A recollection attributed to Anita Kay Asse
Archive Note: The following statement is attributed to Anita Kay Asse [ASE-0003] and is preserved substantially as received. Minor punctuation and formatting have been standardized for readability. The Archives has made no attempt to interpret what Miss Asse carefully declined to explain.
I have been informed that my younger sister Nancy has once again been discussing my college years.
This does not surprise me.
Nancy began listening to things that were none of her business shortly after she learned to walk and became considerably more efficient at it once she discovered doors did not need to be completely open to hear through them.
She was four years younger than me.
This was apparently insufficient.
For the record, yes, I knew Crock.
We attended some of the same places, knew some of the same people, and occasionally found ourselves in the same company.
That is not an admission of anything.
It is geography.
About the Flirting
Nancy says I flirted with Crock.
Nancy also once told our mother that I had kissed a boy behind the gymnasium because she saw me come around the side of the building with lipstick missing.
I had been eating a popsicle.
Admittedly, that explanation would have been more convincing had the popsicle not belonged to the boy.
The point is that Nancy frequently possessed part of a fact and an extraordinary willingness to supply whatever portion she had missed.
Did I flirt with Crock?
I was a young woman attending college.
Crock was there.
Draw whatever conclusion makes your evening more interesting.
I certainly won’t stop you.
The Dance
I understand Nancy has also discussed a dance.
There was a dance.
There were tickets.
That is all I intend to say about the tickets.
Anyone possessing additional information concerning whether those tickets were used should consider carefully how they came into possession of that information.
Particularly Nancy.
The Carnation
I am not discussing the carnation.
The Necklace
Nor the necklace.
And before anyone asks, the fact that I am not discussing two things does not establish that the two things are related.
That sentence is for Deep.
Crock
Crock and I were friends.
At various times we were perhaps better friends than at others.
There were conversations.
Some were long.
Some occurred considerably later in the evening than my parents would have considered necessary.
There may have been disagreements.
I cannot imagine why anyone would find that remarkable.
Crock could be stubborn.
I have been informed that this condition persists.
As for anything else, Crock has apparently chosen not to discuss it.
For once, we agree.
Nancy
Now this I will discuss.
My sneaky little sister had ears considerably larger than she deserved.
Nancy listened from hallways.
Nancy listened from staircases.
Nancy listened from the other side of bedroom doors.
Nancy once remained inside a linen closet for nearly twenty minutes because she heard my name mentioned in the kitchen and didn’t want opening the door to interrupt the conversation.
When discovered, she claimed she was looking for a towel.
There were no towels in that closet.
Nancy was eleven.
Nothing improved afterward.
By the time I went to college, she had developed the additional ability to remember precisely those details I most hoped she would forget.
She could forget homework before supper and remember something I whispered on the telephone six months earlier with courtroom accuracy.
Worse, she occasionally turned out to be right.
That was always the most irritating part.
What Nancy Actually Knew
Nancy knew Crock and I knew each other.
She knew we spoke frequently.
She knew there was a dance.
She knew I had expected to attend it.
She knew there was a carnation.
She knew about the necklace.
She knew I came home one weekend in a mood that discouraged questions from everyone except Nancy, who regarded discouraged questions as something of a personal invitation.
How she knew some of those things remains a question I would still like answered.
What she did not know was everything that happened between the things she knew.
Nancy filled those spaces herself.
Usually enthusiastically.
Occasionally accurately.
I will not identify which occasions.
About the Photograph
I have now seen the photograph being circulated with Deep’s account.
I recognize the room.
I recognize several of the objects.
I have no intention of assisting with the remainder.
The photograph proves there was a room.
It proves there were tickets.
It proves somebody owned lipstick.
This was 1980.
None of those propositions should astonish anyone.
As for the crumpled letter, I would remind researchers that reading another person’s correspondence without permission was considered rude even before the invention of the Internet.
Nancy apparently missed that lesson as well.
One Last Thing
I have neither confirmed nor denied my sister’s story because doing either would give Nancy something she has wanted for years:
the satisfaction of knowing exactly how much she got right.
I refuse.
Crock may continue pretending he doesn’t remember.
Deep may continue pretending she’s conducting journalism.
The Archives may continue putting identification numbers on things that should probably have remained in boxes.
And Nancy may continue telling the story.
She was always going to anyway.
But if anyone intends to reconstruct my college years from Nancy’s recollections, an old photograph, two unused dance tickets, a broken necklace, one unfortunate carnation, and whatever Crock is willing to admit—
good luck.
You’ll need it.
— Anita Kay Asse [ASE-0003]
Archive Addendum: Following preservation of this statement, Nancy Lynne Asse [ASE-0004] reportedly objected to only one portion.
She maintains that she was in the linen closet for twelve minutes, not twenty.
No independent evidence has resolved the discrepancy.
Anita’s Addendum: And Deep—or, actually, Deepa—before you get too pleased with yourself: I didn’t elope. You might want to ask your own family why everybody thinks you did.