Jenny

This is a short story I've been tinkering with for a while, so I thought I might as well open it up for critique here on the Hip Forums. I'm sorry if some of the formatting is messed up, it gets a little screwy sometimes when I transfer it over from Word. Anyways, I know it's long, so thanks in advance for reading it. Harsh critiques are encouraged, so long as they're constructive. Hope you enjoy it!

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JENNY


Jenny awoke at 5 AM, as she did every weekday morning, her long blonde hair draped around her on the mattress in a mess of loops and curls. She put her hand on her nightstand, feeling for the spot where her glasses should be. She missed the glasses by no more than a half an inch, knocking them over onto the floor.
“Fucking great, Jenny,” she said to herself before stumbling to her feet and taking at least a good sixty seconds before locating her glasses and putting them on, finding the left lens to be slightly cracked on the bottom. Her eyesight was terrible, and had been since birth. Nobody had an explanation for why: she came from a long line of people who’d had 20/20 vision their whole lives, even in their very oldest age. This was only one of the many reasons Jenny had always assumed she was adopted or switched at birth, even if her family swore otherwise.

Her one bedroom apartment in Coney Island was tiny and cramped, and at the same time, tidy and well kept. It was a rough neighborhood, littered with drug dealers and bums, and her parents were always terrified to visit. There was one window, about a foot away from the left side of her twin bed, draped with a curtain of the lightest blue. She found herself passing a lot of time watching strangers eighteen stories below, carrying out their busy or boring lives. Sometimes, she would make up stories for them, imagining how they talked, wondering where they were off to, what their childhood had been like.

She did her best to tiptoe her way to the bathroom, so as not to wake Ryan, who had spent the last couple of weeks sleeping and smoking pot on her couch. Jenny had known Ryan her whole life, and when he came to her unable to make rent payments on his own apartment, she was happy to give him a place to stay for “a couple of nights, I swear.”

Besides, it was nice to have a male presence in the apartment. Even if said male was a snarky homosexual who knew every Lady Gaga song by heart, Jenny didn’t feel so alone as she had in the past.

Not to mention the fact that she was quickly falling completely in love with him.

It was a thought that she tried to shove to the back of her mind, but one that she couldn’t help having nonetheless. It was stressful; confusing and--- Jesus Christ was it irritating! She didn’t have time for a man. Let alone a gay one. She’d always fancied herself as a very independent woman, and so her deep need for another person, and especially one as totally inaccessible as him. Besides, it was really cliché if you looked past the fact that he was gay. She was becoming just another girl who wanted what she couldn’t have.

She didn’t remember when exactly she’d realized that her feelings for him were beyond platonic. She just woke up one day and knew that she had a minor dilemma on her hands, and was entirely unsure of what to do about it. It’s not like she could tell him about how she felt. It would be pointless, and only prove to ruin their friendship--- the only one she currently had.

Despite her best efforts, she woke the currently unemployed Ryan, who yawned loudly before sitting up, his brown hair flying chaotically in different directions. He looked at the clock on the microwave in the kitchen, and groaned.

“5 AM,” He said mournfully, “Seriously? Again?”

Jenny, washing her face with cold water at the bathroom sink shot him a look that would surely kill if looks had the power to do such things.

“Some people have jobs,” she teased. Ryan gave her a wave on the hand, resting his head back down on the couch.

“And while we’re on the subject,” she smiled, knowing that it bothered Ryan not to be able to find work, “How is your job search coming?”

Ryan belched loudly. “You know,” he mumbled, “tough economy.”

To his credit, he had given a significant effort during his first week of moving in with Jenny. He had gone to several job interviews, but hadn’t heard back from a single one of them. Dejected and discouraged, Ryan had seemingly decided to take the next few weeks off.

Ryan started fiddling with his red glass bong, which he’d placed on the nightstand that stood beside the couch. As he prepared it for what appeared to be a very early morning hit, Jenny couldn’t help but smile and shake her head in playful disapproval.

“Isn’t it a little early for that?”

“Not at all,” he said with a smile, “Wake and bake, baby!”

In some ways, Ryan was the stereotypical gay man. He loved shopping, anything Julia Roberts, and had a borderline obsession with showtunes. In other ways, however, Ryan was so far removed from the stereotype that there were times when it was easy to forget that he was, in fact, gay. His manner of speech was unmistakably masculine. He spoke in a low, rumbling tone that was rarely accompanied by hand gestures and the like. And while the stereotypical gay man was always dressed to kill, Ryan hardly cared at all about what he looked like. Currently, he was sitting in nothing but his boxers, growing stubble on his face that hadn’t been shaved for at least three days. When he walked by, you could catch a nice whiff of him, a pungent mixture of weed and junk food.

Jenny didn’t know whether to laugh at him, yell at him, or feel sorry for him. A couple times, she found herself doing all three at once. He was a mess of an unmotivated stoner, but he was her mess and besides, he made her laugh. It also didn’t hurt that he always had the best pot, either. Where he got the money to buy it was beyond her, but she tried not to concern herself with the details.

In his current state, given his smell and his perma-high, Ryan should not have been very physically attractive to Jenny. And yet, he managed to make him work. He wasn’t exactly taking care of himself, but he had a flippant, easygoing charm about him that allowed him to get away with it. His natural good looks also went a long way towards helping him with this. He was a tall and lanky, standing at around 6’0, perhaps a little shorter. He rarely combed his mop of brown hair, but its natural tousle dispersed his hair evenly along his forehead in a pleasing way. He had soft, light green eyes that gave you a warm feeling if you looked into them long enough. His best feature, though, was probably his smile. It wasn’t so much a smile as it was a sheepish grin that he constantly flashed, as if you’d just told him something embarrassing that he couldn’t help but chuckle at. His teeth were perfectly straight and white like pearls or marble.
Ryan got up to dress himself and Jenny shut the bathroom door, disrobing and checking herself out in the mirror. She was, in short, a pretty girl. She was very small, no bigger than 5’2 and no more than 100 or so pounds, though she didn’t know because she didn’t keep a scale for fear that it might lead her to obsess about her weight. She had very long blonde hair, that she was determined to grow, as she always put it “down to my ass”. Her eyes were very big and very blue, round like saucers or oversized marbles, just a bit too big for her small head. It was a feature that bothered her to no end, but that men seemed to find quite attractive just the same. Her breasts were not big in the way that everybody in America seemed to be obsessed with, but big enough in a way that was proportionally appropriate to her petite figure. She’d never felt as self-conscious as other girls she knew seemed to be, spending what seemed like hours in the bathroom perfecting their hair and make-up. For that matter, she hardly ever wore make-up. She liked to use a little bit of red lipstick, but she always wore it sparingly and tactfully. If anything, she was confident in her appearance to the point of being unconcerned how she looked most of the time. Even this stint in front of the bathroom mirror, which hadn’t lasted more than sixty seconds, was unusually long. This sudden pseudo-obsession with how she looked bothered her. She did her best to give her reflection a shrug and ready herself for the day ahead.
****
The diner was going out of business. It was empty that day, just like it had been for the past few weeks, and like it would be until it’s inevitably went under. Nobody had really said anything yet, and it had kind of become the proverbial elephant in the room, but it was there. Some people had found jobs elsewhere. Jose, the dishwasher had found a job with a construction company. Sylvia, the cashier had jumped ship to a more upscale restaurant in the suburbs. One by one, they all started to disappear.

Jenny hadn’t smartened up and found work elsewhere. She was sure there was some highly complex Freudian reason for it, but she didn’t have the time and definitely didn’t have the money for a shrink. What could she say? There was just something nice about the familiarity of the place. She didn’t want to give up and walk away from it like everybody else had decided to.

Then again, she hadn’t exactly figured out why she was a waitress in the first place. She’d graduated near the top of her class in NYU with a degree in English. As tough as the economy was, she could find a job as somewhere, as a teacher or otherwise, or even go to grad school. But for now, at least until she figured out where she was going, she was content to swirl down the drain with the diner and all of the miserable people in it.

There wasn’t much to do now that the place was always empty. Some days, a group of people would stop by in the morning on their way to work, ordering coffee to prepare for the long day ahead. Others would come late at night for a drink or two. But mostly the place was barren and depressing, and there was nothing to do.

In the old days, she’d talk with Sylvia. She was funny and the time passed at a reasonable rate, and they were able to have a good time enjoying the last of the diner. But now, the employees were all strangers and the only soul she knew there was Lenny, who she didn’t much care for. As if on cue, Lenny sprung out from behind Jenny, making her jump a bit.

“Good morning!” He said with a booming voice. Lenny was a morning person.
“Hey Lenny.” Jenny said in her best fuck off voice.

Lenny was, for want of a better phrase, seedy-looking. He had a freckled face and short, wiry read hair that he never seemed to comb. He was tall and bony, and had crooked, slightly yellowish teeth. It also didn’t help that he constantly made unwelcomed passes at Jenny. He almost reminded Jenny of the Hamburglar, if the Hamburglar had removed his mask, taken up smoking crack and lost a ton of weight. But he probably didn’t know he looked like that, and was it really her place to tell him?

“You sure look good today!” he said with his crooked smile.
“No I don’t. I got no sleep last night and woke up early this morning. And I haven’t had my coffee yet.”
“You’re still looking good to me.”

Jenny shot him a glance that all but told him to go, now, and Lenny theatrically flung his hands in the air in surrender. He walked off happily; the pep never seemed to be missing in his step.

The next few hours passed pretty quickly. The mornings usually did, especially on weekdays. There were dishes to wash, floors to mop, and tables to set. After that, though, customers rarely came and time seemed to move at an extra-slow pace.

That day, though, Jenny was surprised by a rare public appearance made by none other than Ryan. She felt her eyes light up, but quickly caught herself in her overexcitement and took a deep breath in to steady her appearance.

“Well, well, well,” she said with a smile, “Look who made it outside today.”

Ryan had a quick laugh and sat down. She loved the way he laughed, turning his head a little to the side, so that you could only make out the shadows of a grin. There was something secretive about it, like each chuckle was designed for his and your eyes only.

“I figured the fresh air would do me some good.”

Jenny took a moment to inspect Ryan. He’d obviously just showered his mop of combed brown hair still palpably damp. He had shaved though, a definite step forward in the improvement of his untidy appearance. Although he was well passed puberty, his facial hair grew in patchy and awkwardly, like a fifteen-year-old boy’s.

“Well, sir,” Jenny said, in a humorously formal tone, “What can I get for you today?”

Ryan asked her for a cup of coffee and she brought over the pot and poured a cup of hot coffee, mixing it just the way he liked, two sugars and cream.

“I can do that myself, you know.” He said
“And you knowthat I like to do it for you anyways.”
“You’re weird.”
“I’ve been told it suits me.”

They both smiled. Jenny was referencing the awkward phase she went through in middle school, her face covered in zits and her teeth glistening with big, blocky braces. She would often tell Ryan she felt clumsy and weird. “You are,” he’d say, “But it works for you.”

“So seriously,” Jenny said, “have you even looked for a job in the past week?”
“That’s a hostile question.”

There was a pause in the conversation as Ryan smirked and took a long swig of his hot coffee. The sight of him killed her, and she felt a stabbing pain in her side, but it was a heavenly pain. The kind of pain she supposed was associated with giving birth or donating a kidney in order to save the life of a loved one.
Then, suddenly, she felt a wave of frustration rise up in her. It randomly occurred to her, somewhere in the rapidly flowing river of her consciousness, that she wasn’t even sure why she loved him. She wasn’t sure what it was that had her so swooning over him, and why she was almost innately certain that she would never find another quite like him. As long and as hard she thought about it, the fear was rising within her that she would never be able to put her finger on it, and therefore never able to rid herself of the absolute tyranny of emotion.

The rest of the morning passed in pleasant, ordinary conversation, and Jenny did her best to make it through another day hiding the ugly, naked truth.

****

Jenny wasn’t a big drinker. Sometimes, when she went out (and she rarely did), she would have a glass or two of wine to stay loose and sociable. It was an aid to help her dance, and laugh at stupid jokes, but did little else for her. Ryan, however, had a talent for putting them away, and frequently made use of that talent. He was a lanky, skin-and-bones kind of guy, who’d never spent a minute of his life in the gym, and she had no idea how he did it. But she remembered the many parties they’d gone to in high school, and how he would naturally win almost any drinking game. Ever since he’d moved in with Jenny, he made a habit of talking her into beer or two (or three or four), and tonight was no exception.

They sat, after a good number of beers, watching a re-run of some cable TV sitcom that both of them had long ago forgotten about. Like many sitcoms, the jokes were forced and extra-cheesy, only further exhausted by the monotonous laughtrack.

They got bored and turned off the TV, sitting on the couch together under a warm old, weathered blanket. A few moments of silence passed as both Jenny and Ryan listened to the sound of a far-off siren, waning in the distance.

Jenny turned to look at Ryan, and at once felt the affects of the booze. Her head felt incredibly light and she had to fight to successfully suppress a wave of nausea.

“Shit,” She said, with a drunkenly happy tone that surprised her, “I think I’m drunk.”
Ryan snickered nostalgically. “Do you remember the first time you drank?”
Jenny smiled, and buried her head in the pillow in embarrassment.
“Oh god,” She said, “Can we not remember that?”
“You puked so much. I thought one of your lungs was going to come out.”

She slapped him playfully on the arm, giggling.

“When’s the last time you spent the night out?” Jenny asked, wanting to change the subject.
“Jesus, I don’t know… A week or two ago, maybe? Why, what about you?”
“The same, I think. Maybe longer. We’re so anti-social!” She laughed at her own half-joke.
“We should go out tomorrow. See a movie or something.”

Jenny’s giggling subsided, but the remnants of a smile remained as she held his gaze. Perhaps it had been the whole thing had been in her drunken head, but she sensed a change in the atmosphere of the room that hinted on the romantic.

“I’d like that,” She said.

Ryan started fiddling with his dirty bong, perhaps for no other reason than to break eye contact. Jenny sighed.

“You know, the landlady kicked out the guy who used to live next door for smoking that stuff. I really wish you wouldn’t.”

Ryan squinted at her in suspicion, sensing her insincerity.

“Did she really?”
“No,” Jenny said, laughing again, “But still.”

Ryan waved his hand. “Lighten up! Besides, if you get kicked out, we could be homeless together. I’d bet you’d make a good panhandling buddy.”

Jenny frowned and smiled at the same time, unsure of whether or not that was meant to be a compliment.

Ryan lit his bong and inhaled deeply, coughing up thin clouds of smoke when he went to exhale. He smiled at Jenny in bewilderment and offered her a hit. She said nothing and made no gesture towards the pipe, but instead leaned in to kiss him. She wasn’t sure what had gotten into her; perhaps it was the alcohol, maybe it was a simple lapse of judgment, maybe she’d just gotten fed up with bottling up her feelings for so long. It was a quick kiss, no more than a few seconds, and Jenny regretted it the moment she pulled away.

Ryan sat on the couch, for once in his life, totally speechless, his mouth agape in pure shock. Jenny’s face flushed and turned a bright pinkish color, the kind you might see on somebody who forgot to use sunblock while on vacation in the Caribbean.

She swallowed hard. “Well, I think I’m off to bed.”

Ryan said nothing and watch nearly run to her room, her eyes on the hardwood floor.

****

Jenny woke up in an over-tired rage the next morning, running on only a few hours sleep. She stayed awake the whole night fiercely angry with herself for having so vastly fucked up.

She successfully slipped out the door without waking Ryan (or perhaps he pretended to stay sleeping, she wasn’t sure), and glumly made her way to the diner.
Jenny wasn’t sure where she’d first heard the proverb, “when it rains, it pours.” Maybe her mother or father had said it when she was young, maybe she’d read it in a book long ago, or maybe she’d learned it in school. What she couldn’t believe was how true the cliché had rung in her life. That morning, the lightning and thunder would start to crackle on what, as of last night, had promised to be an already vicious storm.

Things seemed ordinary enough at the diner. It was, as usual, quiet and empty. Her manager sat behind the register with a calculator, crunching ambiguous numbers on an oversized, outdated calculator. Lenny winked at her when she walked in.

However, about five minutes after she had walked in and begun to mop the floors, her manager, Ronald, had called her over. Ronald was an old, mustached Indian man whose thirty years in the State had done nothing to chip away at his thick accent. He said very little and smiled less, and remained something of an enigma to his employees. The general rule of thumb was that if Ronald ever talked to you, it meant that you were in trouble.

“Yes,” Jenny said, rapping her knuckles on the desk in front of him. He made her nervous.
“I don’t know how to say this,” He said, “but I have to let you go.”
Jenny produced an expression similar to the one she’d seen on Ryan’s face the night before. She was sure she’d heard wrong.
“I’m sorry?”
“I’m grateful that you’ve stuck it out with us for as long as you could, but the truth is I can’t afford to pay you anymore. Lenny makes minimum wage, and we really only need one employee right now.”
“Lenny! You’re choosing Lenny over me!”
Jenny turned to look at the freckle-faced pervert. She could probably sue him for sexual harassment and make a good deal of money.
“It’s nothing personal,” Ronald said, unwavering in his even-levelled tone.

Jenny had nothing further to say. The only question from here was whether to make a big scene or to just walk out, go home, and have a good cry. She turned to Lenny again (Lenny, for god’s sakes, really?) and back to Ronald before throwing up her arms in surrender.

“Fuck it,” was all she could manage to say. She kept her hands in the air, high above her hands and for a second time muttered, “fuck it” before storming out of the dinner at which she had slaved away for what seemed like such a long time.

She made it half a block, toward the subway to make the long trek back to Brooklyn gradually moving quicker with each step. Another half block, and she broke out into a full out run. She must have looked ridiculous, still in her waitress uniform, her long blonde hair flying behind her, running through the streets, past her fellow bewildered pedestrians, past her subway stop. She ran for two blocks, three, and four, until her lungs burned with a vengeance and she had no other choice but to hail a cab.

There wasn’t much traffic on the cab ride back, and the hot anger pulsed violently, boiling in her blood the whole way home. She wasn’t sure exactly how she arrived at the realization, but somewhere between taking off on her sprint through the streets of Manhattan and stepping out of the cab, she decided Ryan was at fault for the state of her life; the absolute shamble that she had become, the potential she had wasted to become a fucking waitress, for christ’s sakes. It was all Ryan’s fault. She’d never loved anyone before, and now that she loved him, the foundation upon which she had set her life was crumbling beneath its own heavy weight. It was Ryan’s fault and she had to go.

The cab stopped in front of her apartment building as Jenny handed the driver a bill she hadn’t even bothered to look at. She continued running, straight through the doors of her building, bypassing the elevator to take three flights of stairs, jamming her key in and twisting it with every ounce of fight she had left in her.

She flung the door opened, and Ryan looked up from a cloud of smoke after taking what appeared to be a massive hit off his bong. The sounds of Sportscenter blared from the TV as he let out a hacking cough, clearly surprised at Jenny’s dramatic entrance.

Jenny bent down and put her hands on her knees, heaving deeply, gasping deeply for breath. Her hair was a mess, flown in all different directions; part of it was draped over her faced. She spit out some locks that had found their way into her mouth. Finally she stood as upright as possible, locking Ryan in a death stare.

In between deep breaths she whispered, “Get. The. Fuck. Out.”

Jenny went directly to her room, listening to Ryan throw his things into his duffel bag. He didn’t say a word, but she heard the door open and close. She could barely make-out his clumsy footsteps, flipping and flopping down the hallway.

Through the cracked lenses of her glasses and the tears that filled her eyes, she went to the window and looked outside of it. She could make out the little specks of a man and a woman on the sidewalk down below, holding hands. She imagined broad smiles on their careless faces.

Oh, what it must be like to be them…