The death of Nancy Reagan didn't affect me much one way or the other. But a character in one of my short stories once tried desperately to reach the First Lady. The character is named Hazel DePugh and she is trying to understand what really happens when a girl just says, "No!" Nancy Reagan is no help, which surprises Hazel but shouldn't surprise anyone else:
...she just
said no to drugs because Mrs. President Nancy Reagan asked her to. What else
could she do? Hazel was raised to respect her elders, salute the flag, stand up
for freedom, obey the law, follow the leader, pray for guidance, save herself
for marriage, vote Republican, do or die, choose life, and praise the Lord and
pass the ammunition. Some of those things didn’t make much sense to an
eighth-grader but Hazel got the
overall point. So, when (a videotaped) Mrs. President Reagan said, “Just say
no,” at the school assembly, Hazel proudly said, “No!” And that was that. A few
of Hazel’s friends didn’t say, “No,” some said, “No!” but kept their fingers
crossed and didn’t really mean it and some of them lied. Hazel meant it. Cross
her heart and hope to die. She wasn’t about to lie to Mrs. President Reagan.
She was raised to know better than that.
That was
back in middle school, but high school is hard and it is harder without drugs.
Mrs. President Reagan didn’t tell Hazel that part, but that’s what she learned
when she got there. And she didn’t tell Hazel how her friends would abandon her
for the simple reason that nobody in high school likes a goody two-shoes,
especially one who might narc them out to Nancy Reagan or their parents or a
cop or whatever. At first Hazel didn’t care about any of that, but it didn’t
take long for her to become so lonely she sometimes regretted her promise. The days
at school were one thing, but the midnight misery of her drug-free,
hormone-bathed solitude was worse. Her phone never rang. Her life became so
quiet her ears hurt. Her parents didn’t seem to notice. They enjoyed the quiet.
Hazel
finally wrote to Mrs. President Reagan and asked for her advice
Dear Mrs. Pres. Reagan,
My name is Hazel DePugh and I just said ‘No!’ to
drugs last semester at Judith Sussman Middle School. It was easy to just say no
to drugs but that was last year. Now I am in high school and sometimes I think
drugs might help, especially like tonight when I am sitting here crying about
it. What should I do?
Love ya, Hazel.
P.S. I am not an ugly person or a retard or anything.
Nancy
Reagan sent her an autographed eight-by-ten glossy photograph of herself
dressed in a red suit and signed, “Just say NO! Very
Best Wishes, Nancy Reagan.” Hazel bucked up and said “No!” again and again.
She was proud of that photograph, even when it turned out Nancy Reagan didn’t really
sign it.
Her name was part of the picture! Hazel was disappointed but she stuck the picture on the wall and still didn’t try
drugs. Nancy Reagan’s eyes were awfully far apart and they always
seemed to be watching her.
When high
school didn’t get any better, she wrote again:
Dear Mrs. President,
My name is Hazel and I wrote you a while back.
Remember? High school is still terrible and I am still very lonely, but don’t
worry, I would still say No! if somebody offered me drugs, but they don’t.
Nobody ever offers me drugs!!! Do you know how that feels? Sometimes it makes
me want to kill myself or get a tattoo. Have you ever seen those tears Mexicans
tattoo on their faces? Maybe like that because I am so sad. And I have to do something. Please help me.
Love ya, Hazel.
P.S. I am not a Mexican or anything but
sometimes I wish.
She mostly
made up the part about killing herself, which was a good thing because all she
received this time was an eight-by-ten glossy photo of Mr. and Mrs. President
Reagan (she had on another red suit and he had on a cowboy hat, she was
smiling, he looked a little confused). “Very
Best Wishes, Nancy Reagan and Ronald Reagan.” She was just about to
rip the photograph to pieces and quit saying “No!” to drugs when her mother
came in and asked her to walk to Fat Sammy’s Mini-Mart and buy a gallon of
no-fat milk.
Luckily the
milk cooler at Fat Sammy’s Tip-Top Mini-Mart was at the back of the store
because that’s where Hazel was when her former friends came in the front door.
She heard them laughing, chattering as they bought Slurpies and munchies. Wasn’t that what stoners needed? Slurpies? Munchies? Hazel wanted to need
them, too. She really did; she peeked around the shelves and wanted to run to her old friends
shouting, “Yes! Yes! Yes!” to drugs and everything else but she knew they would
smirk and turn away. “God damn you, Nancy Reagan,” she said under her breath,
then ducked and flinched half-expecting God to strike her dead on the spot. He
didn’t. So Hazel hid at the back of the
store and started thinking about her next letter:
Dear Mrs. President Reagan,
It’s me Hazel. You know that milk cooler in the
back down at Fat Sammy’s Mini-Mart? Well here I am hiding out from my ex-friends that I wish were still my friends but they aren't my friends and you know why. So I have a question. If drugs
are not the answer, what is?
Love ya, Hazel.
P.S. A picture is not worth one thousand words.
Hint. Hint.
She smiled
at that last part, waited until her former friends
were gone, then jerked something off the shelf at random so Fat Sammy wouldn’t
think she was a complete idiot or a shoplifter or something and headed to the front of the store.
Hazel eventually saves herself with banjo music only to be shot dead in a ditch outside of Nashville, TN. It's a ditch Nancy Reagan would not have understood.
