| Her fingers clutched the blue pen as she guided it across a sheet of notebook paper. Rebecca shifted quietly, pushing a pair of shoes so she had more room. The small, barely lit closet was no place to be writing, but it was the only place she felt safe. She paused in her writing to listen to the noises in the house. The TV played in the living room where her father had set up shop for the night. He'd drink himself into a stupor and fall asleep watching old TV shows. It was his everyday routine. After Susan Placket, Rebecca's mother, died in a car accident almost a year ago, Roy had never been the same. There wasn't any more laughter in his blue eyes, just hate. He hated the little girl who had killed his beloved wife. If Rebecca hadn't been at soccer practice, Suzie wouldn't have been driving that December day. Oh, how he hated the little girl who had taken away his one love, and he showed her everyday. Rebecca listened to the sound of water dripping from the bathroom next to her room, but made no move to stop it. He would hit her for it, but right now, this letter was more important. Roy, she never called him dad any more, would hit her anyways. He always found something. `The sink's clogged,' `I don't have any clean socks,' or even `My food was too hot.' It didn't matter what she did or said, he'd always feel hate towards his only child. Tugging at her tight ponytail, Rebecca bit the already chewed up end of her pen and thought of what to write next. This had to be perfect. A light came to her green eyes and she went back to her writing. "But the truth remains your gone," she softly sang, a big smile engulfing her face. "There," she sighed, quickly signing her name across the bottom. She held the notebook paper up and examined her writing. Dear Chris, JC, Joey, Justin, and Lance, My name is Rebecca Placket, and I'm a big fan. I know you hear that a lot, but to me you're everything. My mother died a year ago in a car accident. My mom and I were both big fans of you guys, and our daily ritual was to sing along to your music while we set the table for dinner. Dad, he was my dad back then, would come home and sing too, but when mom would comment on it, he would deny that he knew any of the words to an Nsync song. Everything was fun in those days; we all loved each other. Then the accident happened, and I knew it would never be the same. That's when dad became Roy, the man I didn't want to know. He hit me and yelled at me because I killed her. `She'd be alive if it wasn't for you', he yells at me before he hits me I've accepted this because I believed it was my fault I don't know when it happened, but I stopped blaming myself, but Roy didn't. I can't stop him, but I don't have to accept what he says. I know you're thinking, what does this have to do with us? After Roy is done 'releasing his anger' as I like to call it, I sit in my room and listen to your CD's. When I hear your voices, I think of those days when mom would laugh and sing. Sometimes it hurts to even smile, but when I listen to "This I Promise You," or any song for that matter, I don't feel so sad anymore. Even Roy's punishments don't hurt as much as they used to because I have you guys. He can hit me all me all he wants, but I think of you. I close my eyes and think of what you're doing. I think of the fun your having and the beautiful music your making, and I don't feel it when Roy hits me. When I can, I watch you guys on TV. You are all so funny and nice, and I always laugh and smile because of your crazy antics. It makes my day, and sometimes, my week. Anyways, I know this letter may freak you out because of my situation, but I just wanted to say thank you. Thank you for giving me something to remember my mother by, something to think about and something to smile about. Yours truly, Rebecca Placket P.S. I didn't want to say this, but I have to. Your music has helped me endure, but I don't know if I can stand it much longer. Help me, please. It was all too much for Rebecca; she burst into tears. Her body shook with the strong emotions running through her small frame. She had to let them know how much they meant to her; they would help her. Wiping away tears with her shirt, Rebecca hummed the tune to "No Strings Attached", her mother's personal favorite. Folding the notebook paper and placing it into a white envelope with the address already scribbled on the front, Rebecca licked her lips and grimaced at the sour taste of blood from a cut received earlier that night. Careful not to make any noise, Rebecca reached for the doorknob and quietly crawled into her room. It was pitch black, so she didn't see the thumbtack she'd lazily discarded when she had removed her JC poster this morning. "Ouch," she yelled, feeling the sharp point break through her the skin of her palm. Her hand quickly flew to her mouth, but it was too late. The loud sound of footsteps angrily approaching her room sounded throughout the otherwise silent house. God, how she hated that familiar sound. Rebecca managed to stuff the envelope in her shirt pocket before the door flew open. "What the hell is wrong with you? I was sleeping," Roy yelled, the vein in his forehead bulging out with each word. He stepped forward, a hand reaching for his belt. "Please, no," Rebecca pleaded as she moved back. Roy's eyes narrowed, "Don't you dare plead with me! You've ruined my life. She'd still be here if you hadn't needed a damn ride!" "No, I didn't want her to die," she sobbed, holding a hand against the wool pocket of her shirt, "I loved mom, too." A loud roar escaped Roy's mouth. "If you loved her, you wouldn't have let her die! You should have died, not Suzie." Roy closed the small distance between and brought his hand down on her face. `I wonder what Lance is doing,' she thought, trying to take her mind off the pain in her side. She thought of Lance lying in his bunk on the tour bus, writing songs that would never make it on the album, but he still tried. He was trying to think of a synonym for `laugh'. A smile formed on Rebecca's lips. Lance was thinking so hard to make his work perfect. "Giggle," she said to the imaginary image. "Giggle? Do you think this is funny? I'll teach you funny," Roy's angry voice promised, bringing his belt across her face. "Get up," he hollered when he saw her crumple to the floor, "I'm not done with you!" With a final kick to her ribs, he left the room, promising to be back. A few minutes later, Rebecca regained consciousness, and immediately checked to see if the letter was still in her pocket. It was. It was almost over, she thought to herself. They would help. The next morning, Rebecca woke with the sun; a smile stuck on her face. She spent the whole morning by the front door, waiting to hear the mailman approach. Roy had left this morning after ordering her to clean the house, so she didn't have to worry about him asking about the letter. Her fingers ran across the address repeatedly until finally she saw the mailman walking up the driveway. The poor old man must have been frightened to see her appear so suddenly in the doorway. He smiled at her and took the letter she so eagerly offered. "Writing to your boyfriend?" "No, my saving graces," she replied with a big smile. A frown creased the old man's face. He hadn't noticed those bruises until she smiled. "What happened to your face? Are you okay?" "I'm fine now," Rebecca answered, "They'll help me. I know they will. That's why I decided to write a letter. They've helped me already, but I think they can help me even more." Shifting his blue cap to the left, the mailman let out a long sigh, "I'm not sure what you mean, miss, but I hope you're right." Me too, Rebecca sighed inwardly as she closed to door to her house. ************************************************************** 2 weeks later; Washington State (Nsync fan club headquarters) "Hey Louise, hand me that pile of letters," a woman in her mid- thirties hollered across the room. "Which one, Helen? There are so many," Louise laughed, pointing at the many crates of fan letters. Helen rolled her eyes, "Just pick one." Louise smiled and grabbed the first crate she came in contact with. She lugged the heavy crate to where the woman was sitting, and plunked it down on the desk. "Have fun," she giggled, leaving before she could be given another order. Sticking out her tongue, Helen grabbed the first letter she saw. "Rebecca Placket," she mumbled reading the return address. Expertly, she typed the address into her computer and tore open the letter. As protocol demanded, she looked for a picture or drawing to be used for the next issue of the fanzine, but found none. "Let's see what Becky has to say," Helen sighed, unfolding the letter. "Dear Chris, blah, blah," she groaned skipping to the first line of the letter, "My name is Rebecca Placket, and I'm a big fan. Oh how original." Helen rolled her eyes and crumbled up the paper. "Cheesy teenybopper?" Louise asked coming up behind Helen. "Yup, these girl's are all the same. `I love you', `I'm your biggest fan,' and `I have all your cds. It's so boring," Helen groaned tossing the letter between her hands. Louise reached for the paper, but Helen pulled it away. "I want to read it," Louise whined. "No, you need to get a pile and work on putting these addresses into the computer. They're sending out the next batch of fan club applications tomorrow." "Fine," Louise sighed and returned to her desk. Helen looked at the ball of paper that once was Rebecca's letter, "Sorry, kid." She threw the paper into a wastebasket and moved onto the next letter. That was it. Rebecca's plea was never heard, even her thank you was lost in that wastebasket. An application for the fan club would be in her mailbox a few weeks later, but help would never come. |
| Help |