The History of Jane Doe

by Michael Belanger

  “Did you get a gift for Tim from me?” I ask my mom.

  Tim laughs. “No gift necessary.”

  The altruistic bastard.

  With nothing else to say, I walk back up the stairs, using Tim’s present as a tray for my milk and cookies, and after the gift has served its purpose, I throw it in the trash unopened. I don’t want another piece of sports memorabilia. I don’t want anything. For a moment, I feel guilty. I owe it to my mom to get along with Tim, to accept his presents and be one of those perfect kids who call pretty much anyone who can play catch Dad.

  But I’m not. I walk back to the garbage can and step on the present, pushing it to the bottom with all of my weight. I hear the sound of glass breaking, and it feels good, this small act of destruction, tapping into my anger while the rest of the world is singing songs and spreading holiday cheer. I peer into the garbage can and see the jagged fragments of Tim’s gift: a framed photo of Jane and me making grotesque faces at the camera. An inevitable result of my mom telling us to smile.

  I glance down at the frame in the garbage can and see an inscription: History is the one thing that can neither be created nor destroyed. I know Tim means well. I know everyone means well. But all the platitudes and words of wisdom and therapy exercises don’t actually change anything. And the only appropriate reaction I can think of is to break stuff.

  I imagine all the kids who believe in Santa and a benevolent universe that keeps score, rewarding the good and punishing the bad.

  But I don’t believe that anymore. Now I don’t know what I believe.

  167–133 DAYS BEFORE

  WHEN SIMON MET MARY

  After our kiss at Beddington’s Christmas party, Jane and I settled into our new relationship status, gradually building our own history onto the history of Burgerville. We became boyfriend and girlfriend when I accidentally gave us the labels in a text. We were joking around, thinking of ways to freak out Simon when school started again.

  Jane: 5:45 p.m.: Matching outfits.

  Me: 5:46 p.m.: Fake tattoos with each other’s initials.

  Jane: 5:47 p.m.: Going to school on one of those bikes with two seats. What are they called?

  Me: 5:47 p.m.: Not sure. I’ve never had a girlfriend before. And Simon would always say he was busy when I asked him to rent one with me . . .

  Jane: 5:47 p.m.: Are you calling me your girlfriend?

  I almost threw my phone against the wall. What was I thinking? I kept trying to come up with a cool response, but nothing sounded right. I even texted Simon for help, but I’m pretty sure he was in his vampire book club at the time, because all he texted back was a customized vampire emoji. I knew I didn’t have much time, so I tried to act like it was no big deal.

  Me: 5:51 p.m.: If I was, would that be okay?

  It felt like hours before Jane texted me back. I imagined her trying to let me off easy. Or maybe she would just never talk to me again. Then I realized only thirty seconds had passed.

  Jane: 5:52 p.m.: Yes, boyfriend.

  The next day in class, Jane presented me with a detailed list of relationship rules. “Sometimes I need space. No hand-holding in public. No cute animal nicknames. And lastly, but most importantly, please don’t ever smell my hair.”

  “But I like smelling your hair,” I said.

  “I’ll think about it,” she said, smiling at me.

  “It’s very normal,” Mr. Parker said, suddenly appearing in front of our desks. “Hair secretes a natural pheromone designed to attract potential mates. That’s why I love the comic book . . .”

  Mr. Parker finished an explanation that had something to do with the Tick, though he seemed to confuse himself mid-sentence: “Or am I thinking about Mantis from The Avengers?” Luckily, I remembered to close my notebook so Mr. Parker couldn’t see the picture Jane had drawn of him dressed as Batman eating a burrito. That’d be an awkward conversation.

  Jane and I were also making out whenever we got the chance, though the conditions weren’t always ideal. We’d either have to awkwardly position ourselves in the car, withstand frigid temperatures in the Lost Woods, or keep an eye out for Mrs. Doe, who seemed obsessed with getting us snacks and knowing whether or not we’d read about the most recent bear sightings in the Burgerville Gazette.

  Still, I could tell Jane was struggling with something she wasn’t ready to share with me. She seemed to barely sleep, texting me at all hours of the night, bags under her eyes the next day, the occasional nap during Mr. Parker’s lectures. She’d also sometimes be in a bad mood for no apparent reason. When I’d ask what was bothering her, she’d say things like “Global warming” or “Pineapple Melody just broke up” or “People who make their dogs dress as the mailman for Halloween.”

  I worried I’d push her away by asking too many questions, so instead, I did my best to cheer her up with my random image technique. For example, her comment about dogs dressed up as mailmen pretty much wrote itself: “Hey,” I said to her that day. “Think about . . . wait, this just came to me . . . a dog dressed up as a mailman.” She didn’t react, so I took it up a notch. “And he’s being barked at by a man dressed as a dog.”

  Jane cracked a smile.

  * * *

  • • •

  A little while after Christmas vacation ended, I sought Tommy Beddington out to apologize for barging in on him at the party. I wasn’t sure exactly what to say. How much he even wanted me to say. I found him in the library, wearing his letterman jacket as always, sitting at a desk near a window. He was looking out at the parking lot, listening to music.

  “Hey, Tommy,” I said.

  He took his headphones off. “Hey, Ray.” He was filling out a worksheet about the French Revolution. His class was still right at the beginning, when things looked all rosy and full of hope. “I hope you like severed heads,” I said.

  “What?”

  I realized that probably wasn’t the most normal thing to say. “The French Revolution,” I said. “Things are about to get very bloody.”

  “Can’t wait,” Tommy said.

  A pause. My mind went blank. The fluorescent lights seemed brighter than usual. The clacking of computer keys. The low mumble of voices as kids traded homework, discussed math problems, brainstormed swear words to write on the tables. I had to say something.

  “I’m sorry about—”

  He waved me off. “We’re good.”

  I realized Steven was sitting a few tables away. He glanced over at us, then quickly looked back down at his book. I could tell Beddington was getting nervous, as if I might betray him through a look or accidentally saying the wrong thing.

  “It was a great party,” I said. “And I would know a thing or two about parties.”

  He gave me a look like, Is there anything else I can help you with? It felt like a glimmer of the old Tommy Beddington had returned.

  “We should all hang out sometime,” I said, just trying to fill the empty space and leave on a positive note. People spend so much time talking about how to start conversations, they forget to teach you how to end them.

  “Yeah, whatever,” he said. I followed his gaze back to Steven. I wondered what it must have been like for him. To be cloaked in a letterman jacket, surrounded by his football friends, just out of reach from what he really wanted.

  “If you need any help with the French Revolution, just let me know. I’m full of fun facts about the guillotine.”

  Beddington smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  * * *

  • • •

  While I was enjoying all the benefits that went along with having a girlfriend, Simon seemed to be having a difficult time adjusting to Jane and me being a couple. “But what happens if you guys break up?” he asked us.

  “I’ll get full custody,” I told him.

  “How will I know when I’m the third wheel?”

&
nbsp; “We’ll tell you,” Jane said.

  “You mean like a signal?”

  “Kind of,” Jane said, “except instead of a signal I’ll tell you.”

  Jane renewed her search to find Simon a girlfriend to help him adjust.

  “What’s your type?” Jane asked him.

  “She has to be female,” he said.

  “Could you give me a bit more detail?”

  “I think medium is a good starting point,” he said.

  “It’s not a soft drink size,” I said.

  “Now you’re the expert on women?”

  “I do have a girlfriend.”

  “Yeah, but Jane doesn’t count.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Jane said.

  “You’re like our sister.”

  Jane rolled her eyes.

  “Let’s find a medium girl,” I said, realizing the only way to approach this was through the lens of Simon and that he was really just talking about the Goldilocks Principle in his own Simon way: He wanted someone who was just right.

  Our search ended when, soon after our conversation, Jane suggested Mary Reyes, the reindeer from Beddington’s Christmas party.

  “Why Mary?” I asked.

  “Well, at Beddington’s party, we talked for a bit. She told me all about her dogs, the play she was working on . . . Then she asked about Simon. You know, all like, What’s his story? and that kind of stuff. I thought she was asking because she figured something was wrong with him, but now I’m thinking it was because she liked him.”

  “But is she medium enough?”

  “I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

  At first, Simon was a little hesitant when Jane and I told him about Mary.

  “Mary Reyes?” Simon said. “Doesn’t she occasionally dress up as Lady Macbeth?”

  “Yes, but she was also Rudolph’s mom,” I reminded him, hoping to rekindle the attraction he felt when he’d seen her wearing antlers. “Plus, she’s still sort of new. It’s only a matter of time before the jocks take notice.”

  Simon considered the proposition and then took a deep breath. “You’re right, we better do it before she realizes she’s out of my league,” he said. “I’m in.”

  Mary suggested we meet at the combo burger/Chinese restaurant in town called O’Reilly’s Pub and Grill, the perfect embodiment of America’s melting pot and cultural appropriation, as the O’Reillys aren’t American, Irish, or Chinese, but apparently Slovenian.

  Jane and I arrived early so we could go over the game plan—topics to bring up, stories to avoid, a safe word to create a distraction if Simon needed help. The inside of the restaurant reflected the uncertainty of the owners. The dark atmosphere felt like an Irish pub, while the decorations looked like they had been assembled from tourist shops all around the world. A gold dragon sat at the front entrance, alongside a wooden sculpture of a leprechaun. A gigantic Buddha rested atop a full-size green cow, complete with removable body parts so you could see which part of the animal you were eating.

  Jane scanned the surroundings, watching the waiters rush by, each wearing a different piece of wisdom on their shirt, all clearly lifted directly from fortune cookies: If you have something good in your life, don’t let it go! Our deeds determine us almost as much as we determine our deeds.

  “If you asked me last January where I’d be in a year, it wouldn’t have been here,” Jane said.

  Part of me took it as an insult. The other part of me wanted to ask what year-ago Jane would have responded, although I knew I wouldn’t get a straight answer. And truthfully, I didn’t know if I wanted one.

  Jane must have seen I was offended, because she put her hand on my arm and said, “But there’s no place I’d rather be.”

  Then, as if she caught herself being too nice, quickly added, “Yuck. I sound like a Hallmark card.”

  “Everybody likes a Hallmark card,” I said.

  “I don’t.”

  “You know you can be confusing sometimes?”

  “That’s a good thing, right?”

  “It’s a confusing thing,” I said.

  “It’s just that I don’t believe in big romantic gestures. Huge promises. All of the stuff you see in movies and TV shows.”

  “What do you believe in, then?”

  “I don’t know. I used to think that I needed to live some big, crazy, adventurous life. Ellie and I hanging out at folk clubs, chasing some ridiculous conspiracy theory. But now I think I just want normal.”

  “Then I’m your guy,” I said.

  Soon after, Simon walked in, wearing his tuxedo T-shirt with his hair gelled back.

  “Really?” I said as he got closer to our table.

  “What?”

  “You look like you’re wearing a Simon costume.”

  “It’s not like the original’s been working so well.” Simon took a seat and put the napkin in his shirt like a bib; after Jane gave him a funny look, he laid it flat on his lap.

  “Did she already back out?” he asked, nodding to the empty seat next to him.

  “Her mom’s dropping her off and you’re giving her a ride back home,” Jane said, winking.

  “The Red Rocket’s maiden voyage, if you know what I mean.”

  “You’re hopeless,” Jane said.

  The heavy smell of fried food hung in the air, egg rolls mixing with french fries. Simon breathed in the air and closed his eyes as if meditating. After a few moments of quiet, he came out of his trance. Looking back and forth at Jane and me, he appeared to be on the verge of delivering a speech.

  “Thanks, guys,” he said.

  Jane and I both nodded.

  “We’re go for liftoff.”

  Mary walked in soon after. She had also dressed up for the occasion, wearing a frilly dress that would have been more appropriate for a 1950s Sadie Hawkins dance.

  Simon was evidently pleased, as he suddenly started sweating and saying random words, none of the sentences quite working together. It sounded like he was playing Scrabble and only had a few letters to choose from.

  “I . . . Uh . . . Dinner . . . Fortune cookie . . .”

  Mary looked to me for translation.

  I shrugged.

  But after he calmed down and had a chance to sit in silence and read the menu, Simon was able to collect himself and for better or worse, be Simon.

  “I love Chinese food,” he said soon after we had finished ordering. “Did I ever tell you guys that I used to write my own fortune cookie sayings?”

  I shook my head, a cue for Simon to stop, but which he took as an invitation to continue.

  “Yeah, I used to shove them in my mom’s cookies with semi-motivational sayings like, You’re not as bad as everyone thinks and Set your sights lower. That way, even if you trip, it won’t hurt that much. One day, my dad choked on one of the cookies and my mom had to give him the Heimlich. But here’s the weird part. Guess what fortune he choked on?”

  Simon took a sip of water and waited, letting us know his question was not rhetorical.

  “What fortune did he choke on?” I asked in order to hurry Simon along.

  “It read, Treat your life like you treat your food; don’t choke and make sure it’s full of flavor.”

  I looked nervously to Mary, worried she was already trying to figure out an escape plan. But instead she leaned forward and said, “That’s so strange. I used to write my own horoscopes. But then they started to come true . . .”

  An ominous silence settled over the table.

  “I’m just kidding,” Mary said, laughing. Then her smile disappeared. “Or am I?”

  “Sounds like a horror movie,” Simon said. “Horrorscope: Scorpio’s Revenge.”

  “Horrorscope Two . . . Cancer,” Mary shot back.

  “She’s funny,” Jane whisp
ered to me.

  “I think we found Simon’s soulmate,” I whispered back.

  By the time our food arrived, the conversation was humming along. That’s when Jane decided to bring out the big guns.

  “Simon’s family is actually famous in town,” she said.

  “Really?” Mary asked, taking a bite out of her burger.

  “For being failures,” Simon said, chewing his food with his mouth open.

  “But really successful failures,” I said.

  Hoping to give Simon another chance to shine, I tried to steer the conversation to his love of vampire fiction.

  “Every time I go to the signings, it’s like me and a bunch of twelve-year-old girls,” he said.

  Okay, in retrospect that probably wasn’t the best topic to bring up. But Mary didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she began listing the titles of her favorite vampire novels, an odd collection of books with names like Fangtastic and Stake Through the Heart: A Vampire Love Story.

  After the vampire conversation died down, we shared our battle scars from Burgerville. “My first day here I went home and cried,” Mary said. “It was like everyone had a different story about my life, all these crazy rumors about where I was from, why I was in Burgerville. I just wanted to disappear. If it weren’t for a flyer to try out for Macbeth and join the theater department, I don’t know how I would’ve survived.”

  “Who’d you end up playing?” Jane asked.

  “I was Lady Macbeth’s stunt double.”

  “That’s awesome,” Simon said.

  “But I know exactly what you mean,” Jane said. “Moving to Burgerville from Brooklyn felt like moving to a different country. I’d hear people whisper about me. All this made-up stuff about my life. Thank god I got rid of Facebook a long time ago.”

  “It’s different when you grow up here,” Simon said, slurping his milk. “Everything seems totally normal. You kind of forget another world exists.”

  “What do you think, Ray?” Jane asked. “Have you always been Mr. Burgerville?”

  “I don’t think I’d put it quite like that, but I’ve always loved the history,” I said. “When I was younger, my dad would take me to all the weird places and tell me stories about the town. So I’ve always seen two Burgervilles.”