Jackie
Jackie
Jackie is the subject of this story. You probably figured that out from the very descriptive title. But you don’t know Jackie. You don’t know Jackie at all. So, this is my modest attempt to introduce you to her. The following is only a snapshot, a day-in-the-life, if you will, of the often confusing world of our youthful protagonist, whom I repeat, you do not know—except for her name. I’ve already stated it three times. But that’s all you know about her so far.
So, let’s pick a day at random…
It was a Friday morning. A school day. Jackie was occupying the bathtub in the upstairs bathroom. Not the bathroom in her mother’s bedroom—that one was off-limits. She was in the secondary bathroom, the one she shared with her sister, Lily. The one with the penguin wallpaper and the noisy fan. The wallpaper and the fan were not of any concern that morning. The fact that Jackie was in the bathtub and not downstairs finishing her breakfast and getting ready for school was the concern.
“Hurry, Jackie,” her mother called from downstairs. She was in the kitchen. There’s some sweet reverberation down there. “You’ll miss your bus.” She meant Jackie’s school bus. Not to be confused with Lily’s bus; she takes another bus to school. It comes a little earlier.
“I’m not going,” Jackie called back from the bathtub upstairs. There’s some excellent reverberation there as well. “I’m sick.” She wasn’t sick. Jackie had hoped those two words would be enough of an explanation to render her mother incapable of deciding anything other than keeping her home from school. Jackie was—how do you sports guys say it in baseball terms?—way off base.
Jackie’s mother—let’s call her Danielle… no, Joanna… no, sorry, I was right the first time, Danielle, we’re going with Danielle—was not particularly pleased to hear the “I’m sick” response. She mumbled something under her breath. I know what it was, but I’m not saying; it wasn’t very ladylike. Lily thought she heard her mother say, “Not this again,” or something to that effect. Danielle didn’t say it exactly in such a bland manner; she had used a fourth word in there somewhere.
Lily was eleven years old plus around a hundred days when this “conversation” between her mother and her sister took place. She was eating her breakfast, um… let’s say cereal and orange juice. Yeah, I can live with that. She was also reading The Washington Post. The newspaper’s Style section, to be more precise. What can I say? She’s eleven years old and enjoys reading the Style section of The Washington Post. You can’t make this stuff up.
Danielle went upstairs to engage in the “confrontation.” I don’t know why I put quotes around that word because that’s exactly what it was going to be. Danielle and Jackie have had confrontations in the past, and this one was no different. She knocked twice and opened the bathroom door and saw Jackie (remember Jackie?) in the bathtub wearing her dark blue, one-piece swimsuit.
[For those of you concerned about the lack of privacy in Jackie’s bathroom, I should inform you the locks to the upstairs bathroom and bedrooms were removed after “the incident.” Quotes and italics appropriately used in this case.]
Jackie had installed her wireless earphones in her ears. Both of them. That’s two, for those of you who are too lazy to count. She was lying in the bathtub in her swimsuit with her ancient Toy Story throw pillow behind her head. Did I fail to mention there was no water in the bathtub? Let me rectify that. There was no water in the bathtub.
Let’s review. It was a beautiful morning on a school day. A Friday, for all the sticklers. We’ve been introduced to Danielle, the mother, and two siblings, Lily (11 y.o.) and Jackie, short for Jacqueline (15 y.o.). One of the sisters was eating breakfast and reading the Washington Post Style section; the other was lying in a dry bathtub wearing her blue swimsuit and earphones. Got it? Okay, now for the confrontation.
“Honey, you’re going to miss your bus,” Danielle said softly to Jackie. This is a common tactic parents use to initiate the parent-child confrontation. Start low and slow, using a term of endearment and stating the crux of the problem in a clear, no-nonsense manner. This is a high-quality opening gambit. It doesn’t cast the parent as a “meanie” and opens up the conversation for the child’s response. It’s much better than, “Get your ass out of the tub and get dressed, you spoiled demon spawn!” Of course, that may work as well. Depending on the child. And the situation.
Meanwhile, Lily (remember Lily?) was downstairs. She had washed (and dried) her bowl, spoon, and glass and searched for (and found) her mother’s stash of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. She added one of the stolen snacks to the bagged lunch her mother had made (a turkey sandwich, apple sauce, carrot sticks.) (Are there too many parentheses in this paragraph?) I’ll work on it. She then brushed her long, straight hair (light brown) (almost blonde) and waited for her school bus.
“I’m not going to school; I don’t feel good.” I bet you can guess who uttered that overused line, so there’s no need to designate the speaker. Okay, it was Jackie. I’m such a pushover for you people. If you need to, re-read the line, but imagine the hoarse, plaintive voice of a perfectly healthy teenager pretending to be out of sorts. Jackie scowled to add a visual element to the unconfirmed illness, or maybe it was caused by her uncomfortable position in the waterless tub. Danielle went over and placed her palm on Jackie’s forehead. It was as cool as a stone in a Minnesota stream.
“Jackie, you know I can’t take you to school; I have a client today.” Okay, now you have learned Danielle is a professional, but you still don’t know her occupation. I’m taking suggestions from all of you creative types. (No, you will not be credited as a co-author.) Danielle needed to be at her office in fifteen minutes. It’s a seventeen-minute commute without traffic. Danielle was going to be late. There, I saved you from doing math.
At this point, I’d like to take a short break and introduce you to Jackie’s mother, Danielle. Danielle was born, grew up, went to school, attended college, started a career, got married, had two kids, and got divorced all within a fifty-mile radius from the place in which she was having a confrontation with her eldest daughter, Jackie. Danielle is funny, intelligent, attractive in a suburban mom sort of way, loyal, bilingual, an adventurous cook, a good conversationalist, an excellent mother, someone you can trust with a secret, and recently addicted to Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. Danielle prefers beer over wine, The Office over The Wire, the Beatles over the Stones, cats over dogs (she owns neither), badminton over pickleball, sunsets over sunrises, emails over texts, and eggs over easy. She is trying to learn the fine art of painting. Acrylics, please. Who has time for oils? She has spent a total of $244.72 in art supplies in the past three months and has churned out a total of three and a half paintings. “They’re pretty good,” said the single, bearded guy in line with her at the art supply store who was trying to pick her up and who had charmed Danielle into showing him the amateurish paintings on her phone. They were not pretty good. They weren’t even pretty. But she was improving.
“Mom, I’m leaving.” This shout came from downstairs, soon followed by the slam of the front door. It was Lily (note the use of the familial “Mom”), not some stranger who had entered the premises to burgle the kitchen cupboard and abscond with some Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. Lily is a good kid. She does well in school and keeps troublemaking to a minimum. Yes, there was an atypical occurrence in the second grade with her mother’s crème brûlée torch, but her teacher declined to press charges. However, I promised Lily I wouldn’t mention this youthful indiscretion any longer, so I don’t have the authority to tell you the fire department was summoned to the school to… uh, assess the situation.
Upstairs, Jackie agreed to at least get out of the tub and exit the bathroom. She silently walked past her mother into her bedroom and proceeded to catapult herself onto the bed. She accomplished this by leaping forward, twisting in midair, and landing with a comfortable plop on her back. Perhaps it was her inappropriate apparel that had inspired this athletic maneuver. Seconds later, Danielle entered Jackie’s bedroom with her arms crossed. Uh-oh.
It is at this time that I want to educate you with some background information about young Jackie’s life. As you may have gleaned from the carefully hidden clues I have craftily camouflaged previously, Jackie is an older sister. She likes Lily, and they have fun together most times. There is no sibling rivalry, except when it comes to the last piece of pie. Jackie helps Lily with any difficult homework. Lily will, in turn, help Jackie by providing mom-surveillance when Jackie wants to sneak a friend into her room after curfew. Jackie and Lily love each other in a sedate, cooperative, sisterly way.
Jackie and Lily used to share a room. This was when the former married partner of Danielle was still living there, hereby known as Mr. So & So. Not his actual name, for all of you who have furrowed brows right now. A few years ago, Mr. S (is that better?) felt the need to insert one or more of his body parts into a person not commonly known as Danielle. But Danielle became aware of this ongoing practice of body part insertion, and short story shorter, Mr. S was escorted out of the homestead, leaving behind an abundance of cash and prizes. [Note: You don’t need to remember Mr. S; he won’t be back.]
Jackie was twelve years of age at the time and petitioned her mother the idea of making the ousted father’s home office into something she (a budding teenager with privacy concerns) could utilize as her own bedroom and secluded retreat facility. The situation was discussed, with Lily included, and the three of them reached a decision, and the motion was passed, and the relocation of personal items commenced immediately. Score one for Jackie.
Sometime later, Jackie found herself in desperate need of a mobile telecommunications device known colloquially as an iPhone. This obvious oversight in parental obligation was brought to the attention of Danielle, the current head of the household at the time. The answer was swift and decisive—No. But Jackie was granted the option of an Android alternative, as long as its cost was less than two hundred dollars. This disagreement launched a long line of confrontations Jackie rigorously maintained with Danielle. This particular one lasted nearly a week, but in the end, Jackie relented, tail between her legs, and accepted the offer with a disapproving grimace and a couple of foot stomps to the innocent hardwood floor. Score one for Danielle. I think.
And so, as the saying goes, it goes. Disagreements and confrontations between Jackie and Danielle became a frequent occurrence and as episodic as their favorite sitcom. For instance, Jackie wanted to date an older boy from her school. This was not allowed, but she was permitted a one-time outing with her boss’ son, chaperoned by the two single parents. Jackie declined on the grounds of “ew.” Another example: Jackie was allowed an occasional sleepover at her best friend Taylor’s house, but this was approved only after hours of discussion with raised voices and the breakage of an inexpensive knick-knack. It was a ceramic elephant. The trunk had broken off. Lily repaired it with some super-duper glue. And so it went.
Don’t get me wrong. Jackie and Danielle got along fine between those periodic confrontations. There was warmth and respect, with a generous sprinkling of love between both parent and offspring in the cozy house. What if I were to tell you our sweet Jackie had even baked and decorated a birthday cake for Danielle one year? Okay, that’s not true, but it’s quite possible it could have happened if she had thought of it. Jackie did, however, buy three large chocolate cupcakes at Safeway, which happened to be on sale, and she may or may not have shoplifted a small box of candles. See? That is some commendable, altruistic behavior for a teenager, knowing ahead of time she wouldn’t be consuming two-thirds of the delicious, discounted chocolate cupcakes she had purchased with her mother’s money.
Okay, we’ve made significant progress into Jackie’s story arc, and since most of you haven’t reached for a third cup of coffee yet, I will treat you to some Lily trivia. When Lily was six or seven years of age, she found a large toad in the backyard. Being the mischievous scamp that she was, she decided to prank her older sister. That would be Jackie, for those of you who are not taking extensive notes. Lily surreptitiously placed the toad in her sister’s bed and covered it up with the… well, the covers. Then she went to tell her sister that a toad was in her bed. Jackie rushed to their bedroom, threw back the covers, saw the disgusting creature sitting in a pool of its own toad urine, and proceeded to scream so intensely that the neighbors two doors down heard and briefly considered calling 911. Lily jumped up and down, yelling, “I toad you it was there; I toad you it was there!” Okay, not exactly the best pun ever, but you have to admit the planning was admirable for the youngster. Jackie slept on the couch that night, Lily received dishwashing (and drying) duty for two weeks, and Danielle stuck a photo of the toad-in-the-bed on the refrigerator. It’s still there.
Let’s get back to the current situation in Jackie’s bedroom. If you recall, Jackie had gracefully deposited herself onto her bed with fine gymnastic precision. Danielle, Jackie’s mother, for those of you who are prone to numerous interruptions, was racing against time—Jackie’s school bus would arrive soon and Danielle needed to be at the office. Pronto.
“Jackie, please,” Danielle said, sounding a bit whiny. Okay, this was a useless tactic, and I’m not sure why such a seasoned veteran of childhood negotiations employed it. It made her appear weak. Not in control. And a bit whiny, which I think I’ve mentioned.
“Ugh,” Jackie moaned, holding her stomach and turning onto her side, adopting the fetal position. (Someone call the Oscar nomination committee! ) “I think I have fibromyalgia.” This might have been a credible ploy, but she pronounced it fiber-ma-lag-nia. Danielle, not surprisingly, didn’t buy it. She didn’t even put it in her cart.
Thus, Mom and daughter argued. This was not a particularly clever move on Jackie’s part because it did nothing to enhance the appearance of a sudden illness, possibly her only hope of staying home. Danielle measured Jackie’s temperature again, scientifically this time, with one of those heat-seeking pistols you aim at a patient’s forehead. Guess what? Correctamundo!—normal.
“Jackie, why are you in your swimsuit?” (Well, that took a while, Mom.) Danielle used a more stern voice for this tardy observation in an effort to regain power status. There was no answer from the suffering child, only another (less convincing) moan. However, Jackie did remove her earphones and placed them on the nightstand. She then tried to cover herself with the bedspread. You know, the one she was lying on. Danielle stopped this blatant attempt at swimsuit concealment mid-motion and pulled her daughter’s arm in an attempt to reposition Jackie to a sitting position. This was getting physical.
“C’mon, Jackie, you’re going to school. You can put your jeans and sweater over your swimsuit if it makes you feel better.” Delayed Compromise Strategy. I’m impressed. Jackie didn’t protest, but she also didn’t concede just yet. “C’mon, up you go, sweetie,” Danielle ordered/suggested with another firm tug on her daughter’s arm. This time a groan was elicited, not a moan, which indicated to Danielle victory was in sight. Although Jackie continued using the seldom successful Rag Doll Maneuver, it was only a matter of time until she would be broken.
Hey, did I ever tell you of the time when Jackie nearly killed someone? Do you want me to… okay, okay, I’ll tell you. Jeez, impatient much? I think I’ll put this between horizontal lines, like the other ones. Consistency.
This gruesome event took place last summer. Jackie was at the county fair with her best best friend, Taylor, and a couple of lesser best friends, Madison and Hayley. All four girls were standing in a row watching Lily at the ping pong ball/fishbowl game (you gotta throw the ball low with a little backspin) trying to win a SpongeBob SquarePants plushie. A pitiful example of a man, let’s say he’s thirty-six years old and named Walter, came up behind the row of girls and “goosed” Jackie. (I will not explain what that term means since Jackie is a minor.) With the swiftness of a wild gazelle, Jackie spun around and slapped the sleazy bonehead hard in the face, calling him a “disgusting creep.” Seconds later, Walter attempted the lewd act again, obviously intoxicated with illegal BYOB. This time, Jackie spun around, leg raised high, and channeling the fluid gracefulness of Bruce Lee, kicked the man square in the neck, crushing his Adam’s apple with the bottom of her sneakered foot. The cartilage exploded in Walter’s throat, causing him to incur laryngeal trauma, which resulted in internal bleeding and swelling. He might have died if it wasn’t for the quick response of two off-duty nurses eating corn dogs at the adjacent game kiosk. The man survived; however, he did talk a bit funny after the emergency surgery.
Jackie silently acknowledged she had no recourse. With assistance from Danielle, Jackie s-l-o-w-l-y slid her jeans and sweater over her swimsuited torso, slipped her bare feet into a pair of Sonoma sandals ($24.49 at Kohl’s), and hung her backpack over a slumped and defeated shoulder. Danielle escorted her battle-scarred opponent downstairs and onto the sunny front porch.
“Love ya, honey,” Danielle said exuberantly, kissing her daughter’s cheek, satisfied with the knowledge she would only be a few minutes late to work.
“Love you, too,” Jackie mumbled, in a low monotone commensurate with an embarrassing loss to a parent and with much less enthusiasm than her victorious mother. She shuffled her away across the lawn to the corner where the gleaming, yellow bus arrived less than a minute later. Danielle waited to see if Jackie boarded the bus and made a mental note to call the school later to see if she had indeed arrived.
Jackie’s surrender to her mother in this latest confrontation was a big deal for her. You see, she had planned to meet up with her friends, the aforementioned Taylor, Madison, and Hayley, to enjoy Hookypalooza Part One. This was a term Taylor had invented for a new, illicit, daytime adventure with her girlfriends. Plans were initiated, discussed, and finalized for this unauthorized get-together through electronic means: three iPhones and one Samsung Galaxy A12.
Hookypalooza Part One, this being the first one (hence the numerical adjunct), consisted of twelve stages:
Skipping school
Rendezvousing with the others at Madison’s house at 8:25ish
Having Maddy’s brother drive them to the quarry for some swimming
Smoking a cigarette [That’s right, one cigarette passed around]
General convos and gossiping while snacking on Skittles
Playing Truth or Dare and/or Would You Rather
Another quick dip, then drying and changing clothes in the woods
Hair management
Hiking to the Beef Barn for burgers and A&Ws
Walking past Jeremy Treyburn’s house, just because
Collecting hush money for Maddy’s loser brother (don’t forget your $5)
Splitting up and heading home at 3:15
Jackie was not successful in the execution of her end of this rule-busting adventure. She had never skipped school before and did not intend to participate, but the peer pressure, mainly Taylor’s insistence to “Have fun for once, girl,” got to her. Her meager plan, if that word can even be applied in this case, was to don her swimsuit, pack a change of clothes in her JanSport ($34.99 at Target), and hide in the bathtub.
Okay, the last segment of Jackie’s three-point plan had some validity. By remaining in the bathtub for much of the morning, it negated the chance of her stepping on one of several squeaky floorboards upstairs, thus alerting her mother of her remaining presence in the house. Ultimately, Jackie’s plan failed for one reason—her mother was a mother. Danielle was not about to “lose track of” or “forget about” or—did I say “lose track of”?—her first-born child. Jackie should have known this but, in the heightened anticipation of Hookypalooza Part One, failed to read the room in a well-thought-out manner.
On the bus that morning, Jackie thought about her recent decisions and came to the conclusion she should have employed Lily’s superior brainpower and devious intellect. This would have meant a huge favor payback in the future, but Jackie felt it would have been worth it. Next time, she thought, for Part Two, she thought, leave the house and don’t get on the bus, she thought. Learn from your failures, she thought.
Needless to say, Jackie’s friends, Taylor, Madison, and Hayley, had a wonderful day at the quarry, and at the Beef Barn, and all the places in between. They figured (correctly) that Jackie was intercepted by her mother, then chewed out and dragged kicking and screaming to the bus stop (incorrectly), and was in a gloomy classroom learning what x equaled (possibly), while they were splashing around in the sun.
Danielle made it to work twelve minutes late. Traffic. Her client was also several minutes late. Traffic. Her boss and co-workers, who do the same job as Danielle (gee, thanks for all the great suggestions, guys), were late as well. Unfortunately, the meeting was not a success, and Danielle did not land the account, or make the sale, or seal the deal, or whatever lingo you want to apply to this situation.
After school, Jackie went home and used the bathtub for its intended purpose. She took a bath, for those of you who aren’t mechanically inclined. She had wanted to cry all day in school, but after returning home, no tears decorated her face. She experienced only a solid mass of disappointment, centered in her abdomen. Maybe it was fibermalagnia, after all. She ate a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup she found in a big bag at the back of the cupboard, watched several TikTok videos, and then took a nap.
Lily, on the other hand, came home after soccer practice, ran a mile on her mother’s treadmill, made (and ate) a cheese and cucumber sandwich, did her homework, watched a few minutes of Judge Judy, made a pitcher of lemonade for the evening’s dinner, etched a sketch on her Etch A Sketch ($16.97 at Walmart), then took a nap.
Danielle arrived home later than usual. She’s almost always home before the kids because she only works part-time at the… uh, place where she’s employed. That day, she stopped at Costco after work to get a big bag of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. Evidently, she’s been eating a lot of those things lately. She made a mental note to cut back.
Danielle found her kids sleeping in their respective rooms and decided a nap was a wonderful idea. All three occupants of the cute house on Loralie Avenue had sweet dreams. Jackie dreamed of swimming in the quarry with her friends. Danielle dreamed of the single, bearded art supply store customer. Lily dreamed of applying for (and getting) a pilot’s license, so she could land her private helicopter on the roof of the hospital in which she was employed as the lead neurosurgeon.
And so, we’ve reached the end of the story, my friends, and I sincerely hope you’ve gained an understanding of what makes Jackie tick and maybe an appreciation of why she does the things she does. But, even at this point, I’m somewhat dismayed by the fact that, after all the background information, the retelling of family drama, and the anecdotal evidence I’ve provided, you still don’t.. really.. know.. Jackie.
