Dear Nancy,
Thoughts of you overcame me like a tidal wave last night and I feel the need...the urge... to write you. I don’t know if you’ll ever be able to read this but I feel I had to let you know... I still think of us all these years...Wherever you are I hope you are safe, happy and free from pain.
I met Nancy Dean in 7th grade at Walt Whitman Intermediate school. I don’t quite remember how I met Nancy, I just remember one day in the classroom, this beautiful blonde girl sitting in front of me passed me a note; the note caught me by surprised and her neat handwriting on the torn, folded piece of paper that she must have ripped from her notebook confused me a bit. I thought perhaps she meant for me to pass it on to another person, but she looked at me as I stared back at her, and she mouthed “You! Do you want to be my best friend?” was what she wrote. I read and reread and wide-eyed stared at her and noticed she was smiling with me. Nothing like this ever happened to me before and my heart danced as I wrote back “Yes” and covertly passed the note back to her. That was how we became best friends. So innocent and spontaneous. Just like that.
Nancy was gorgeous, blonde hair, I don’t remember the color of her eyes but that didn’t matter, I was left speechless when I saw her. She was tall, slim, head-turning popular, athletic, and she was so cool to not let these things go to her head. She was strong, she could outrun all of us, including the boys, by 2 laps around the football field and she wasn’t even breathing hard. Meanwhile I was left in the dust after half a lap, holding my chest, heaving, gasping for air. To this day I was never a runner and she was the fastest runner I’ve ever met.
I grew up in Vietnam during its war and came to the States in 1975, at the fall of Saigon, barely 12 years old then, 6th grade. I didn’t speak English, extremely shy, had no friends, was anything but popular. My clothes were either to lose or too tight, as they belonged to someone else that eventually ended up in a pile in some churches’ basements, we would go there to fetch for what fit us and we weren’t picky. My family were on welfare, I wasn’t into cool clothes anyway. Frankly I don’t remember what my clothes look like. The only thing “cool” that I had was a pair of white leather Adidas Samba with black stripes that my dad gave me, they were brand new from a shipment received for his soccer team. At the times Adidas wasn’t even popular in the States but I got compliments for my shoes. (I think I might have been a trendsetter!) I also had a cream colored Lee’s jeans that my dad gave me, ones that belonged to him once upon a time. I keep this pair of jeans until present day. I couldn’t bare to part with them, who would want them anyway? Now and then I played this game where I put them on to see if they would still fit, and I chuckle because they still do. But they bring back certain memories and took me to a place I avoided going to. Back to Nancy Dean.
Except for that little note, I never knew how I ended up being Nancy’s best friend, I racked my brain but came up empty. Nancy was an only child. She had me over for play dates and I noticed how nice her big room was, her clothes were. Everything about her was perfect. I was the opposite, a patched up kid who barely talked. She did all the talking for me which I was extremely grateful. She also gave me some of her clothes to wear and I was happy to inherit them. When you had nothing you welcomed everything. We went on to be great friends, we were always hanging out with each other during lunch, between classes, we had a couple of classes together. I was in strange country, lost in a crowd of different colored hair kids, couldn’t understand the lessons, had tough times getting homework done, and Nancy helped me made it through the storms.
Nancy had money to pay for lunch. I didn’t. Instead, I got a lunch punch card that I had to get each week from the school’s cafeteria. I decided I would not eat lunch so I didn’t have to show her and other kids I didn’t have money for lunch. One day I was pulling my books to do my homework and a stack of lunch cards fell out in front of my dad. He picked them up and realized what they were. He asked “my precious daughter, why aren’t you eating lunch?” I said nothing, but he quickly realized and pulled me close to him, “Are you embarrassed we don’t have money to pay for your lunch?” My eyes watered and I nodded. He embraced me and said, “Honey, it’s only temporary, trust me, as soon as we can get out of welfare we will, but right now we need help to get us started, and we will pay back as soon as we can.” He was very reassuring that we could pay back, it was then I started using my lunch cards, with less guilt and shame.
Later in my adult life, I was deployed for the duration of Desert Storm as well as countless other operations to serve the US and to protect its citizens. I still do to present day. I paid back all the lunch money I owed, plus some.
I wonder where you are, I wonder if you’re ok, I wonder if you’re battling your demons alone, I wonder if you’re free from pain, I wonder if you think of me, of us? Please help me get over you...
Things took a turn for me, for us.
Nancy came to school with these pills and she called them “downers” and offered them to me one day. I didn’t know what they were but I never liked medications of any sort. She kept pushing and said, “Take one, it won’t hurt you, it’ll make you feel really good.”
Even though I didn’t know anything about drugs at the time, something just didn’t feel right about downers, and I declined. Then I saw other girls walked passed her and asked her for these tiny white pills, and although I didn’t know English too well, I was able to piece some contexts together that Nancy was distributing drugs. I’ve gotten worried but didn’t know what or how to tell her. I didn’t even have the language to tell her. All I wanted to do was to stop her going down this dead end. She had such a bright future ahead of her and I wanted to do everything I could to protect her. The girls coming around for feeling-good pills were rough looking. All of sudden I didn’t feel so safe being with Nancy.
About the same time, I made a new friend, Betsy Slugg. She seemed nice. She didn’t push drugs on me.
Some days or weeks later, Nancy brought me something rolled up in foil with red stripes and told me I should try, “it will make you feel good, you worry too much, it won’t hurt you I promise.” I looked at her and shook my head. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t have the language to tell her that drugs were bad and how I wish she would just stay away from them.
Nancy went on to date Brett, an athletic boy at Whitman. I saw them kissing right outside the school. She had asked me, “Don’t you think Brett is so cute? We kissed on the lips. Brett liked the stuff I gave him, he said it made him feel good”. I wanted to close my eyes and cry.
You have no idea how much I wanted to tell you... how much I care about you... but I couldn’t say anything.
As a foreign student, I was required to take ESL (English As A Second Language) classes. My ESL teacher, Mrs. Parrish, took a liking in me and my family. She could have liked anyone but she paid a lot of attention to me. I drew pencil images back then and she saw my art work. I was really good at drawing certain things, I can shade them and made them pop such that they look realistic. Mrs Parrish, however, didn’t seem to like them so much and told me, “if I get you a drawing set, will you draw me a house on a field? Or trees? And I’d like to you stop drawing these.” She didn’t like my drawings for some reason, which consisted of black and white drawings of balls and chains, barbed wired... I got really good at drawing interlocking chains, and I had made my barbed wire 3D and they looked sharp.
I had no one to talk to about Nancy’s drug pushing deals, but Mrs. Parrish brought up this topic with my parents and my dad asked me if I see anything “suspicious” at my school to let him know. So I took the courage and told my dad about Nancy, which in turn, told Mrs. Parrish. Next thing I know Nancy confronted me and said, “You told on me! You got me in trouble!” She said her mom slapped her. She was mad at me and we had a fall out. Mrs. Parrish had contacted the school’s Principal who had talked to Nancy’s parents. Did I do the right thing? I wanted so much to believe I did. I wanted to stop Nancy from falling into the dark abyss.
I wanted so much to stop you from taking and pushing drugs. I could see you falling deeper and deeper... and I wanted to be that good friend to stop you but I was too helpless. I had to tell on you so that you would stop, it was never meant to hurt you.
I hung out with Betsy. She was nice. She invited me over for dinner and I sat with her family. My mind wasn’t at peace. I always thought of Nancy.
We continued to share classes. Nancy was quick to recover from being mad at me. She was an amazing artist and she was fascinated with drawing American Indians. She drew me a picture of this man wearing feathers on his head and he looked really good. She passed me notes during class, “Am I still your best friend?” In another note, she asked “Do you like Betsy over me?” I still don’t know what she saw in me. I wrote back, “Nancy, you my best friend.”
You’ve always been my best girlfriend.
My family moved to another area and I switched to Joyce Kilmer intermediate school. I lost touch with Nancy, forever physically, but she never left my mind and heart.
Years passed, I went to college at George Mason University in Northern Virginia, a girl had followed me around in school and finally came up to me and asked if I attended Whitman, which I said yes. She turned out to be Betsy. We hugged until we cried. I was still shy but spoke better English then. I asked about her family, her boyfriend and everyone in her life seemed fine. Then I had to ask about Nancy Dean, I was dying to find out any news on her. Betsy looked at me sadly and shook her head, “it’s bad...she’s in a bad way, she’s a drug addict now...” I wasn’t sure if Betsy said anything else after that, I could no longer hear her. I felt a stabbing pain in my chest and silently, I wept.
Forty something years later, someone mentioned childhood friendships...that was a trigger that took me back to the crowded hallway of Whitman Intermediate. I searched through memories for images of her, I still think of her, I still whisper her name, Nancy Dean.
I hope wherever you are that you feel loved.
I love you forever.
Your best friend,
T. L.
