This month I will be participating in the “Blogging from A-Z Challenge”
What is it?
I will be Blogging everyday beginning on April First with a topic themed on something with the letterA, then on April second another topic with the letter B as the theme, and so on until I finish on April thirtieth with the theme based on the letter Z. The theme of the day is the letter scheduled for that day.
My theme will be short fictional (well mostly fictional) stories about women. Each woman’s name will begin with the appropriate letter of the alphabet for that day.
All of the women will have the common life experience of a loss of some type.
I invite you, Dear reader, to comment on how you interpret the loss.
There was an incident several years ago. Let me tell you what happened.
Nancy was my friend. Our relationship developed quickly, in fact in one strange night.
I was one of the board members of the Club. Nancy was new in the neighborhood. She came to one of our recruitment meetings. That was the first time we met. If I’m to be honest, I admit I don’t remember our first meeting.
As I was soon to find out, she obviously remembered me. I now realize that she specifically sought me out.
I’m a busy person. I get a lot of phone calls. But, I vividly remember that first phone call from Nancy. I didn’t recognize the caller ID phone number. The woman on the other end was hysterically crying and could barely speak.
I kept asking, “Who is this?” “What’s wrong?”
I was frightened. My mind was racing, thinking something must have happened to one of my children.
When she calmed down, she identified herself as a new member of the Club.
“I met you last Thursday,” she sobbed.
She told me that something terrible had happened. She couldn’t talk about it over the phone and asked me to come over to her house.
I was hesitant. I told her that perhaps it might be better to contact a family member or close friend.
“No, I can’t”, she cried. “I just can’t do that.”
I wrote down her address and went over to her house.
When I rang the bell, I saw her peering out the front window.
She opened the door, grabbed my arm to pull me into the house, and then quickly shut the door and locked it.
Nancy is about 5 feet 5 inches tall. She’s not thin, but she’s not fat either. She has short brushy brown hair and dull brown eyes. She is the type of person who blends in, forgettable actually.
That night her face was pallid, her eyes puffy and red.
“What is it, Nancy?” “What happened?”
She told me that she heard a noise. She thought someone was breaking into her house.
She called the police, she said.
“They checked the whole house and made sure the alarm was working,” she said. “They assured me everything was okay and that I would be fine.”
“Oh,” I said.
“Is anything else going on? What can I do?” I asked, in what I hoped sounded like concerned tone.
I was actually a little perturbed. I didn’t understand why she called me.
She told me that her husband passed away several years ago. Her son lives 100 miles away and she has no other family around she said.
She confided that she felt alone and lonely.
“It was scary,” she said. “I really thought I was in danger.”
“I’m new in this town,” she went on. “At the meeting, you seemed so kind.”
"I just knew I could call you and you would come.”
I must describe to you now a little about myself. I am a caregiver. I’ve always been a caregiver.
My mom and dad had a volatile relationship. My father was abusive. From as far back as I can remember, I took on the roll of caring for my mother.
Perhaps my nurturing personality is what attracts people to me. I seem to collect the troubled ones.
Nancy was troubled.
After that night we talked to each other on the phone at least once a day. We had a standing Thursday lunch date and occasionally we would take in a movie.
Nancy became active in the Club, but she found it hard to form friendships with other members. I began to notice that she seemed to get upset when I had plans which did not include her.
This one day, the day of the incident, I was to meet my good friend, Marie, for a shopping trip and then lunch.
When I talked to Nancy, early that morning, I was evasive about my plans.
While we were out, I purposefully turned off my cell. I needed a nice relaxing day with no distractions.
When I turned the phone back on, there were several missed calls, three voice messages and seven texts. All from Nancy
“Why aren’t you answering your phone…need to speak with you…important!”
This happened about six months after my first encounter with Nancy.
She was waiting for me when I got home.
I spotted her in the glare of my headlights, frantically waving her arms.
Although, this wasn’t the first time Nancy had displayed obsessive and possessive behavior towards me, I decided that this time was going to be the last time.
I saw Nancy the other day. She was having lunch with Marie.