Thanks for coming back for part #2 of the serialisation of Nancy Please! Last week, we met our protagonist, NANCY (obviously) who was telling us some small part of her life working in a factory. It sounded wonderful.
You can find the first part HERE.
“Nancy?” This time the voice sounds stern. It’s like the voice of a manager that wants to see last month’s sales report. Definitely not me. I’ve not got anything outstanding. Although…that’s not quite right. It’s not the voice of a manager; it’s more like that of a teacher. A teacher that has noticed someone looking out of the window when they should have been solving the problem on the board.
“Is that you?” I spin around and look at the woman that has addressed me. She’s tall; maybe a head taller than me, with tight ringlets in her shoulder-length brown hair. She’s wearing glasses that have fallen to the end of her nose. She pushes them up as she speaks. “That’s you, right?” she says again.
I don’t know who this woman is and why she is talking to me. “You talking to me?” I ask. A little disrespectful, but I don’t care. I point to myself in case she doesn’t know who ‘me’ is.
“Sure I am. That’s you, right? You’re Nancy.” The woman leans forward, bringing her eyes level with mine. “Narn-See.” She titters. God, that’s annoying. Who laughs like that? No, I take that back; the shop floor hags when they’re talking about who they had last night. That’s who.
“How do you know my name? Oh, and it’s Nancy, by the way.” I don’t know how she knows that stupid name, but she needs to cut that shit right out.
“Everyone knows your name. Everyone knows everyone’s name around here. That’s Jeff,” She points across the hall to a large man with a knitted sweater; “that’s Maggie,” she points to a small woman that is pushing her way past a number of other people; “and that’s Tracey. She’s been here a while.”
“Look lady, I don’t know you. I don’t know Jeff or Mary or-”
“Maggie. It’s Maggie.”
“Maggie. I don’t know her. If you’ll excuse me.” I turn to leave. I think I handled that relatively well. I don’t like people knowing stuff about me. I don’t really feel like I know a lot about myself.
That was when the woman touched me. She reached out and put her hand on my shoulder. “I’m Amy,” she says. She reaches a hand out towards me. I think it must just have been a reflex, because I shake it. “Good to meet you. You’ll get to know people, don’t worry about that. It’s all one big happy family.” She looks up at the roof and spins around, arms open like someone from The Sound of Music. Jesus.
“So what makes you think that’s for me?” I point upwards towards the speakers.
As if on cue, “Nancy. Nancy De’Angelo,” the voice says.
Amy smiles. “Is that you?”
Well of course that’s me, unless there’s another Nancy De’Angelo, and the odds of that are even smaller. “Yes.” I’m not sure how much to share with this woman, although she does seem to know what’s going on. “What am I supposed to do?”
“Well that all depends.”
“On what?” I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be doing, but I remember something about a corridor. I see one about fifty feet ahead of me.
“It depends on if you want to speak to them or not.”
“I don’t even know who they are. Why did you call me Narn-See?”
“That’s what they called you, wasn’t it? Narn-See please?”
Now this is starting to feel uncomfortable. I can feel a headache coming on; maybe even a migraine. “It’s what they call me, and I really don’t like it.”
“No, I know you don’t. It’s not your fault you were born into money.” Amy smiles and spreads her arms again. “Those bitches deserved what they got.”
“Born into money? If you mean born into a family that cares about me and taught me that I had value beyond being someone’s weekend bit on the side, then I guess it’s not my fault.” Who the hell does this woman think she is? Just for a moment, I let slip the other half of her sentence, but just a moment. “Deserved what they got? And what was that?” I think I know, but I need to know if she knows.
“Charcoaled!” Amy throws her head back and laughs. “They got charcoaled!” She holds her sides – she actually holds her sides – as she rocks back and forth, laughing. “Oh, that’s too funny!” Tears start to fall from the corners of her eyes and she wipes them away with the back of one hand.
“How is that funny?” I ask.
When Amy had recovered her composure, she looks back at me. “Well, I suppose it’s not funny per se,” She pulls out a tissue and wipes her eyes again, “but it’s just so damn inventive!” She doubles over as she begins laughing again.
That brings part 2 to a close. stop by next Saturday for part #3.
My question to you:
Unrelated, but have your children gone back to school yet?