Jill

Jill looked at her watch and sighed. Could she make it in time? Grabbing her bag, she hurried out the door, throwing a “See you later, Curly,” over her shoulder before the door slammed behind her.

She dashed down the steps of her apartment building, jumping the last three, and was out the door before the stupid desk man could say anything about it.

She was so sick of that man.

He was always saying things like, “Ooh, did someone forget to set their alarm this morning?” Or “Don’t go tumbling down after Jack, now, Jill.” He was such a loser.

The bus pulled up to her stop as soon as she arrived, huffing and puffing with the effort to not miss her ride to the next place she didn’t want to be. 

It pulled away from the curb and Jill let out a breath of relief as she settled in her window seat, her bag blocking the seat next to her. She’d missed the bus three times this week already. She couldn’t handle another disappointed look from Mom or stern talking-to from Joe. Jill wished, for the thousandth time this week, that she could live in a place she didn’t hate, with people who understood her, doing things that didn’t suck. 

“That’s life,” Joe had said when she’d spoken her wish aloud. Then, he’d taken a long pull on his beer and gone to bed without another word. 

Joe wasn’t so bad, as far as step-dads go, but he never tried anything new anymore.

“I’m old and set in my ways, kid,” he’d said when she’d wanted to go to the new restaurant downtown. And he was, as far as Jill could tell. Well, not too old, but definitely unwilling to do much that wasn’t watching football, drinking beer, or going to work.

“I like two of those things,” he always said, “and do the other one so I can keep my girlish figure.” And he’d pat his bulging belly with a proud nod, eyes glinting, until the next play was underway in his game.

Don’t go tumbling after Jack, now, Jill.

-The Doorman

Mom wasn’t much better. She loved her family, sure, but she was always tired, and even on weekends, she never wanted to do anything fun anymore. Now, her hobbies were, apparently, laundry and dishes, and she never seemed to enjoy anything at all – except when Jill made her bus.

“You’re old enough now to learn how to get places on time,” she’d tell Jill, “and we need you to do that. We all have our jobs to do, Jill, and yours is school. You need to go to school.”

“Why?” Jill had screamed last night, fed up with this reprimand, and embarrassed for missing her bus again, “So I can end up like you?” 

Jill had regretted the words as soon as she’d said them. They seemed to hang in the air like smoke. She hadn’t meant to say them, but the worst part was, they were true. Jill didn’t want to be like her parents, but she didn’t want them to know that. And she didn’t know if there was another way to be. She used to think there was more to life – but that was before. Now, she wasn’t so sure. 

Mom hadn’t even replied to her outburst. She’d looked stricken – which was, somehow, worse than disappointed – and rushed out of the kitchen. Jill hadn’t seen her again before bed, and Mom always left before Jill got up. She hoped Mom had forgotten about it, but when Jill came down for breakfast, there was a note waiting for her on the table. 

It said, “I wouldn’t want to be like me, either.”

Staring out the grimy bus window, Jill felt like the world was closing in around her. 

What had happened to her life?