The week before Nancy graduated from Lakeside there was a senior prom. Nancy put down the whole idea of a prom-until one of the boys asked her. Then she got very excited. She asked me if she could buy a new dress for the big dance, which was to be held in a private room at a restaurant near the school. I said that she could and gave her a budget. She went into Philadelphia by herself to buy it.
“It’s the most beautiful dress in the whole world!” she jabbered excitedly when she came home, clutching the box.
“So let me see it, sweetheart!” I exclaimed, sharing her excitement.
“Not until I put it on!”
She dashed into the bathroom, closed the door. A minute later she came out in an unbelievably slinky lime-green matte jersey dress with a bare midriff.
“Isn’t it just incredible, Mom?” she cried, anxious for my approval.
I wasn’t about to ruin it for her. “Yes, sweetheart. Very nice. It makes you look very …”
“Mature?” she ventured hopefully.
“Mature. The very word I was groping for.”
“All riiiight!”
It was not your typical prom dress. But Nancy loved it. That’s why we chose to bury her in it. It wasn’t your typical burial dress either, but we thought it was important that she be wearing something she’d picked out herself and had enjoyed. Even if it was slinky and lime-green.
■■■
“You can go to school somewhere else, you know. There are other schools besides Colorado.”
“There’s no point,” she said quietly.
“Why not?”
“Because I’m gonna die before I’m twenty-one. I’m gonna go out in a blaze of glory. Like … like, headlines.”
“What makes you say that?”
“I just am. It’s something I know. For sure.”
It was no surprise to me that she wanted to die, but her reference to headlines baffled me. I couldn’t imagine what she could possibly do to make someone want to put her death in the newspaper.
■■■
Nancy’s return from Colorado was the turning point of her life. Never again did I see the slightest ray of light. She had genuinely believed she was well enough to function in the real world with regular people – without us, without Darlington. Now she knew she couldn’t. Her failure in Colorado meant she had to admit to herself that she wasn’t like other people, that she really was a sickie. For her, this was the last straw. No more dreams. No more will to live. The episode left her purposeless. It left her with nothing to do or be or believe in. Her only commitment now was to death. She took the fast lane so she could get it over with as soon as possible. It took her four years to fulfill her prophecy.
■■■
Suburban Psychiatric was a large, new private hospital. Again, a team of doctors and psychiatrists spoke to us and to Nancy. Then we waited for their verdict. This time Nancy was awake and eating a candy bar.
The doctor who sat with us was young and casually dressed. “We think
Nancy should be here,” he said. “We’d like to admit her.”
Nancy’s response was the most shockingly violent I’d ever seen. She hurled her candy bar at the wall and began to scream. She went berserk with rage-all of it directed at me. It spilled out in a nonstop torrent like the verbal tantrums she had had when she was two.
“You motherfucking bitch cunt shithead evil motherfucking bitch cunt!
You’ll die for this! You’ll die!”
“Now, there’s no reason to get upset, Nancy,” the doctor said calmly.
She ignored him.
“I’ll have you killed! I’m not staying here! I’ll leave! I’ll have you killed. You wanna know how I’ll have you killed, bitch cuntface? I’ll have them tear your fucking head off and gouge out your fucking eyeballs with a fucking icepick and tear off your fucking arms and break off every finger … and you fucking cunt you can’t lock me up here-“
“Now, there’s no reason to get upset,” the doctor repeated, a little less calmly. People had stopped what they were doing all over the hospital, and watched.
“I’m not gonna stay! I’ll kill you myself! With my bare fucking hands!
You know how I’ll do it? I’ll stick a knife up your motherfucking cunt and rip you wide open!”
I covered my ears with my hands, horrified. I couldn’t listen anymore.
“That’s how I’ll do it! I’ll cut your cunt and you’ll die! Die! Die like an evil shithead mother fucking cunt!”
She was sobbing now, her voice hoarse from yelling.
“Perhaps,” the doctor said to me, “you and your husband should wait in my office.”
We did. It was down the hall. Though we closed the door, we could still hear her screams and curses.
“…gouge out your fucking eyeballs you fucking cunt!”
I sagged against Frank, my insides melting. My child hated me with such a vengeance. Such venom and ugliness came out of her mouth. I had seen and heard her rages before, but never like this. Never. It broke my heart. All I was trying to do was save her. I loved her. I was doing whatever I could.
I guess they led her away. Her screaming faded and mercifully died out.
■■■
“If you don’t let me have the car,” she threatened, “I’m going to take my fists and put them through a window.”
“I’m sony you feel that way, Nancy,” I said. “And I understand that you’re upset.”
“Then I can have the car?”
“No, you cannot.”
“You’ll be sorry!” she cried.
She ran upstairs. A door slammed. Then there was a tremendous smash of broken glass and a scream. Frank and I ran up the stairs.
Nancy was in the bathroom. She’d followed through on her threat.
She’d rammed both hands through the bathroom window and, since it was winter, the second storm window too. There was blood and broken glass everywhere.
“See what you made me do?” she screamed, holding out her bloodied hands, one finger nearly severed. “See what I had to do?”
Fine. We had done what we were told. We had called her bluff. Look where it got us. Clearly, she was not responding to this kind of treatment.
Clearly, she was not controllable.
What were we going to do with her?
■■■
This was not to be. The judge, an older man with white hair, lit into me with a fifteen-minute tirade about rich suburban parents who gave their children cars of their own and allowed them to do what they pleased, without discipline or supervision.
“What kind of mother are you!” he demanded. “How dare you give your daughter a car and let her drink and stay out until all hours! It’s your fault!
You caused this accident!”
Who was he to sit in judgment of me? He was insensitive and uncaring.
I got angry. Nancy, however, got furious. She tried to protect me.
“Stop yelling at my mom!” she shouted.
“Nancy, keep quiet,” our lawyer hissed.
“You have no fucking right to yell at my mom!” she screamed. “Leave my mom alone!”
“Nancy, ssh,” he repeated, literally clamping his hand over her mouth.
The judge abruptly stopped his tirade.
“Not guilty,” he said. “Next case.”
We were momentarily stunned. Then we got out of there as quickly as possible.
“The facts just weren’t there,” our lawyer explained in the corridor.
“They had nothing on her.”
“I’ll kill that motherfucker with my bare hands,” steamed Nancy. “He had no right to treat you that way, Mom. I’m real sorry.”
I think it was the first time the only time-Nancy was made to realize that we had to take the brunt of the consequences for her actions.
“I’m just real sorry,” she repeated. “I don’t believe that motherfucker. Don’t worry, he’ll die for this! I’ll get somebody to kill him.”
■■■
At that moment we bumped into a man I knew through Western Union.
He was an officer of the traffic court, and I had helped him set up a Mailgram billing system for parking tickets. When he saw how upset Nancy was, he invited us into his office, gave us coffee, and stayed with us until Nancy calmed down. He was very kind.
Nancy never forgot his kindness. Three years later he was being tried for accepting bribes. He asked me to be a character witness, and I agreed to.
I mentioned it to Nancy over the phone. She was in New York with Sid. She immediately wanted to rush to the defense of this man who had been so nice to her.
“Hey, if he wants me to be a character witness, I’ll be happy to go.” I pictured her getting on the witness stand with her wild white hair, punk clothes, heroin track marks, and sickly, translucent skin. This was not exactly the sort of character witness he needed.
“I’ll tell him, Nancy, but I don’t think it’ll be necessary.”
“Whatever it takes. I wanna help.”
“I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.”
I’ve never forgotten Nancy’s readiness to help someone who had once helped her. I’ve never forgotten that phone conversation. It was our last.
She was dead four days later.
■■■
hexafu 