me, but I made her call the kids and tell them I’d gone to Dad’s because he is sick again. He’s not really sick, but then he probably is, though! Sick of me and all my physical and mental problems! Who in his right mind wouldn’t be? Except Mom, of course; she’s the biggest polyester, walk-on-me Pollyanna martyr of the world!

  HELP me somebody, something! Part of me knows I’m acting and thinking totally irrationally, insisting on things that are neurotic and paranoid, but at this point in my abnormal life, wouldn’t that kind of wacky, abnormal behavior be considered normal? I’m so confused and shut out…so lonely and unlovable, so worthless and lost. Oh please, please, God, let it be over; at least let me be feeling some-what sane again, please, please, pretty please!

  Tuesday, January 21

  Mom has given in to my unreasonable schizo nagging and decided to let me go to Dad’s. I can have home school there and lie around in the sun, then come back tan and healthy. I’m leaving tomorrow. I think she’s glad to get rid of me!

  Monday, January 27

  Dad’s

  I can’t believe how morbidly defeated I felt last week and how pretty good I feel now. It’s almost like that black period happened to someone else. Still, Self, confidentially, in some little secret, hidden part of me, I still resent the kids a little because they’re well and I’m not. It makes me feel ashamed and guilty and awful. Actually not fit to live even as long as I will.

  Monday, February 3

  Adam comes over nearly every afternoon or evening. We do lessons together, and he’s brought the small electric piano. So sometimes we just fiddle around with our music. He’s written a number of songs. Some of them are really good, haunting or happy or mainly beat, whatever he wants them to be. I’m so grateful for his friendship.

  The gaggle sends me lots of letters and cards and stuff. I just mainly tell them lies. I hate it. Maybe it would be better if I didn’t write, but then they would wonder. I can’t tell them too much about Adam because Lew might get jealous or drop me, and I won’t tell them I am the one who has been sick and that I’m having home school…My life is such a mix-up. I wish I could just live that life when I’m there and this one when I’m here. Maybe I’ll try. I won’t answer the kids’ letters. I’ll tell them I’m too busy to write and that Dad needs the quiet, so they shouldn’t phone. Ummm…what thinkest thou, oh, dear Shakespeare student, Self? Bad idea, huh? Sometimes I honestly think my mental processes are sicker than my body processes—that is really scary!

  Tuesday, February 4

  Went to see Dr. Marx again today, and he says I’m looking good. Then he pretended to cry and said that was awful because he needed the money I wouldn’t be bringing in. He is soooo funny and kind and all the things people in his dreary profession should be. He says I’m free. Whee for me.

  Wednesday, February 5

  Guess I won’t go home till Sunday because Adam has tickets to a concert Saturday. It seemed exciting before, but now I’m going only for him. Adam is such a special, priceless friend! I suspect he likes me a lot more, the other way, than I do him. Hope I never hurt him. I’d never hurt him consciously, ever, ever!

  Saturday, February 8

  7:02 A.M.

  I just went to into the bathroom, and I’m bleeding a little. It’s not like my period. Besides, I just finished that. I wish I had someone to talk to. I can’t wait to call Dr. Marx. I’m so glad I know him. I’d be scared and embarrassed to death to go to someone I hadn’t met before. It’s going to be embarrassing enough to go to him. It kind of seems like I’m bleeding from my rectum, but that can’t be…can it? Oh, I hope he can see me before Monday. I can’t wait until Monday. I really can’t.

  Twelve Noon

  I called Dr. Marx’s office at 8:30 A.M., and he was there. The nurse told me to come right in. I took the bus because I didn’t want to worry Dad. He’s working on plans for a huge building, and he’s behind schedule. It’s beautiful and it’s using all new kinds of things…and I’m trying to keep from telling you…that…now I have a rectal ulcer. It’s AIDS-related, and I’m going to have to wear Depends all the time because blood…you know…all the old crap. Dr. Marx wants me to come back Monday. Oh, woe is me. I read that somewhere once and thought it was funny. It’s anything but that now. I can’t go home tomorrow. I’m crushed. I called Adam. He’ll take one of his buddies to the concert instead of me. Of course, I didn’t tell him the true reason why I can’t go.

  Monday, February 10

  10:30 A.M.

  Dr. Marx insisted Dad come in with me at 8:30 A.M. He told us as gently as he could that he would suggest I stay in Phoenix, as the bleeding might suddenly get worse. We need to watch for complications for a while—and that I not even try to go back to regular school. It was like he was beating me with a club. Not go back home to my mother and my friends! Stay here and have a hermit school! It’s not fair!

  I went completely crazy and started screaming AND JUMPING UP AND DOWN and crying. I could hear and feel myself, but it was like somebody else had taken over. Dr. Marx gave me a shot to calm me down and prescribed some tranquilizers or something. I’ve just taken one, and
I’m no longer climbing the ceiling of my cage, but I’M NOT ME ANYMORE. I don’t think I ever will be.

  Maybe the rectal ulcer will heal…maybe I will be able to go back to a real school later…maybe I won’t have to wear diapers forever…maybe my poor ego can eventually accept this

  …may

  be

  …

  6:30 P.M.

  Dad and Liz have been out by the pool quarreling. I can’t hear them, but I can tell by their body language. Liz called about noon to see how I was feeling. I told her “better,” but I lied. I hope they aren’t quarreling about me.

  Later

  A little while ago I tiptoed to the top of the stairs, and before Liz slammed out the front door, I heard her say how hurt she was that Dad hadn’t been honest with her and how she wouldn’t be in a relationship that wasn’t honest. I feel so, so, so bad. It’s all my fault. I probably should have stayed with Mom…or should I?

  Everyone, including me, will be so much better off when I finally die. I wonder how soon it will be now. I’m going to call Dr. Marx in the morning and make him tell me; surely he knows, or at least has some idea. Then—depending upon the time—I can make plans for existence. I’m always sooo tired, and I’m down to 81 pounds.

  Tuesday, February 11

  11:32 P.M.

  Dr. Marx sent over a Social Nurse or something early this morning. She told me how to handle my bed linen and stuff, being much more careful than before. Then I heard her out in the hall talking to Maria in Spanish. She’d brought a big box of rubber gloves and told Maria that she should always wear them when she was handling any of my personal soiled clothing and stuff. She tried to assure her that AIDS was not dangerous as long as she was careful, but I could hear the fear in Maria’s voice as she asked again and again for reassurance.