Jillian

by Halle Butler

  Megan baked the potato and cooked the greens with hot pepper. They ate the nine-dollar cheese on the stale tortilla chips and Megan said, “Well, I guess this nine-dollar cheese is pretty good.”

  “Oh, come on, it’s great.”

  “It would be great if we didn’t have to eat it with these shitty chips.”

  Randy sighed. “Do you remember Kelly?”

  “Uuuh, sort of,” said Megan.

  “She’s opening up a vintage clothing store in the neighborhood.”

  “Wow.”

  “And,” said Randy, looking at her sideways, “I’m doing the website for it.” He wiped his mouth and took a sip of beer.

  “Oh, cool. What’s it going to, uh, look like?”

  “I don’t know, I haven’t started it yet. But she’s having a launch barbecue thing in two weekends, so that’s my deadline. She’s going to give out business cards and coupons and stuff. It’s going to be a pretty big thing.”

  “Sounds fun,” said Megan. Sounds like my fucking nightmare.

  “So, you want to go? She’s paying me.”

  “Paying you to go to her party?”

  “No, Megan, paying me to do the website.”

  “Oh, that’s cool.”

  3

  You know that part in The Little Mermaid when Ariel has just seen Eric for the first time and she’s swimming around the dressing room, combing her hair and singing? And all her sisters are like, “Whoa, she’s happy”?

  Jillian was on the train monologizing to herself.

  When she got off, she sighed and noted that the sidewalk had never looked so beautiful. She reached up and touched the buds on the trees and smiled and hummed. She even did a little twirl half a block from the office building.

  It was okay that she was late. Megan was always late, so it was okay for her to be late once, geez.

  “Oh, hey, Miss Megan,” she said. Megan looked at her quickly, then looked back at her computer.

  “Hi, Jillian.”

  Jillian sighed, put her purse up on the coatrack, and plopped herself down in the chair, spinning around in it slightly. “So, what’s new?” she asked.

  “Nothing,” said Megan.

  “Hmmm,” said Jillian. “Geez, I did not get much sleep last night.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Too much caffeine too late,” she giggled to herself.

  “Yeah, you’re not supposed to have caffeine at night.”

  “Oh, but it’s okay because I’m in such a great mood.”

  “So you’re feeling better? From your accident?”

  “Oh, you know, I’m still pretty sore from it and my car is still totaled.”

  “Yeah, but you’re feeling better?”

  “Hmm, nope.” Jillian laughed. “You know, it takes longer than two days to recover from an accident.”

  “Uh-huh,” said Megan.

  “I wonder if I can get a massage covered by my insurance.”

  You’d probably have to’ve had an actual injury to get that, thought Megan.

  “Oh, yeah, that’d feel real nice,” said Jillian. “Do you want to get some cookies for lunch? Just have only cookies for lunch?”

  Megan wanted to scream.

  Jillian almost snort-laughed when she said this, oh man it was like a truth serum or something. The one pill last night had just made her feel wired and made her sore back feel better, but this morning when she’d taken three, it was like a truth serum. Being on truth serum was fun.

  “No, not really,” said Megan. “I brought a salad.”

  “Oh, you and your salads,” said Jillian. “I know I’m going to have cookies at some point today, I just know I am, so I thought I’d offer to share some cookies with you.”

  I can afford my own cookies, thought Megan. “Uh, no, I’m cool. I don’t really like to eat cookies that often.”

  “Really?” said Jillian. “I thought all people liked eating cookies. But I guess you’re above cookies. You’re, like, able to resist the temptation.”

  “It’s not even really a temptation to have cookies for lunch,” said Megan.

  “Are you sure I couldn’t tempt you to have one or two cookies with your salad?”

  “No, really, I’m fine,” said Megan.

  “Do you think they deliver cookies?”

  “What? Who? Who is they?”

  “Oh, you know, the place we get our food from sometimes.”

  “I don’t know. Would it really be worth it? Do you really want to tip and pay a delivery fee just for a couple of cookies? Not to mention the waste of gas.”

  Oh, I’m not going to just get a couple of cookies, thought Jillian and almost laughed that exploding snort laugh again.

  “Hmm, I guess you’re right,” said Jillian.

  There was silence for a minute.

  When the minute was up, Jillian said, “Can you, um, answer calls for me while I’m gone? I’m going to run out to the Walgreens real quick.”

  “Yeah, sure,” said Megan. Jillian left with her purse and Megan sat in her chair with a “What the fuck?” face.

  As soon as she shut the door, Jillian let the laugh out and doubled over a little bit, then straightened out and sighed. “I didn’t really need to bend over like that,” she said to the empty hallway. “Just felt like it.”

  “Did you know that Walgreens has home-baked cookies?” Jillian said in the grocery aisle at the Walgreens. “Incredible.”

  I want to make sure I’m fully stocked, she thought. She thumbed through the cookies, which were the size of compact discs and individually wrapped in cellophane. Peanut butter, peanut butter M&M, sugar M&M, oatmeal raisin, chocolate nut. Guess I should get one of each. But maybe two chocolate nut. There came that old laugh again, because it was she who was the real nut. She looked to the side. Good that no one was there.

  But maybe she needed something else. Oh my god, Pop-Tarts were on sale. Those would make a good lunch. Something salty. Hey, these nuts are smoked. That sounds like a health nut thing. Megan was such a health nut! Then that damn laugh again. Two Paydays, because they were on sale, and then a bottle of water. Yeah, today seemed like a water day. Evian. Oh, cool, they have little Crystal Lights right in the water fridge. Cool. Jillian took her armload up to the cashier and felt that laugh bubbling up in her chest again. And it felt good to suppress, too, that was how fun the laugh was.

  She bent over the counter and slowly unfolded her arms, letting the snacks tumble out in front of the cashier. “Didn’t want to drop any of it,” said Jillian.

  “All right, sweetie,” said the cashier.

  “She called me sweetie because I was getting all these sweets,” said Jillian in the parking lot. Jillian was carrying the plastic shopping bag close to her chest, as if there were no bag. “This is my catch,” she said. “Pretty good haul.”

  Whaaat, thought Megan when Jillian got back to the office with her enormous sack of cookies.

  “Hey, girl,” said Jillian. “Did you know they have individual Crystal Lights right by the water in the fridge section of Walgreens?”

  “What is crystal light?” said Megan. Sounds like a kind of PCP.

  “This is Crystal Light, you nut,” said Jillian, reaching into the sack. She held the marker-sized tube of flavored sugar up to her face and shook it. “It’s good.”

  “What is it, sugar?” asked Megan.

  “Yeah, kind of.” Jillian sat down and began to spread out her bounty. Megan tried to breathe and just let the universe be and not get involved and not worry about it and just mind her own business and do her job and stuff.

  Jillian cracked the Evian, emptied two Crystal Lights into it, and then shook the bottle. It really felt like she was making lunch or something. She set the bottle at a particular distance from her mouse pad and then put the Pop-Tarts and
some of the cookies in her file cabinet drawer. This really feels like I’ve got a stash supply, she thought. She unwrapped the cookie and put as much of it in her mouth as she could and then started laughing.

  What the fuck? thought Megan.

  Ha ha ha, this cookie is hilarious for some reason, thought Jillian. Mmm, and so good. You know, I heard somewhere that, like, carbs and sugar and stuff can give you a power burst for work. She finished the cookie, washed it down with Crystal Light, and then tested her theory.

  “Oh yeah,” she said. This works great.

  “Oh yeah what?” said Megan.

  “Huh?” said Jillian.

  “You just said ‘Oh yeah.’”

  “Oh, you know me, I was just talking out loud.”

  Now that’s how you tempt me, Jillian, if you want to know how to really tempt me, if you want to be some kind of a temptress for me.

  But don’t say it.

  Jillian started typing rapidly.

  Don’t say that she means to say “thinking out loud,” that the expression is “thinking out loud” and that that’s what talking is, communicating or thinking out loud. Talking is always out loud.

  Then Jillian started making reminder calls.

  Unless it’s like money talks or body language.

  “Oh, hi! This is Jillian calling from Dr. Schraeder’s office! Yeah! Ha ha ha ha, yuh-huh, sure is! I’m just calling to remind you you have a, um, a colonoscopy appointment for next week. Oh yeah, well, we look forward to seeing you then. Ha ha, okay, you too!”

  Jillian was using the baby voice and continued laughing after she hung up the phone.

  Today is great. Jillian was still floating along. Talking to people is a lot of fun. “Megan, we are so lucky, did you know that?”

  “What, you mean to be Americans or something?”

  “No, silly. Our jobs. I love my job so much. I just love it here so much. We are so lucky. We could be working at, you know, a steel mill or something. Sorting grommets. But we have it so nice here. Everyone is so nice here.”

  Megan turned around and said, “I don’t think I would ever work at a steel mill, Jillian.”

  Jillian reached into her file cabinet and brought out a packet of Pop-Tarts.

  “Oh, yeah, but you know what I mean.” Jillian’s eyes widened, “Mmmm,” she sighed. “Oh man, these are so good.”

  “Pop-Tarts?”

  “You want one? They come in packs of two,” said Jillian.

  “Yeah, I know. But I’m fine with the salad I brought.”

  God, what? Megan turned around and looked at the colon of a healthy fifty-year-old woman. It was pink and winding. Jillian sighed in the background and Megan tried to force herself to get back on track. I have to file these colons, she thought. That’s what I’m doing here. This is important medical stuff.

  She filed the woman’s colon and switched to the next, which was filled with sludge. Jillian looked at these same pictures all day. This guy was a forty-year-old drinker, smoker, and snacker. It chagrined her to imagine this as the future state of both her and Jillian’s bowels. Annoyed her to know that they shared that fate together, probably.

  * * *

  • • •

  The ninety milligrams of Tylenol T3 with codeine wore off before the day was over. Jillian left the bottle at home because the bottle said not to operate heavy machinery while taking them and, duh, she knew the bottle meant, like, cars and tractors and stuff, but she would be using a computer all day and computers were heavy and she was covering her bases. When she got home she decided it was okay to take one, just one, because she was in a lot of pain from her accident. The bottle said TAKE FOR PAIN WHEN NEEDED.

  She felt so sad leaving Crispy locked in the bathroom all day, but that was the only place she could leave the dog where the poop and pee would be easy to clean up. There it was, it was gross but it was true and there it was.

  “Hey, Crispy!” she said.

  She still hadn’t gotten Crispy that pull-toy yet and the bath mat was pretty much shredded.

  “Get on out of here,” said Jillian, and Crispy obeyed and started tearing ass around the apartment in circles. Jillian took a big wad of toilet paper and used it to pick up the turds and mop up the urine and vomit (which she noticed had some threads from the bath mat in it, Crispy!). She put these wads in the toilet and flushed and then performed one more wipe-down of the floor. She fed Crispy and filled her water bowl.

  “Do you need to go out?” she asked. Crispy cocked her head. “No?” Crispy got in the play position. “Okay, I guess you don’t want to go out,” said Jillian.

  Jillian went to take that one Tylenol, then sat down and turned on the TV. She was pooped. Elena came over with Adam.

  “Oh, hey, I just got back from taking Crispy on a walk! Good timing,” said Jillian.

  “I have to run,” said Elena. “Are you coming to the eighties party this weekend?”

  Jillian looked off into the distance. “Yeah, I guess so,” she said.

  “Okay, could you come a little early? We need help setting up.”

  “Well, sure,” said Jillian. “Yeah, I could do that.”

  “Okay, I can’t pick you up, but you can bring Adam. There’ll be an area set up for him and the other kids. We’ll have a movie for them to watch or something.”

  “Oh, yeah, I could bring Charlotte’s Web.”

  “That won’t be necessary, we have plenty of VeggieTales.”

  “Oh, of course.”

  “See you Saturday around one o’clock, then?”

  “Yeah, and tomorrow, too, right?”

  “Yeah. When are you getting your car out of the impound, anyway?”

  “Oh, I’m still waiting to hear how much it’ll cost, and then I have to set up my court date and everything, but it’ll be soon, I promise.” This was making Jillian nervous and when Jillian got nervous she got angry and her anger expressed itself in her tone. “So, yeah, I’ll definitely be able to come and set up and do whatever you want me to, anytime, you know, okay?”

  Elena looked at her and left.

  “Gee-whiz,” said Jillian. “Gee-whiz, right, Adam?”

  “Yeah, gee-whiz,” said Adam.

  “Who do you like more, Mommy or Miss Elena?”

  Adam rolled his eyes.

  “Come here,” said Jillian. She scooped him up. “Who do you like more, Mommy or Miss Elena?”

  “Mommy,” he said. He gave her a kiss, then squirmed out of her lap and said, “Crispy!”

  * * *

  • • •

  Megan could sit now, all her scab did was itch. She sat on the couch and said, “Jillian was totally high all day.”

  “How could you tell?” asked Randy.

  “She was eating cookies and laughing with her mouth full and talking to herself.”

  “Ha ha ha.”

  “Being around her makes me feel closer to death.”

  “Ha.”

  “It’s like, oh-kay, this is the future. Guess I better get used to the idea of slowly going crazy and having a baby and going to some kind of freaky church in the suburbs.”

  “Oh, come on.”

  “Easy for you to say, ‘oh, come on.’ You have a real job and friends and shit.”

  “Uuuughh,” said Randy.

  “What? I’m in a dead-end job, this is what it means to be in a dead-end job. I face death.”

  “You can always get another job.”

  “Not when I am become death.”

  “Think positive,” said Randy.

  In bed that night, Randy put his arms around Megan and said, “Hey, I love you.”

  “What? I love you, too.”

  “No, I mean, I really, really love you. You make me happy.”

  “I know,” said Megan. She felt nervous.
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  “Okay. I just want you to know that I love you and I’m not trying to make you feel bad, but I also, you know, want to have a nice job and active friends and I want to have a girlfriend who is happy at least seventy percent of the time.” He hugged her.

  “I’m sorry. I get like this sometimes. I’ll be better. And you’re the only person I really like at all,” she said. “So of course I love you.” She laughed and it was terrible. “I just feel messed up and diseased right now. But it’s just a mental thing, I’ll be better, I promise.”

  “I love you, okay?”

  “I know, I love you, too. I’m sorry.”

  God I suck, god I suck so much I suck so much, what the fuck, why the fuck do I suck this much? Why me? Ha ha ha, why meeeee? thought Megan, feeling the simultaneous sting of remorse and indignation. Oh shit, I’m such an asshole either way.

  The next morning when the alarm went off, Megan turned around and squeezed Randy and said “I love you.”

  “Oh, good morning,” said Randy.

  She got up and made the coffee and took a shower while Randy stayed in bed and flicked his boner like a doorstopper. She made him a bagel and poured him some coffee and then said, “I made you a freezer bagel. Do you want it in bed?”

  They ate together and she left for work, looking pretty damn cute. Usually she looked like she was going to go do some work in total isolation, he couldn’t think of where, but she didn’t always shower or wear clean-looking clothes. He wondered how the doctors hadn’t said anything about it, but then remembered that most doctors’ assistants wore pajamas.

  He felt a little good about last night, but also a little depressed. He moved to his office with his coffee and looked at the internet for a while. He lit a cigarette and opened the project file for Kelly’s store.

  He felt a little depressed because she’d said, “You’re the only person I really like.” He repeated this to himself, and with each repeat he got more and more pissed off. Yeah, pissed off. But then sad for being pissed off. Here is what he thought. If someone truly dislikes “everyone” but one person, that means the person they do like they don’t even notice. That person, Randy in this case, is just a blank with no subjective feelings, no interior monologue, no hidden opinion or thought. And that sucked, it was stupid. He was, essentially, her cat.