Jill Dies a Little Death Every Day

There’s a point, thought Jill, after which it isn’t worth it anymore.

“Mommy,” began the little girl.

“I’m not your mommy,” said Jill with a sigh. “But what is it, Kayleigh?” Half of these kids were named Kayleigh, it seemed. She had three of them this year. This was Kayleigh T. Kayleigh T. was kind of slow. The other kids tittered.

“Um.” Kayleigh turned red, knowing she’d fucked it up. “I… [mumble mumble] hot lunch?”

Jesus holy God save me from this life, thought Jill. She was supposed to be an artist. She was supposed to write music, to create something wonderful that adults–adults–would be reduced to quivering, tearful blobs of grateful joy by. Instead: first grade. How does it happen? How had it been happening for five years?

“It’s too late for hot lunch money,” she sighed. “But give it to me, I’ll take it and make sure you get your ticket.”

—

The teacher’s “lounge” (a little, windowless closet with a few chairs and a coffeemaker) was crammed full. And why not? It was lunchtime.

“Oh I don’t follow it,” Miss Green was saying. “But as long as they don’t cut the budget again! Did I tell you little Kayleigh V.’s parents were out there with leaflets? Saying ‘save the school.’ Adorable.”

“Kayleigh V., is that the one with the braids?” asked Mrs. Halden. “Or is that the other one? I can never remember!”

“No, that’s Emily! Silly. That reminds me, did you see the cut-outs Heather’s class was making! They looked terrible! I didn’t want to say anything.” They giggled and started talking about the bus drivers, how one of them was sometimes late by a few minutes. Jill contemplated suicide.

Two bedraggled young women dragged themselves in and plopped down on the couch next to Jill. Paula and Kate, her only friends. Paula taught third grade, Kate was a reading specialist.

“Kid barfed today,” Paula began. Kate sighed. Jill perked up.

“Which?”

“Bradley Whitman.”

“He’s such a little dork,” said Jill with gusto. She’d had him two years ago. Awful kid, wore great big glasses and smelled.

“All over the reading space, all over it. So gross. On my new rug,” said Paula. “I wanted to strangle him.”

“Aw, he’s okay,” said Kate. She worked with him sometimes. Jill sneered. Kate had a soft spot for “her” kids.

“No I swear he did it on purpose,” Paula said. “He just stood up, walked over there, right on to that rug I bought, and did it. It was terrible, stank up the whole room. Thank God it was time for gym.”

“What is his problem,” agreed Jill.

Mrs. Halden, who taught second grade, leaned over. “Bradley? His dad’s a mean one. He came in last year covered in bruises. He always said he fell. No way, I know what to look for.” She shook her head.

Kate turned white.

“Figures,” said Jill. “What the hell. Families.”

Kate stood up, shaking. “Hey,” Jill began.

“I… I have to go.” Kate fled the room.

“What’s with her?” asked Paula. Jill shrugged.

Great. Now my friend’s having some sort of issues. This so figures. Jill sighed. She realized she should go after her. Someone should, to see what was wrong. She exchanged glances with Paula. Neither one budged. Then Paula rolled her eyes and got up. “I’ll go,” she said, clearly annoyed. “Your turn next time.”

Jill laughed as Paula left. She shifted position on the couch and felt something crinkle in her pocket. She reached in and pulled out Kayleigh T.’s lunch money.

“Oh, fuck,” she said quietly. She’d completely forgotten.

Oh well. Lunch was pretty much over anyway. Nothing she could do now. Jill leaned back into the springy couch cushions and watched the clock tick down the seconds until she had to go get her class. Go slower, she prayed, fighting back the dread. Slower.