by Vogel, Celia
A waiter brought them their skim-milk chai lattes and almond biscottis. Annie took unhurried sips of the foamy white liquid, while Jillian refused to drink and looked on.
There was a long pause as Annie took a bite of her biscotti, then chewed it reflectively. “I'm having a group of friends up at my cottage next weekend for the July 1st getaway,” she began in a bright amiable voice. Jillian sat quietly as she listened to the names of all the people who had been invited: Amelia Hartmann, Lauren Chow, Andrew Waits, Mary-Ann and a few others she vaguely knew— and Matt Barnes. Jillian glared at her friend.
“Oh, I have something else to say. It's kind of— significant.”
Jillian braced herself; something in Annie's voice prepared her for big news, a big let-down. The queasy feeling she had had in her stomach off and on ever since her discussion with Amelia was returning.
“Yeah, what is it?” she began, trying to keep her voice calm, although the words nearly turned to sobs in her throat.
Annie began in a low voice and spoke carefully, refusing to meet Jillian's gaze, which remained glued on her. “Jilly-sweetie, I'm sure you've heard by now that Matt and me, well— what I mean to say is— Matt and I are dating.”
At first Jillian did not respond. She sat staring at her friend, one hand involuntarily on her chest, wearing a look of vulnerability that now became tragic. When she finally managed to speak, her voice betrayed her hurt: “I expected it.”
Annie wavered, “You expected it? How?”
Jillian spoke carefully, gravely: “Annie, you've made a mistake getting involved with Matt.” She paused. “He's not capable of love.”
Annie sat in silence, watching her friend, then laughed involuntarily. “Oh, that's too absurd! You're just jealous.”
Jillian glared at her. Annie at first returned her gaze with undisguised alarm but then laughed— a little too loudly, since she managed to turn several heads their way.
“You don't know Matt the way I do. He's not in love with you,” exclaimed Jillian, shaking with emotion. Her eyes were welling up with tears.
Annie cleared her throat and gave a little gasp. “I don't think you are in any position to speak for Matt,” she began. Her own eyelids began to flutter as if holding back tears.
“Well, perhaps I didn't make it clear, but his work at the hospital takes a lot out of him, not only in terms of hours but also in mental energy, and that doesn't leave him much time for relationships.” She tapped her fingers lightly on the table. “I'm the one who broke it off with Matt.”
“Why should it make any difference who broke up with whom? It's over, right?” Annie's face was beginning to colour. “I hope there's no ill feeling between us or that you feel jealous about my relationship with Matt.” Annie was doing her best to handle the situation maturely, but then her words began to falter: “You know I care for you more than anything. I've always loved you like a sister.” She reached for Jillian's hand in a show of affection. “We could never let a boy come between us, could we?”
“Of course not! Annie, you're the one that stopped calling me,” said Jillian, sounding hurt.
“If you want to join us for the July 1st long weekend, you're more than welcome.”
This was a lie, she knew. Sighing, Jillian set down her latte, stared at her friend earnestly and said, “Annie, Matt means absolutely nothing to me.” Secretly, the invitation had only intensified her irritation towards her friend. “I'll have to check my calendar and make sure I'm not scheduled to work at the hospital on the weekend.”
Chapter Eleven
As the days went by, Jillian concentrated on her work at the hospital. True, her feelings were hurt, but work kept her mind busy. One morning she had been wheeling Mrs. Carey, who was eighty years old and had suffered a broken hip due to osteoporosis, back to her room from the radiology department. Mrs. Carey, was wiping a clot of saliva off her quivering chin, she looked up at Jillian and asked, “Do you have children?”
Jillian regarded the old woman with amazement; her skin hung in folds from her cheeks, giving them the appearance of slow melting plastic. She didn't know what to say and didn't want to get into a long conversation about her private life; they seemed to have no common ground.
“I don't really want to bother you with petty details about my life, Mrs. Carey. It would only tire you needlessly” she replied.
“But you're not tiring me,” the old woman protested, stretching out a thin trembling hand and looking intently into the young girl's face. “Some bastard has hurt you. I know the look.”
“What?” Trying to laugh, Jillian stated forcefully, “No, no one has hurt me. Why would you think so? I have no children. I'm only eighteen. How about you, Mrs. Carey?”
“Me? Oh, I have 18 grandkids. I raised four children all by myself, with no help from my deadbeat husband. He walked out on me when I was pregnant with my fourth. I had to rely on my parents' help to make ends meet.”
“Oh, that must have been so tough for you, Mrs. Carey!”
The geriatric ward was on the 11th floor and comprised 25 private rooms. The colour of the walls and style of the furniture were carefully chosen for their bland neutral tones of browns and grey: no vibrant colours such as reds or purples that might shock the senses and cause cardiac arrest. With the aid of technological gadgetry, medicines and fluorescent lights, it was as if all who entered were in a state of simulated wakefulness. As Jillian made her way to Room 7, a faint smell of sickness mixed with disinfectant assaulted her sensitive nose. As she entered the room another old woman turned her head slowly towards her. Her eyes had a feverish glow as she stared intently at Jillian, unblinking. She was propped on her bed but seemed to sink into the hollow of the mattress, as if gravity were pulling her down. She leaned forward and looked searchingly into Jillian's face. In a low restrained voice, she said, “They should just let me die and put me out of my misery. They do that in some cultures, don't they? In China don't they take the elderly up to a mountain or something?”
“Maybe they did in the old days. I don't think its legal— for obvious reasons. Are you in a lot of pain?” Jillian replied.
“Pain's the least of it,” the old lady retorted with distaste. “I can't even go to the bathroom by myself. I have to wear something called 'Depends'— diapers.” She started to laugh and gave Jillian a wan smile.
Jillian shuddered and looked around the room silently as if she had stumbled into the Twilight Zone. A light went on in the next curtained alcove, followed by the sound of moaning.
“My kids have no legal right to keep me here against my wishes. These doctors are doing experiments on me without my consent. I'm nothing but a guinea pig to them! Corporations are running these hospitals, not doctors. They don't care about me. Nobody cares about me.” Mrs. Burns was breaking down. “My ungrateful kids and grandkids haven't visited me once since I've been here. They're just waiting for me to die.” She blew her nose, then wiped it back and forth a few times. She was now sitting up on the edge of the bed and sliding sideways, trying to get out. Her sweaty nightgown clung to her skin.
Mrs. Carey was observing Jillian watching Mrs. Burns and said softly: “She's always trying to make a run for it; I think this is her third attempt this week. She won't get far. Security will stop her before she leaves the building.”
“Should I get the nurse? Do you think she'll be okay? What does she have?”
“Cancer. This is the difficult stage.” Mrs. Carey smiled despite Jillian's look of distress.
Mrs. Burns managed to make it out the door but moments later was escorted back to her bed by a large nurse, who talked to her in a tone one might use for a five-year-old child: “Junie, you know it would reflect badly on us if we lost our patients. It would give our hospital a bad reputation. Where did you think you were going? Can you hear me, dearie?”
Stretching her dry lips in a wide toothy smile, Mrs. Carey shrieked: “They won't let you out of the hospital, June. It's the old age home after you leave here, or
maybe worse— the cemetery.”
Mrs. Burns looked disheartened and defeated. The nurse heaved her back into bed, gently laying her back on her pillows.
Jillian and the other patients watched in horrified silence.
The nurse added more morphine to the IV, pulled up a blanket lying at the foot of the bed to cover the old woman with it and drew the curtains shut.
In the intervals when the pressure of work was relaxed, Jillian thought of Matt all too often. Walking along the hospital corridors, lost in her own thoughts, she would see young male interns who reminded her of him or imagine hearing someone paging his name over the speaker system— which was absurd, because he didn't even work at the same hospital as she did. At other times, during lunch or one of her coffee breaks, she would insert two quarters in rapid succession into a pay phone by the cafeteria and with shaky fingers call his work place. There she could be seen standing hunched over with head lowered and eyes shut, listening for the ringing, wanting desperately to speak with him and rehearsing in her mind what she would say, then hearing the secretary's voice, followed by a pause: “Hello, Is anyone there? Hello?” Her throat would become constricted, and she would hang up without so much as a return “Hello.” She would stand frozen, simply staring at the phone.
She was overwhelmed by love, or was it jealousy? Whichever, it was a powerful emotion. In her head she went over and over the details of the night of the big split, his mannerisms and the words they had spoken. His worth in her eyes as a boyfriend, possibly even a husband, had risen considerably. Why? She could not explain. His very act of spurning her love had emphasized in her fevered imagination his unique qualities and traits. He must love me, she thought; he just doesn't know it. Yes, it was madness, or rather jealousy, which was destroying her. Annie, I will never forgive you! The thought that her best friend from early childhood was with her ex-boyfriend staggered the senses!
She couldn't recall what her life had been like before Matt entered it. Had she so suddenly misplaced her past or seemingly outgrown it? She no longer knew who she was. Her childhood self? Forgotten. Where would it all end? She felt powerless before her fate.
One night he did call.
She tried to remain calm as she pressed the receiver to her ear and heard his voice: “Jillian?”
Her eyes watered. She turned to face the wall, so that her parents or her brother would not see her. She felt faint. “Yes, this is Jillian speaking,” she said in a low voice, cradling the receiver with both hands to her ear, bringing his voice so close, she could almost feel his breath against it. “Matt, I have to see you. Can we meet somewhere?”
For long suspended moments there was just silence, only the sound of static: a bad connection. In the background she could hear nurses' laughter and talk.
“Jillian, have you been calling the office and hanging up?”
There was silence.
“Hello, Jillian— ?”
Jillian sighed, “I'm still here. What makes you think I would call you?”
“Well, the office has call-identify. Someone has been calling here from your hospital.”
“Matt, can we meet?”
“Sure,” he answered, sounding either surprised or alarmed. “What about tomorrow?”
Later, though, alone in her bedroom with the door locked, she sat in the middle of the floor and lit a candle in the darkness to summon the spirits of love.
*****
They were sitting in the middle of a busy restaurant in Chinatown, waiting for their meal as people around them were speaking Cantonese or Mandarin. Jillian scarcely saw them; she was looking— no, staring— at Matt with a shy, hopeful smile, wondering how it would feel to be held one more time by those broad shoulders and arms. But Matt was looking elsewhere, avoiding her gaze. She had promised herself that she would not mention Annie's name, and yet the first thing she said, in a bitter tone, was, “So, you and Annie are an item?”
He remained silent.
The waiter approached the table and brought their order. She shifted nervously in her seat. Matt waited for him go before he said, “Yes, I'm seeing Annie. I thought you knew. I'm trying to live my life!”
He paused, studying Jillian's face. She was looking at him in silence. He took a few bites, then dropped his fork and grimaced. Jillian leaned over the table and spoke quickly, afraid to lift her eyes and meet his gaze. There had never been anyone else whom she had given herself to so completely. She was reaching for his hand, scarcely knowing what she said: “You are the very first person I have ever loved, Matt. We got serious. I've never been so close to anyone before.” Her voice sounded different; she didn't recognize it as her own. She could see her words were embarrassing him. Had she spoken too loudly? Her eyes flitted around the restaurant to see who might have heard, and she saw a few diners eyeing her curiously.
Looking at her gravely, and keeping his own voice low so the other diners wouldn't hear, Matt whispered, “Jillian I don't love you. It was a mistake.”
She lowered her own voice to a near whisper: “But I thought everything was going great between us.” If only she could find the right words to express how she felt! She knew she was in love. What else could it be?
“Jillian, you're falling apart. Don't you have anyone you can talk to? Are you and your mother close? Is there a therapist or priest you can talk to?”
Jillian was shocked and exclaimed, “A therapist? A priest? Why would I talk to a priest?”
“Okay, maybe a school counsellor? I don't know, Jilly. I can't help you. I'm not ready for a long-term relationship. After all, a kiss is just a kiss, as they say.” His eyes had a far-off look, as if in a dream.
“Matt,” her mouth felt dry as she reached for a glass of water and took a few sips, “there were some pretty weird coincidences that brought us together. I think we were fated to be together.”
Matt stared at her as if he hadn't heard correctly, shook his head as though he were trying to clear it and blurted out, “What?”
'We were fated. I know this. I've been under your spell since the first time I saw you. I went to a séance, and the psychic foretold that I would find love: that I would find— you.” She went on to elaborate.
Matt listened to Jillian in stony silence, then looked away in disgust and laughed. “You think this is some kind of black magic? Jillian, have you completely lost it? I'm not under any spell.” He sat back and stared at her in disbelief.
The absurdity of her own words finally dawned on her.
He leaned forward and lowered his voice to a near whisper: “Jillian, we broke up. I moved on; you should too. I'm seeing Annie now. You know about Annie, of course? Has she spoken to you?”
He was suddenly on his feet, hovering over her, regarding her with a clinician's eye, as a doctor might look at a patient whom he has just told there is no hope. He then dropped three twenty-dollar bills on the table. He was saying good-bye. He said he had to get back to the hospital and made for the door through a narrow lane between the crowded tables. Jillian jumped up, ran after him and threw herself into his arms, but now they held no warmth for her. It was like embracing a shadow. In her humiliation, she couldn't even look up at his face. He stroked her hair and at first said nothing, then mumbled with what sounded like a groan, “Jillian, I'm— I'm sorry.” Or had she heard him correctly? He kissed her lightly on her cheek. Bitter tears were spilling down her face. After a spasm of laughter and crying, she wiped at her eyes and took a deep breath. She knew now it was over.
*****
Summer in the city had become unbearable, humid and sticky. The hottest two weeks had arrived, when most people who could afford it and take the time fled to cottages or camping.
Jillian had received a picture postcard from Adam and Olivia of a black bear cub climbing a tree, looking forlorn and stranded, which now lay on her bureau. She read it, murmuring the words here and there below her breath: a short yet powerful message, inviting her to come and stay for even a few weeks if she liked. It ha
d plainly been written hastily, since the handwriting was almost illegible, perhaps an afterthought. Well, why not? Her brother and his girlfriend were spending the whole summer at Algonquin Park as camp counsellors. Adam would celebrate his twenty-fourth birthday, July 23, with friends there. Her eyes fell again on the handwritten message:
“Hope you're having a great summer in the urban jungle. Environment Canada is predicting record highs. Global warming is upon us. Love, Adam and Liv. ”
A week before, Jillian had stood on the front veranda, one hand shielding her eyes from the harsh afternoon sun, calling out last-minute goodbyes to the couple, who were both settled in their old Toyota, happy and so in love, honking and waving as the car sped off.
She ran down the stairs, out the kitchen door with the metal screen door slamming shut behind her and into the back yard, where she stood in the white sunshine as the grass rustled under her bare feet and her hair swirled around her head, making her dizzy. Puffy white clouds were speeding past making her feel small and weightless. She turned to look out into the garden, the landscape of her childhood. The smile quickly returned to her face as she remembered a sunlit day, not unlike this one: her parents getting down on their hands and knees, digging up the hard, pebbly soil with trowels and hand-pulling weeds along with a few tufts of grass here and there, which was all that had grown in the garden those many years ago. Much work had gone into bringing order out of chaos. The soil had been carefully prepared, mulched, raked and watered, so that now, every possible perennial flower and bulb that could grow in the zone-five Canadian climate was at home. She had only to shut her eyes to see fast-moving pictures of herself and her brother as children and hear again the sounds of their laughter.
She decided she would go to Annie's cottage. Why? She could not explain, even to herself. She consulted her calendar to see whether Ms. Bradshaw had scheduled her to work at the hospital July 1st and saw that it fell on a Sunday and her weekend was free! How she longed to escape the hot city!