Nancy Part 1

“Nancy? Nancy Allred!?”

Nancy stopped on her way up the library stairs and turned around to look down at the source of the excited high pitched voice. The young woman around Nancy’s own age had been walking down the stairs past Nancy but stopped a few steps below Nancy before talking. Nancy had vaguely recognized the girl but was not in the mood to play the where-do-I-know-you-from game. The baby in her uterus was kicking her bladder and she did not want to stop and chat. But, instead, she smiled the obligatory embarrassed smile, shrugged her shoulders ever so little, and shook her head slightly.

The young woman continued her assault. “From Aspen Third Ward. We were Laurels together?” She wasn’t asking if they were in fact Laurels, she was asking if Nancy remembered. Nancy didn’t.

“I’m sorry,” Nancy half chuckled. She bit her lower lip and creased her brow while smiling – the best ‘I-know-your-face-but-your-name’ expression she had.

“Oh, that’s okay,” the strange girl laughed back, frankly forgiving Nancy for her social blunder. “Meredith Monson. You know...I lived down just off of twelve hundred north?” Another question that was really asking something else.

Nancy played along and raised her eyebrows suddenly and emitted an “Ahh,” which communicated the opposite of what she was thinking. Namely, she still had no idea how this girl knew her. But Nancy nodded and said, “Right, okay, yeah, that’s right,” and so forth. The strange girl seemed satisfied with this response and shifted her weight on one leg to settle into some serious catching-up. Nancy really didn’t want this. The baby again kicked her bladder; Nancy hid the unacceptable grimace that almost surfaced.

“So, how long have you been here at BYU?” the strange girl probed.

“Oh, about four years now.”

“That’s so wonderful you’re still seeking an education.”

Nancy knew the girl tactfully left out “...even though you’re pregnant.” But Nancy just nodded and smiled. Another kick. The girl kept going along this vein. “My husband and I haven’t blessed with children yet.”

Yeah, birth control pills tend to do that, Nancy thought.

“But marriage is wonderful isn’t it?” the girl stated. Another kick; Nancy almost let her bladder go, but she just kept nodding and agreeing. The girl mercilessly continued, “Well, I’m actually Meredith Jensen now. I got married a year ago last month in the Salt Lake Temple. I was sure we sent an invitation to your parents’ house.”

Foster parents, Nancy silently corrected her, they never actually adopted me.

“Didn’t they tell you?” the strange girl asked.

“They probably just forgot.” Actually, I haven’t spoken to them in almost two years.

“Oh, that’s too bad. It would have been great to see you at the reception.”

Who are you?! Nancy shouted in her head at the girl.

The girl continued, “But marriage is wonderful. I just love having someone to hold.”

Sex, Nancy thought, that’s what you mean, you like having sex.

The girl kept going. “But I haven’t heard from anyone that you got married. That’s wonderful! And congratulations on expecting a baby! Is it a boy or a girl?” The strange girl waited expectantly, smiling with eyebrows raised.

Nancy knew her response wasn’t tactful, but she had to get out of there. “It’s a boy, and I’ve never been married.”

The girl’s eyes, although already opened wide, widened. “Oh,” she said. Her smile melted. “Um.” Though Nancy really had to go, she stood for a moment enjoying the girl’s reaction. When Nancy didn’t offer any more information, the girl awkwardly tried to push forward the conversation. She swallowed. “Oh, um, so what are you going to name him?” Her voice trailed off at the end of the sentence.

Another kick. Nancy didn’t try to hide her grimace this time. She held her large belly and said, ‘‘I’m sorry, but I have to pee.’’ She turned around and waddled up the stairs to the bathroom as fast as she could and barely made it to the toilet with her backpack still on when she let her bladder loose.

As she sat there urinating, she thought of the conversation the strange girl would surely have later today with her husband. She would relate to him about that girl from high school she just ran into who’s pregnant… and not married. That would surprise the husband because, after all, this is BYU. It probably wouldn’t surprise the girl, if she really knew Nancy while they were Laurels. She and her husband would discuss how tragic and concerning and just… odd… that an unmarried pregnant girl would go to school at BYU. The Church makes sure that sort of thing doesn’t happen, right? They would agonize about what to do. But eventually the girl would call the Honor Code Office with her dear old friend’s best interests at heart and try to get her kicked out of BYU to help her on the path to repentance. Nancy knew the call from the Honor Code Office would come in the next week or two. Maybe it would even be the same counselor she had talked to the last few times. Calls came about once every other week now that the baby had turned. There wasn’t really anything she could do to hide her pregnancy anymore, so she had stopped tying. Two girls chatted into the bathroom, interrupting Nancy’s flow of thought.

When Nancy walked out of the stall, the girls glanced at her as people often glance awkwardly at others when they suddenly find another human being in a place intended for the emptying of bladder and bowels. Back in etiquette mode, Nancy gave a small greeting smile to the girls standing at the long mirrors. She immediately recognized the girl who was talking; she was in Nancy’s New Testament class. The girl immediately fell silent when she saw Nancy and paid equally immediate attention to her makeup in the mirror. Nancy thought she saw a small smile in return but couldn’t be sure. The other girl, only momentarily confused, quickly caught on that an unmentionable was in utero. She attended to similar details as she and her girlfriend waited until Nancy left and made it more comfortable. As Nancy washed her hands, she recalled how the first girl had been very amicable the first day of class. Her name was Emma, as Nancy recalled, and she was going to get married in May after the semester was over. She glanced at Emma’s left hand and saw the proof of her fiancé’s eternal love. Emma had wanted to know all about pregnancy from Nancy (getting ready to procreate with reckless abandon herself); Nancy remembered being open with Emma. And Emma had been equally open until Nancy’s marital status came into conversation. Nancy even told her the nature of her pregnancy, but Emma still clammed up; two weeks later the Honor Code Office called to talk to Nancy. Nancy turned off the water and left the bathroom allowing Emma to quietly explain to her friend, “That’s the girl I told you about...”

# # #

On Sundays Nancy normally went to church.

She attended a church building just south of campus with a congregation of newly wed couples. Mormon congregations usually form within geographic boundaries (a river over there, a main street over here), but sometimes congregations form along other lines of segregation. In Nancy’s neighborhood, there were no fewer than four congregations that overlapped the same plot of ground – one for singles, one for newlyweds, one for families and old people, and one for Latinos. She lived in a small apartment complex with a vaguely noble and British-sounding name. Her complex had two buildings, one for single girls and one for single boys; she had been going to the singles congregation until four months ago when that Bishop had gotten the first call from the Honor Code Office. That Bishop was the manager of a successful accounting firm in Provo and numbered his congregation, his ward, very precious people. A ward of wards. But that Bishop, being a kindly man, kindly told her that he thought she ought to go to the young married ward where it would be more comfortable. More comfortable for whom, she still hadn’t decided. But it got her away from single people like her to be around young pregnant women like her.

She met fairly regularly with her new Bishop, Bishop Christensen—about every other week. He built stairs and railings for a living—for people like her former Bishop. She liked Bishop Christensen; he was a spiritual leader and a carpenter. She was pretty sure his dad’s name wasn’t Joseph, though.

She passed the new sign in front of the building that held the same name but new logo of the church she attended.

The Church of
JESUS CHRIST
of Latter-Day Saints

Some older church buildings like this one took a while to get the signs with the new logo that was over a decade old now. The double sizing and centering of JESUS CHRIST was, apparently and officially, to dispel any rumors that her church was not of Jesus Christ. But, alas, her church was still also of the saints who attended services with her.

In sacrament meeting, Nancy partook of the sacrament but little else. Two people addressed the congregation on that Sunday. They were married and they were young. They both began their remarks with some variation of “The Bishop asked me to give a talk today, but I don’t really want to be up here right now because speaking in front of a crowd scares the hell out of me.” But they said it in a way that required an obligatory chuckle from the congregation, for they didn’t really hate being up in front of a crowd all that much—just a little. She passed the time looking at different people around the chapel as the young couple up front took turns reading their prepared talks word-for-word. Bishop Christensen sat on the stand with his two counselors, college-aged kids like Nancy, except they were both boys of course—not girls. They lived in the same married student apartments with their wives and the rest of the ward. Boys in her singles congregation weren’t allowed to be counselors to the Bishop over there, but if they were quick enough about it and got married before they ended college then there was a chance they could sit away from there newly-wed brides at church and sit with the Bishop instead. One of Bishop Christensen’s counselors (Nancy vaguely remembered he was in law school) kept dropping his head then snapping it up again rather quickly hoping no one would mistake his horse-getting-rid-of-flea impression for drowsiness.

Nancy shifted her attention to the couples around her. She sat alone, as usual. She first glanced at a few sets of couples in front of her. Half of the females were scratching the backs of their male counterparts. Other couples sat arm-in-arm. She allowed herself a moment of jealousy—but only a moment. A few of the couples had babies with them. Most babies in these church services weren’t held or cuddled; rather, they remained safely seated in their portable car seats, placed on the pew conveniently close to the young, caring parents.

Nancy let her right hand lightly rub her eight-month extended belly. I’d hold you, she thought. I hope I get to hold you. She let the thought trail off as she looked to her right.

Across the chapel, seated near the back was the Donald family. Nancy shook her head as she looked at them. They were definitely a family—not like the nuclear couples with their one (maybe two) little kids. No, the Donalds had stepped up to the Lord’s command to multiply and they truly did—thrice. Nancy counted again. Yup, six kids. She had heard that the Donalds lived in a two-bedroom apartment in the married student apartments. She had no idea where all the kids were kept. She noted that Sister Donald, somehow paying attention to three of her kids at once, was looking a bit round around the tummy herself. Maybe five - six months along. Just churning those kids out—boom, boom, boom. Nancy smiled at her thought. Brother Donald, balding and portly, juggled the other three kids. Nancy had also heard he was in the seventh year of his undergraduate construction management degree. It didn’t take a college graduate to figure out what was taking him so long. She wondered idly why the Donalds didn’t go to the family congregation.

Nancy looked back to the front of the chapel when the organist started braying the closing hymn. She picked up her hymn book and joined the singing with the chorus, “Hold to the rod, the i-i-ur-urn rod...”

# # #

She was on her way out of the building after the meeting when the Bishop intercepted her in the hallway and asked her to meet with him in his office. Nancy sighed a smile and said, “Sure, Bishop.” She wondered how many people actually told him no. As they entered his office, Nancy asked him, “What’s your father’s name?”

The Bishop creased his brow at her and said, “Fred. Why?”

“Just wondering,” she said as she sat down in a chair he offered her. The Bishop had set the chair to the side of his desk instead of in front of his desk. She thought this was probably some ploy to make her feel more comfortable.

The Bishop sat down and Nancy said, “The Honor Code Office called you, didn’t they?”

The Bishop looked only mildly surprised. “Yes, they did.” Nancy liked the Bishop’s straightforwardness. “The man I talked with sounded very serious.” The Bishop smiled. Nancy smiled, too. The Bishop had graduated from the University of Utah upstate and didn’t have much use for a lot of BYU policies. “He tells me that they’re not going to call you in anymore.”

“That’s fine with me, Bishop.”

The Bishop smirked at her remark. “They also told me that the last girl who called in was somebody’s grand-daughter.” Oh, THAT Monson. Nancy finally remembered who the girl on the stairs was. Her dad was the son of someone pretty important in Salt Lake City. The Bishop went on, “But the Honor Code Office said that allowing you to stay at BYU still depended on my endorsement of you.”

“And?”

“Well, nothing’s changed in the book yet. They sound like they really want something to change, though. Like they would really like the ‘strongly discouraged’ in my manual replaced with ‘excommunicate on sight.’” He paused for a moment to allow himself and Nancy to chuckle at his attempt at levity. One of those clumsy silences followed. Nancy knew he was going to get serious. He cleared his throat and looked over his glasses at her. The tilt of his head caused the neon lighting to reflect off his bald spot. “But, how are you doing, Nancy?” She hated this question, especially from the Bishop because she felt he actually meant it.

She took a deep breath. “I’m tired, Bishop.” He nodded and let her keep talking. “I know what I’m doing is right. I know the Jones need this baby.” She took another deep breath as she felt her throat tighten, “But dammit, Bishop, I feel like he’s mine.” The Bishop didn’t flinch at the swear word. Her eyes welled over and she kept going, “I mean… I’ve been carrying him for eight months, right? I exercise; it’s my body he’s living off of. It’s okay that I feel like he’s mine, right?” The Bishop nodded and looked at the floor as Nancy paused. Nancy spoke to his bald spot. “Sometimes I cry at night and my roommate turns over in her bed. I know she can hear me, but she doesn’t want to hear me. Nobody wants to hear me, Bishop. And no one wants to know! I hate that you’re the only person I can talk to. I mean, who are you?” Her voice cracked and snot dripped down her upper lip. The Bishop looked at her and handed her the customary box of Kleenex that adorned every Bishop’s office. She grabbed a few tissues and wiped at her nose. “I don’t like doing this, Bishop.” But, she realized, I always feel better afterwards.

She kept crying through this bi-weekly ritual. The Bishop listened.