wherein jane must needs tell her mother
So, so much for brevity. Forgive me, but there's just not a good stopping place in the middle. Subsequent sections will be shorter, I'm sure. For those of you new to this, you might want to start with Jane Revisited, a.k.a. the beginning.
Jane could hear the phone ringing inside her apartment from the hall outside, and thought for the briefest of moments of letting it go. But then she remembered that the answering machine was on the fritz and that she hadn't gotten around to buying a caller ID-ready phone for the caller ID that she was paying too much for and that something about *69 was just creepy. So she dropped her bag, the mail she'd picked up from downstairs and her raincoat and dove for the door, unlocking as she shoved. Or rather, trying to unlock. But the door was stuck. Stuck stuck. As in not coming unstuck stuck.
"Crap."
Typical, she thought as she threw her shoulder into it. A small aggravation really, it only truly bothered her when footsteps on the stairs suggested a mass murdering rapist was on his way up or like now, when the phone was ringing.
"I must," she muttered to herself as she shoved, "get this," she gritted out, "fixed."
The sticky door was an unfortunate side effect of her unsuccessful bid for some Fung Shui-inspired good luck. She'd painted it red like they said, but all she'd gotten was a semi-permanent bruise on her shoulder from continued ramming into said red door when it was stuck stuck on humid days such as this and a note from her landlady saying she'd have to repaint before she left or lose her deposit.
"Open," she commanded one last time as it finally gave, causing her to practically fall inside as she tripped over the stuff she'd dropped at her feet. Leaving the door open, so she could see if someone tried to snatch her bag, she dashed to the couch where she'd left the phone.
It was her mother. She shouldn't have rushed.
"I was just about to call you," Jane lied.
"I know," her mother answered.
"Actually," Jane admitted in a sudden about face. "I wasn't. I wasn't going to call." Something in her mother's smug, I know striking her as uncomfortably presumptuous.
"Mm-hmm," her mother demurred.
"I wasn't. Really. I'm not in the mood to talk." Jane swung back to the door and picked up her belongings.
"Yes, dear. Now where were you?"
"What do you mean?"
"You had a doctor's appointment this morning. And then I never heard from you."
"So?" Jane threw her stuff on the couch and then bent to retrieve the mail, all of which had slipped to the floor.
"So, that appointment was hours ago."
"And?"
"And you always call after your doctor's appointments."
"I do?"
"You do."
"Why," Jane asked, not really expecting an answer. She sifted through the mail: a Chinese takeout menu, a flyer for a missing guinea pig named "Lloyd," a postcard with a lone American Indian in full war paint and three catalogues one called "Jellies & Soups," one advertising art supplies to stimulate your pet's inner artist and the last showcasing the weaponry of indigenous peoples.
"Why?" her mother said, "Oh, I don't know. I guess it's because I trained you to when you were little. Now you don't walk in your door without picking up the phone to call me. When you get back from the doctors office, you call. The movies? You call. The grocery store, the gym, a date. . . not that that happens very often."
"Mother, don't. . . "
"It's ingrained in you."
"Wait," said Jane, finally tuning into what her mother had just said. "You knowingly trained me to be co-dependent with you? Why would you do that?"
"Because I had to work when you were growing up and I wanted to make sure you hadn't been absconded with by some drunken child molester on your way home from school."
"Not that you could have done anything about it at that point," Jane said.
"You were very good about calling, so I never had to worry."
"Oh."
"And remember? I gave you that whistle to blow, if anyone should approach you."
"That makes me feel much better. I had a whistle as a surrogate parent. I'm surprised I didn't grow up to be a bird."
"Oh, stop it. No need to be so dramatic. It was different when you were growing up. It wasn't so scary."
"I guess."
"So?"
"So what?
"So why didn't you call?"
"I don't know that I want to tell you now. I'm kind of weirded out by my newfound co-dependency. And now that I've officially acknowledged the problem I feel the need to work towards breaking the habit."
"Don't be silly," her mother chided her dismissively.
"Seriously."
"Seriously. Where were you?"
"Seriously, nowhere. I just got back."
"But, I thought your appointment was this morning."
"It was."
"And you just got back."
"Uh huh." Jane dumped the mail on the coffee table.
"Well. . . ?"
"Well, what?"
"Well, where have you been?"
Jane walked over to the alcove off her living room and opened the window. It was a like letting in molasses, the air was so thick. She shut the window.
"They had to run some extra tests. That's all."
"Why? What's wrong?"
"Nothing much." Jane walked back through the living room flipping on the window unit air conditioner. And then she continued on, wandering through the arched doorway into the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator. Half a container of leftover coconut soup, an egg, a shrinking bell pepper. She closed the door, meandered back into the living room and threw herself on the couch.
"Nothing much doesn't take all day."
"Literally, it's nothing. They found nothing."
Her mother sighed. "What does that mean, you exasperating girl," she stated more than asked.
Jane took a deep breath. "I really, really don't want to tell you."
"You don't have an STD do you?"
"Mother!"
"Of course you don't. How could you? You haven't been on a date since what's his name."
"You know his name. And yes, I have.
"What with your friend Stephanie's cousin? He was twelve!"
"A very mature twelve!"
"It was their family reunion!"
"Must we do this?"
"No. If you'd just spit it out, then. . . "
"Theycouldn'tfindmyheart," Jane blurted. There.
"What do you mean they couldn't find your heartbeat."
"No, mother, you aren't listening. Not my heartbeat. They couldn't find my heart."
"Your heart."
"Yeah, I think I must have lost it," said Jane covering her head with a pillow.
"You lost it."
"I guess."
"You guess? You guess! Jane, that's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard! How do you lose a heart?!"
"I don't know, I just. . . "
"How could you be so careless? I've never understood it. I can never get you anything nice."
Jane sighed, got up and went back to the kitchen for a glass of water. "What are you talking about?"
"That nice angora sweater I got you last Christmas? Ruined in the laundry."
"It said you could wash it with like colors."
"It said no such thing." Jane leaned on the counter and toyed with the magnet poetry on her refrigerator.
frazzled frustrated
"Well, one of my sweaters did and I thought it was just the same."
"The car you got when you graduated from high school?"
un relent ing ballyhoo
"Can we not do this now?"
"Totaled!"
psycho
"Mother."
"After less than a month!"
help less
"Mom," Jane sighed.
"I'm just making my point."
"Yes, well, I'm not . . . for the 187th time there was a cat!"
hope less
"What did the doctors say?"
"Not much."
"Not much?"
"They said I was an astonishingly original specimen, never before encountered in modern medical science and they want to write a paper about me."
"That's it?"
it
"They said if they can figure out how I live without a heart it will open the door to recovery for a lot of patients with heart disease and all that research money could be siphoned to the kidney people."
The silence at the other end of the line spoke volumes. "Mom?"
"What," her mother asked slowly, evenly, "did they say about you?"
"They said I shouldn't leave the hospital."
"And you did anyway? I can't believe you."
"I didn't want. . . "
"Anything to get your way. You always have to get your way."
not always
- - - -
After promising her mother she'd call if she felt even the littlest bit ill, she went back into the living room and resumed her position on the couch, pillow on head. After a while, desperate for air, she turned her head. The postcard of the warrior Indian edging out over the lip of the coffee table caught her eye. She reached out, picked it up and turned it over.
Dear Jane, Sorry I've been out of touch. It's been a rough twenty years and I couldn't find a stamp. I hope you've been well. Drop a line if you get a chance.
Love,
Daddy
Jane could hear the phone ringing inside her apartment from the hall outside, and thought for the briefest of moments of letting it go. But then she remembered that the answering machine was on the fritz and that she hadn't gotten around to buying a caller ID-ready phone for the caller ID that she was paying too much for and that something about *69 was just creepy. So she dropped her bag, the mail she'd picked up from downstairs and her raincoat and dove for the door, unlocking as she shoved. Or rather, trying to unlock. But the door was stuck. Stuck stuck. As in not coming unstuck stuck.
"Crap."
Typical, she thought as she threw her shoulder into it. A small aggravation really, it only truly bothered her when footsteps on the stairs suggested a mass murdering rapist was on his way up or like now, when the phone was ringing.
"I must," she muttered to herself as she shoved, "get this," she gritted out, "fixed."
The sticky door was an unfortunate side effect of her unsuccessful bid for some Fung Shui-inspired good luck. She'd painted it red like they said, but all she'd gotten was a semi-permanent bruise on her shoulder from continued ramming into said red door when it was stuck stuck on humid days such as this and a note from her landlady saying she'd have to repaint before she left or lose her deposit.
"Open," she commanded one last time as it finally gave, causing her to practically fall inside as she tripped over the stuff she'd dropped at her feet. Leaving the door open, so she could see if someone tried to snatch her bag, she dashed to the couch where she'd left the phone.
It was her mother. She shouldn't have rushed.
"I was just about to call you," Jane lied.
"I know," her mother answered.
"Actually," Jane admitted in a sudden about face. "I wasn't. I wasn't going to call." Something in her mother's smug, I know striking her as uncomfortably presumptuous.
"Mm-hmm," her mother demurred.
"I wasn't. Really. I'm not in the mood to talk." Jane swung back to the door and picked up her belongings.
"Yes, dear. Now where were you?"
"What do you mean?"
"You had a doctor's appointment this morning. And then I never heard from you."
"So?" Jane threw her stuff on the couch and then bent to retrieve the mail, all of which had slipped to the floor.
"So, that appointment was hours ago."
"And?"
"And you always call after your doctor's appointments."
"I do?"
"You do."
"Why," Jane asked, not really expecting an answer. She sifted through the mail: a Chinese takeout menu, a flyer for a missing guinea pig named "Lloyd," a postcard with a lone American Indian in full war paint and three catalogues one called "Jellies & Soups," one advertising art supplies to stimulate your pet's inner artist and the last showcasing the weaponry of indigenous peoples.
"Why?" her mother said, "Oh, I don't know. I guess it's because I trained you to when you were little. Now you don't walk in your door without picking up the phone to call me. When you get back from the doctors office, you call. The movies? You call. The grocery store, the gym, a date. . . not that that happens very often."
"Mother, don't. . . "
"It's ingrained in you."
"Wait," said Jane, finally tuning into what her mother had just said. "You knowingly trained me to be co-dependent with you? Why would you do that?"
"Because I had to work when you were growing up and I wanted to make sure you hadn't been absconded with by some drunken child molester on your way home from school."
"Not that you could have done anything about it at that point," Jane said.
"You were very good about calling, so I never had to worry."
"Oh."
"And remember? I gave you that whistle to blow, if anyone should approach you."
"That makes me feel much better. I had a whistle as a surrogate parent. I'm surprised I didn't grow up to be a bird."
"Oh, stop it. No need to be so dramatic. It was different when you were growing up. It wasn't so scary."
"I guess."
"So?"
"So what?
"So why didn't you call?"
"I don't know that I want to tell you now. I'm kind of weirded out by my newfound co-dependency. And now that I've officially acknowledged the problem I feel the need to work towards breaking the habit."
"Don't be silly," her mother chided her dismissively.
"Seriously."
"Seriously. Where were you?"
"Seriously, nowhere. I just got back."
"But, I thought your appointment was this morning."
"It was."
"And you just got back."
"Uh huh." Jane dumped the mail on the coffee table.
"Well. . . ?"
"Well, what?"
"Well, where have you been?"
Jane walked over to the alcove off her living room and opened the window. It was a like letting in molasses, the air was so thick. She shut the window.
"They had to run some extra tests. That's all."
"Why? What's wrong?"
"Nothing much." Jane walked back through the living room flipping on the window unit air conditioner. And then she continued on, wandering through the arched doorway into the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator. Half a container of leftover coconut soup, an egg, a shrinking bell pepper. She closed the door, meandered back into the living room and threw herself on the couch.
"Nothing much doesn't take all day."
"Literally, it's nothing. They found nothing."
Her mother sighed. "What does that mean, you exasperating girl," she stated more than asked.
Jane took a deep breath. "I really, really don't want to tell you."
"You don't have an STD do you?"
"Mother!"
"Of course you don't. How could you? You haven't been on a date since what's his name."
"You know his name. And yes, I have.
"What with your friend Stephanie's cousin? He was twelve!"
"A very mature twelve!"
"It was their family reunion!"
"Must we do this?"
"No. If you'd just spit it out, then. . . "
"Theycouldn'tfindmyheart," Jane blurted. There.
"What do you mean they couldn't find your heartbeat."
"No, mother, you aren't listening. Not my heartbeat. They couldn't find my heart."
"Your heart."
"Yeah, I think I must have lost it," said Jane covering her head with a pillow.
"You lost it."
"I guess."
"You guess? You guess! Jane, that's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard! How do you lose a heart?!"
"I don't know, I just. . . "
"How could you be so careless? I've never understood it. I can never get you anything nice."
Jane sighed, got up and went back to the kitchen for a glass of water. "What are you talking about?"
"That nice angora sweater I got you last Christmas? Ruined in the laundry."
"It said you could wash it with like colors."
"It said no such thing." Jane leaned on the counter and toyed with the magnet poetry on her refrigerator.
frazzled frustrated
"Well, one of my sweaters did and I thought it was just the same."
"The car you got when you graduated from high school?"
un relent ing ballyhoo
"Can we not do this now?"
"Totaled!"
psycho
"Mother."
"After less than a month!"
help less
"Mom," Jane sighed.
"I'm just making my point."
"Yes, well, I'm not . . . for the 187th time there was a cat!"
hope less
"What did the doctors say?"
"Not much."
"Not much?"
"They said I was an astonishingly original specimen, never before encountered in modern medical science and they want to write a paper about me."
"That's it?"
it
"They said if they can figure out how I live without a heart it will open the door to recovery for a lot of patients with heart disease and all that research money could be siphoned to the kidney people."
The silence at the other end of the line spoke volumes. "Mom?"
"What," her mother asked slowly, evenly, "did they say about you?"
"They said I shouldn't leave the hospital."
"And you did anyway? I can't believe you."
"I didn't want. . . "
"Anything to get your way. You always have to get your way."
not always
- - - -
After promising her mother she'd call if she felt even the littlest bit ill, she went back into the living room and resumed her position on the couch, pillow on head. After a while, desperate for air, she turned her head. The postcard of the warrior Indian edging out over the lip of the coffee table caught her eye. She reached out, picked it up and turned it over.
Dear Jane, Sorry I've been out of touch. It's been a rough twenty years and I couldn't find a stamp. I hope you've been well. Drop a line if you get a chance.
Love,
Daddy
posted by jill at 6/23/2005 09:24:00 PM
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