Slice of Adulthood

Drifting

Jillian had moved to Abbey Station in the beginning of the summer. It was a last resort to move in with her Jesus-loving Aunt and Uncle, but she knew it was only a matter of time before she ended up surfing a couch too creepy. She got the job at Always Pizza Time almost as soon as she arrived, and had worked the night shift exclusively since she started. She enjoyed the nocturnal routine that helped her to avoid as much contact with her relatives as possible.

She usually had the road all to herself when she drove home, just avoiding the beginning of the morning commute for the rest of society. The empty roads calmed her, and she was able to enjoy the experience of movement.

Jillian's friends (back when she still talked to her) wondered how she could still enjoy driving after what had happened to her parents. They whispered to each other that it wasn't safe, and Jillian pretended she couldn't understand the harsh whooshing of speculation they thought she couldn't hear. She couldn't get them to understand how it was the only thing that made her feel in control. She drove herself to the funeral.

Besides, Jillian hadn't been in the car with them. She hadn't even looked at the car after it happened. There were pictures in one of the many insurance files, but Jillian didn't think it was necessary to study the odd angles the frame of the vehicle had twisted into when the lorry plowed into the driver's side.

What she couldn't stand to do after the accident, was going to physics class.

If a lorry weighing X tons continues forward momentum through a red light at 65 miles per hour, and hits a sedan with two passengers, how long before Jillian Nagy feels like a regular person again?

The night shift helped, she told herself. It gave her an excuse to avoid her aunt and uncle during the day, without giving the appearance of being ungrateful for their hospitality. It also was an excellent cover story for why she rarely returned text messages from the few friends who still reached out.

When she worked nights, Jillian had her route perfectly plotted. When she reached her aunt's apartment building, she climbed the stairs in the back: four flights up to their unit. It was another avoidance tactic: Her aunt and uncle invariably took the elevator down when they left for work, and she usually managed to slip past them. Ships passing in the night. Or, more accurately, a two sailboats and a row boat passing in the very early morning.

On weekends, however, they were usually awake and waiting for her when she arrived home in the early morning.

Christie and Keith's apartment looked like an Ikea display: beautifully arraigned, but hollow and lifeless. The borrowed bedroom made Jillian feel like she was staying at a very modern hotel.

Both of them were perched on stools, drinking their coffees at the bar-top that separated the kitchen space from the living room area. Keith was occupied with a newspaper, but Christie had the appearance that she was trying to arrange her face casually as if she hadn't been staring at the door for the last 15 minutes, waiting for Jillian to get home.

"How was work, Sweetie?" Christie asked before Jillian had slipped off her shoes.

"Not bad," she replied.

"They're not working you too hard, are they?" Christie asked. "You've been there long enough, you shouldn't have to work so many late nights anymore."

Keith contributed to the conversation by slurping his coffee loudly.

"I don't mind," Jillian said. It would be too close to sit at the bar with Christie, facing the wrong way if she sat on the couch, and just plain rude if she went to her room.

"I just worry that you're missing out," Christie said. "You sleep all day, and I don't think you've made one new friend since you got here."

"Shay and Nina are coming to visit," Jillian reminded her aunt.

"I know, but they live hours away. And they'll both be going off to different corners of the country for college." She took a deep breath, preparing her pitch. "I really think you should look into the course catalogue at the college here."

"I don't know..." Jillian drifted off. It was a better suggestion than Christie's usual church-group endorsements. Before the accident, Jillian had a whole spread sheet of Match, Reach, and Safety schools she thought would be in her future. After all the chaos of her parents, Jillian barely had the energy to take her finals, much less complete college applications.

"You can just register for one class. Or two," Christie bargained. "I think it would be a good environment for you."

"I'll look into it," Jillian conceded.

"Have a pray on it. Jesus will let you know if this is your next step."

"Amen," Keith said like a pre-programed response from behind his paper.

Christie smiled at Jillian, which she took as being dismissed. She headed toward her bedroom, desperate for a pair of pajamas and a full day's sleep.

"Oh, Jillian," Christie called out. "They delivered more boxes to the storage unit yesterday."

"Oh," Jillian liked to ignore the fact that there was a space slowly filling up with all the items her parents had left behind.

"We can help you sort through some of the things there," Christie suggested. "Right, Keith?"

He slurped his coffee again.

"That's fine," Jillian said. "I'll just go through it in my own time."