I met Nanette when she interviewed me for a job. I had seen the help-wanted sign in the bookstore window and went in, on impulse, to apply for the job. She hired me on the spot. It was such a whirlwind interview I truly forget most of what was said.
She was shorter than I am. That's saying a lot. I'm five feet tall. Her hair was this odd mixture of blonde, brown and red. I once asked her about it and she swore to me she'd never dyed it. It just grew that way. It was this tangle of messy curls, very much like my own. She had the kind of hair you could stick a pencil in and it wouldn't fall out. You might lose it in there, though.
Nan always wore these long flowing clothes, skirts to her ankles and long sleeves no matter what the season. After I got to know her better, she told me she'd had skin cancer and was petrified of the sun and what it could do to her.
There was an immediate connection between us but I've never been sure exactly why that was. I think I liked her so much because she was so different from anyone I had ever met. She spoke her mind and pulled no punches. She was one of the most honest humans I've ever encountered.
She was one of the funniest people I'd ever met, too. She was close to thirty years old when I met her but she had the twinkle of a kid in her eyes. She'd do these outrageous things and always get away with them.
One Christmas, during a crazy morning when someone had called in sick and the two of us were ringing on registers as fast as we could, the back doorbell rang. We were the only two in the store and there was no way we could answer it. We looked at each other in a panic and then, started laughing.
Nan finished with the sale she was in the middle of and held up a tiny finger to the next customer, as if to say one minute. She ran to the backroom and I kept ringing and ringing. She came back, a bit red in the face and said, "I told them to go away. It was a warehouse shipment. I'm going to get fired." And then, she burst out laughing.
She didn't get fired. When our District Manager came in, the next day, Nan went to lunch with her. Later she told me she basically told the DM that if they were going to fire her, she didn't care. She was only human and there were only two of us in the store. The DM backed her and said she'd done the right thing.
I envied Nanette's marriage. They seemed so perfect together. Her husband was also a short person. They looked like the ideal couple in miniature. He was a guitar player. Nanette called him a virtuoso. I had to look that up. He was always very funny and kind to me. I had just gotten married. At our wedding, Nan and her husband, toasted us on video saying they hoped we'd be as happy as they were. Years later, my husband would say, "Was that some kind of curse, or what?"
About a year after I met Nan, she told me the truth about her marriage. Her husband, her funny, seemingly kind and lovely husband, beat her. She didn't mean to tell me. I called during what she called a situation. He answered the phone and said she couldn't talk but she grabbed the phone and yelled, "I can't talk because my husband is beating me." Then, she hung up.
I was horrified. I didn't know what to do. How was this in character for the woman I knew who took no crap from anyone on earth? My husband was at work. I had no way to get to her house. I didn't want to call back. I was afraid he'd hurt her even more because of the phone call. I remember sitting on the couch and feeling numb.
How on earth could I help her? The answer, I know now, was I couldn't. She had to make her choices. As my father always said, "You pays your money and you takes your choice." I wanted her to get as far away from him as possible. The men I knew, the men in my life, never hit women. It was wrong.
The next day, she came in wearing sunglasses. She didn't take them off all day. I convinced her to get a cup of coffee with me. She didn't want to talk about anything all that morning that didn't pertain to our work at the store. We sat on a bench outside the small Deli in the mall, both of us making a huge effort to rip open our sugar packets slowly, dribbling in the little containers of cream as slowly as possible. Neither one of us really wanted to have this conversation.
"Does he hit you?" she asked me.
"Who? Bill?"
She nodded.
"No. Never."
"I get hit all the time."
"Nanny, you have to leave. He'll hurt you. Really hurt you."
She whipped off her sunglasses and her left eye was bruised shut. It was all purple and angry and it scared me more than the phone call the day before. I said nothing. I cried. Not loud sobs, quiet tears slid down my face. When I looked over at her, she was crying, too.
"But how?" she said softly. "I'm married to him. I can't leave him."
"Yes, you can."
"I've tried to leave before but I get all mixed up and he promises it won't happen again and I end up staying."
"He's a liar, Nan."
"I know."
Nothing changed too much for a few months. But then, over an argument about him buying a chainsaw to cut fire wood, he bashed her face into a window sill. I didn't know what to do. The only thing I could think to say was, "Nan, God help you when he gets that chainsaw."
I've never been sure if my words did it but she bought a paper at lunch and found an apartment to rent. Alone. She was finally going to leave him.
The end of a marriage is always sad, even when ending it is justified. I felt so sad when we helped her pack her things and leave her adorable house in the woods. Her husband came home at the end of the day, while we were loading up a borrowed pick up truck. I had an overwhelming urge kick him in the groin.
"Don't go. Stay. I'll be a better husband."
She looked straight through him and got in the truck. I placed the last box on the truck and got in next to her.
We heard him screaming all kind of ugly names at her as we drove away.
Nan lived by herself for a year. In the first few months, she tried to "date" her husband but it didn't work. He was still abusive and finally, she ended it. The day her divorce was final, she called me to say she was going to sell everything she had and drive across the country. If she found a place she liked, she'd stop and live there.
I thought she was insane. It sounded crazy to me. Why would she want to be alone, on the road and how could she drop into a new city, just like that? But again, I helped her with the garage sale and saw her drive away, with maps on the front seat and a sad smile on her face.
We lost touch. I had kids, my husband, and a full, busy life. She had settled out West. I heard she got married again after many years of living alone. Then, one day about three years ago, I decided to try and find her via the internet. And I did. We stayed in touch for a few months and she said she might take off, go to France, write a book. She said she was suffocating and needed to move on.
I won't say I was completely surprised. Nothing about her has every truly surprised me. With Nanette, I learned to expect the unexpected. I will say I'm sure one day I'll hear from her again. I believe we have one of those friendships where we can pick up again, where we left off, without skipping a beat. For now, I miss her and wherever she is, I wish her well.