Page three


nancy has quit her job. nancy, who worked 50-60 hours a week (angie’s only relief) at her menial job, which she verbally and mendaciously turned into a boss position where she was in “charge” of three other people, is now at home almost all the time. angie is in some level of panic attack: she’s quit her stinking go-nowhere job. she’s now a stay-at-home psycho.

but now what. now what in the cash department. to the extent that nancy can love at all, she loves money. angie has been watching of course. the now what for cash seems to be selling drugs in the back yard. grungy-looking types come in the evenings while angie walks her dogs. they root around in the snowmobile bags right in front of her, as if she poses no threat. as if she were no one, nothing, not even standing there.

the now what in terms of harassing angie has already been made clear: there is more of it because there is more time for it, and it is always inventive. they are in the fifth month of this now, the bully and the victim, and there is zero sign of any detente.

though nancy is in general an uneducated halfwit, she seems, like many unintelligent people, to possess an endless amount of creativity for lies, schemes and meanness. angie has been bullied before, naturally. all her life, in fact. but angie has asperger’s, and people with asperger’s get bullied as surely as god made little green apples, and what is the solution? angie doesn’t know one.

but nancy is in her way an artiste of the nasty, and angie has never seen anything quite like it in her long history of being jabbed and pushed around. there is always something new.

the stealing of angie’s dog cage. the smashing into the mailbox post and breaking it in two. banging on the wall where angie sleeps at 2 a.m. shrieking full-blast in front of angie’s window. the christmas package caper. the bash with 50? 60? guests parked everywhere, including up against angie’s stairs so closely that she and her dogs had to squeeze single-file through four inches of space. and the noise. the incessant, thumping, relentless noise.

and there was halloween, of course. nancy, like many psychotics, is always on stage, always giving command performances. angie’s father would have called it posing for animal crackers, among other things. on halloween nancy decorated and lit up one of her porches, sat there in a presumably sexy version of a witch costume with her boatloads of candy, waiting for her audience.

the audience never came. angie already knew: they never get trick-or-treaters at that house. the actress was ready with her props and her costume, and her audience never showed up. apparently this was deemed in the irrational mind to be angie’s fault, and the tricks began. enormous slamming of doors, banging furiously with fists on angie’s walls. for a few minutes? no, no. that would be underachievement for miss nancy. no, the tantrum went on intermittently for over an hour.

and this is only some of it, only some of what angie has been treated to since september. what will her days be like in future, now that nancy has quit her bloody go-nowhere job and gets her money selling drugs in the yard right before angie’s eyes, the eyes of no threat, nobody, nothing.


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