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Janet Riley

This is the beginning. The beginning is a terrible term because there really is no beginning to anything. My story

starts in the electronics section of a department store but that's not really the beginning. Some people would say the beginning was my birth, and the story really starts there. But even that's not the beginning because everyone that determined what the course of my life would be was already living and the world I was to live in was already evolving, so my birth was not the beginning, maybe just a climax. So where is the beginning? Theologists would say the real beginning is the creation of the universe itself, which did happen to consist of the eventual creation of the watch I was looking at on this particular day. But even that isn't really the beginning because something had to exist before the universe was created. Even if it was just a big ball of mass, that still might be considered the beginning, you know, before it exploded into what we call the universe. I wonder if He ever intended it to be called the universe? Maybe he wanted it to be called the poodle. I wonder if a poodle knows it's called a poodle. Maybe poodles call themselves drivelsaurs in private. Then again, if He created the universe he probably set it up so it would be appropriately named. Although, he must have had to name it quite a few times because there's so many languages in the world. But I'm getting off subject.

As I said originally, my story starts in the electronics section of a department store. I was getting a cordless drill.

I remember feeling somewhat odd buying it because I recall not actually having a use for it, I just thought it would be nice to have a cordless drill did the situation where I needed a cordless drill ever presented itself. Anyway, I was waiting in line to purchase this cordless drill and looking at this neat watch that told me the time of not only the time in America, but China, Germany, Japan, Australia, and for some reason Antarctica. It was set up near the counter so that people like me, unnecessarily buying power tools and such, would see it while waiting in line, as I was doing, and buy it on impulse. In marketing, it's known as impulse buying.

So I'm looking at this watch, holding this cordless drill, not really paying attention to anyone and this woman
comes up behind me.
"Excuse me," she said.
Now you have to understand, this watch was extremely interesting and I wasn't trying to be rude, I really wasn't,
but I didn't look up.
"Huh?," I grunted. To be honest, I wasn't sure if she was talking to me or not. So that grunt could be a response
but also could be a generic grunt if she was, in fact, talking to someone else.
"Uh, my name is Janet Riley."
Why was a woman introducing herself to a man holding a power tool and looking at watches? I still hadn't looked
up at this point.
"That's nice," I said.
This watch was so cool. It had a game of Tetris built in, a timer/stopwatch, a light so you could read it in the
dark, and-
Janet Riley? I looked up and saw Janet Riley, just standing there.
I was speechless.
Janet smiled and looked me in the eye.
"Neat watches?," she asked.
Slowly, I nodded.
"They have three different alarm settings," I said.
And this is how Janet Riley and I met after all those years.
So, you see, it is sort of the beginning.

***

I remember looking at the paper and thinking, I know this.
I did know it, too, and it was beginning to upset me.
I tapped my pencil on my desk and continued to glare at this sheet of paper. I started, daydreaming of the
different ways I could destroy this piece of paper. I could burn it, I could crumble it up and throw it away, I could turn in into a paper airplane, I could rip it into pieces. Although doing these things wouldn't have helped me remember who Samuel Adams was.
Revolutionary something, I kept thinking. For the life of me, I couldn't remember.
I kept thinking he was John Adams, the second president of the United States. But they're different people.
Did he help write the constitution?
Damn it.
I looked over at Janet Riley, sitting there with her khaki shorts and plaid shirt, her silly pigtails that I
always thought made her look like Pippi Longstockings, writing away as if she not only knew what Samuel Adams did but what the name of his favorite brand of potato chips were and his dogs name was.
I dropped my pencil on the ground. Leaning over to pick it up, I accidentally glanced at her paper.
I saw something about the Continental Congress. Oh yeah, that was it!
I started writing furiously. I finished just before the bell rang for lunch. Everyone exited the classroom.
As we were leaving, I approached Janet Riley and stuck out my hand for her to shake.
"Thank you."

Obviously, Janet had no idea what I was thanking her for.
She shook my hand anyway, she always was the trusting type.
"Uh, you're welcome. May I ask what for?"
"I completely spaced out Sam Adams and you, or more so your paper, reminded me."
"So you copied me on the test?"
"Not copied, just refreshed my memory."
"I see."

Janet was a girl of few words.
"Well," she continued, "glad I could be of help."
I smiled.
"Say," she continued again, "what's your name?"
"Nick," I said. "What's your sign?"
"Uh…Aquarius, I think."
I nodded approvingly.
"Capricorn," I told her, "just barely though."
Janet nodded as if I just told her my chief hobby was satanic rituals.
"Well, thank you again, and I'll see you around," I said.
Janet nodded.
"Guess so."
This was my first encounter with Janet Riley. So, you see, this could also be the beginning.

***

Seeing Janet Riley after all these years caused two things to happen. One was a feeling of overwhelming
happiness to see her again. The second was I got so excited that I dropped the cordless drill on my foot.
"Aw, shit!," I yelled.
I suddenly realized where I was and looked around, embarrassed. Janet seemed more embarrassed
than myself. Figured.
I picked up the drill and looked back to Janet. She looked so different, yet utterly the same.
"…What happened to the pigtails?"
She laughed quietly.
"Oh, I got tired of them. I like it like this."
Her sandy blond hair was now pulled back in a single ponytail.
"God, I don't know what to say."
Janet just stared.
"Uh, a hello would be nice," she said.
I laughed and hugged her.
"My name is Janet Riley? What, are you trying to sell me something? How could I possibly
forget you?," I exclaimed.
"Well, I wasn't sure how you were going to react."
"What? Did you think I was going to try to rip your head off or something? Come on, that was
years ago. I barely remember what it was about."

"Well, isn't it the reason we haven't talked in so many years?"
"I dunno, we went to different colleges…and…well, we just sort of lost contact. It happens."
"So you're not still mad at me?"
I laughed.
"Mad at you? How could I stay mad at you?"
It was so good to see her again. I forgot how much I had missed her.

That was the extent of the meeting. I really was glad to see her and wanted to talk to her for hours
and hours more but she said she really had to go. She had to take care of some business (she was actually working
for a movie studio out in Hollywood) and her plane left tomorrow. So we said our goodbyes and she left.
I didn't sleep much that night, I stayed up thinking about Janet, about how our relationship
went from the occasional glance in history to the best friend I really ever had.

***

 

I knew Sam Adams now, but who the hell was Chester Nimitz?
Janet knew.
Using the same damn pencil trick that worked for me all throughout middle school I glanced
over at Janet's paper.
Admiral at the Battle of Midway. Duh. I knew that.
Although when I did it this time Janet saw and smiled at me.
Since our initial meeting in US History we had become good acquaintances. That's what I call someone
who isn't a real friend but more than someone I just happen to know.
It took a little work, though. Janet was not the easiest person to convince you were a good guy. She
was a little naïve about certain things, and didn't quite understand the comedic wave of the late 90's. You know, the dry sarcasm that most of us grew to love and adopt into our own sense of humor?
Anyway, I had to be extra nice to her and resort to a very Sesame Street type humor with her so
that she could see I wasn't all sarcasm. Eventually I think I won her over. We didn't call each other or see each other
outside of school at first, but the seeds for a future friendship had been planted.
Sophomore year: I decided that Janet was a great person, but she needed to learn the ways of the
world. She thought you got a job based purely on your qualifications. She thought people got what they wanted through hard work and determination. She didn't understand politics and sexual stuff are all mixed in to the equation. So I decided to broaden her horizon.

I grabbed my school phone book and found her number.
Riley, Janet. 243-8329. Daughter to Jake and Sarah Riley. 293 Greentree Lane.
I called.
"Hello?" someone answered.
"Uh, hi, is Janet there, please?"
"Speaking."
"Janet, hey, it's Nick."
A pause.
"Hi Nick. Lose your homework or something?"
I laughed.
"No, no, I already did it actually. Listen, what are you doing tomorrow night?"
It was a Thursday today, so tomorrow would be Friday. Friday: Party Night. Something I was sure
Janet had never been to.
"Uh, studying for that bio test."
Studying on a Friday night? This girl needed to get out.
"All right, listen, postpone the studying. What do you say we go to a party?"
A long pause.
"A what?"
"Party. You know, food, people, music. A party."
"I don't know, Nick…I haven't been doing too good in Biology, I really need this A."
"What do you have? A 97%? Come on, it'll be fun."
A very, very long pause.
"Okay."
"Great. I'll pick you up at 7."
"See you then."
"Adios."
"Ciao."
That had been painless enough.
I ended up picking her up at 7:15, which she thought was a personal insult. I apologized
profusely but it got me nowhere.
"So, where are we going?," she asked curtly.
"Uh, we're going to Abby's."
"Who's Abby?"
"A friend of mine," I said.
"Why are we going to a party with your group of friends?"
"Well, would you rather go somewhere else? Are your friends having a party?"
Oops.
I started to apologize, "Ah-I'm sorry, I didn't mean that-."
She cut me off, "Nevermind. We'll go to your party."
She seemed to be very upset. Something wasn't quite right, here.
I pulled into a vacant parking lot and stopped the car.
Facing her, I asked, "What's the problem?"
She looked away.
"Nothing," she said distantly.
"Something's wrong," I said, "I've never seen anyone get so upset over such ridiculous
reasons. What's the problem?"
She looked back at me with tears running down her cheek.
"What's wrong?," I asked, this time with real concern.
"Nothing," she said. "It's nothing."
Neither of us said anything for a minute. No, literally, we sat there for 60 seconds in complete
silence. It felt like an eternity.
"If you could be anywhere right now, where would it be?" I asked.
"Home," she responded. "Studying."
Now for the 64 Thousand Dollar Question.
"Why?"
Again, there was a minute's lapse of silence.
"Do you believe in God?" I asked.
That one caught her off guard.
"What? Why?"
"Well," I said, not quite sure myself, "I figure if we can have a conversation about the deep
meaning of life then a normal conversation about going to a party will be like a piece of cake."
Good save.
"All right. Well then, yes, I do believe in a higher power. What about you?"
Believe it or not, we spent the entire night in that parking lot. We talked about everything from
religion to poetry to music to people. We actually quite enjoyed each others company. I explained to her what I thought her problem was and she admitted that's why she had been crying: She'd never gone to a party before and she was extremely nervous.
I glanced at the clock in my car.
"I doubt Abby wants us knocking on her door at one in the morning, eh?"
We laughed and I drove her home.
From that moment on, she and I were inseparable. We did everything together. She helped me
remember my historical figures and I helped her to understand some of the more realistic sides of life she was never really aware of. I think we even fumbled our way into a kiss once, but we decided it was very silly and not even to try it. We truly went through everything together.
I would call her and we would talk for hours and hours on end. She would call me and we would
talk even more. It was odd, we never ran out of things to talk about. Things were great between us, we really
were--uh, what's the term?--two pods in a plant. No, two peas in a peanut. No, two pods in a pea. Well, you get the idea.
Now, I'm sure you're thinking: What could possibly have happened to come between these two great friends?
The answer: Another girl.
No, Janet was not gay.
But I certainly wasn't either, which caused some trouble.
You see, I had had my eye on this girl all throughout High School: Wendy Jones. Wendy was
amazing, both physically and personality-wise. Janet was always a little envious of her, I think, but the idea of Wendy and me together was like the idea of Hitler and Churchill hitting it off at a party.

Amazingly enough, at a party Janet and I were at, the iron curtain fell. Actually, the curtain was more lace, but

either way I saw Wendy naked. She was halfway through switching outfits and some moron knocked over the curtain thing she was changing behind. Her face went bright red and she ran into a closet. I was in a state of awe and Janet was just laughing.
The party came to an end around midnight and the only people left were myself, Janet, the
hostess (named Cindy), and Wendy. For some unknown reason, Wendy hadn't left when her dignity did.
We sat around talking for a while. Wendy said very little. Janet had to go eventually, and it was
just down to me, Cindy, and Wendy.
Gulp.
Then, and I still think to this day she did it for the sole purpose of being mean, Cindy excused
herself to go upstairs for a minute. Which left myself…and Wendy.
Gulp. Again.
So I sat, not saying a word, waiting for Cindy to come back. She didn't.
So I sat some more, anxiously awaiting Cindy's return. But, alas, she didn't.
So I sat a bit longer, really, really, really wanting Cindy to come back. Of course, she didn't.
Finally, Wendy said something.
"So…what did you think?"
I looked around.
"Who are you talking to?"
"You."
"What did I think of what?"
"You know," she said, embarrassed.
I honestly didn't know.
"No, I don't."
"Do I have to spell it out for you?"
"It'd help," I said.
"You saw me changing…and…"
"You want to know what I think of the outfit?"
"Well…" she said, "more so, what's under the outfit."
My heart stopped.
She looked at me with a non-descript expression.
"You okay?" she asked.
I stuttered, "Da-ah-well, uh-could…could you call 9-1-1?"
"What?" she asked, quite perplexed.
I took a moment to breathe. I was sure I could feel the tightness from my chest moving
into my arm.
"I thought it was good," I finally said.
"Just good?"
"No, actually. In retrospect I now realize it was amazing."
She smiled and asked, "What are you doing next Friday?"
I've just entered another dimension. A dimension of sound, a dimension of sight, a dimension
of mind. I've moved into a land of both shadow and substance, of things and ideas. I've just crossed over
into The Twilight Zone.
And so I left Cindy's party with a date-yes, a date-with Wendy Jones.
Oh, one other thing I didn't tell you. I had a girlfriend already at this point. Her name was Jenny.
But for Wendy Jones that was a minor detail.
Now, here's where the fight starts: Janet decides what I did was morally wrong, which it probably was.

So Janet tells Jenny what I had done.

My cheek went through different shades of red throughout the rest of the week. Near the end
the imprint of Jenny's ring might as well have been a freakish birthmark.
I liked Jenny quite a bit and I did feel bad about what I did, but…
Wendy Jones!
That made everything okay. That justified everything.
Then Janet decided to tell Wendy that my girlfriend had dumped me because I'd made a date with her.
She felt so bad that she called and cancelled the date.
Slamming the phone against my head after we hung up my blood began to boil. Understandably,
I was rather upset with Wendy for playing God in my social life.
So I called her and yelled at her for a good, long time and said some things I probably shouldn't have.
She started crying and I got so upset that I hung up on her.
And that was the last time I had talked to Janet Riley.
God, I'm a moron.

***

 

It was one of those Hollywood endings, with the hero racing through the airport to stop his love
from getting on the plane. Let me tell you, running through an airport is harder than any decathlon you could enter. There's not just hurdles, there's people stopping for no reason, the occasional little kid that walks right in front of you, the people carrying giant "Welcome Home" signs so big they can't see in front of them, and so on.
And the worst part was that, after making my way through a giant airport in under two minutes, I found
out her flight was delayed an hour.
She was sitting in the terminal, reading a USA Today, when I caught up with her.
"Janet?"
She looked up.
"Nick? What's going on?"
"Don't go yet."
She laughed softly. "What do you mean?"
"I mean don't go yet. Stay here with me for a while."
"Why?"
"Because…" I love you. I didn't say it, but it occurred to me this morning I did.
"Sorry I don't have the answer you can just peek at."
I smiled. "That's okay."
"So," she continued, "why is it I shouldn't leave?"

I thought for a second. I had some vacation time coming to me and I was caught up with
my monthly payments.
"Never mind," I said. "I'll go with you."
So Janet and I waited for an hour and then boarded the 11:15 (now 12:15) flight to Los
Angeles, California.
As we flew towards the West Coast at 455 miles an hour, Mach 0.83, I couldn't help but stare in
Janet's eyes and wonder when I was going to tell her my epiphany. Oh well, I thought, there's time.
So, even though this is the end, it's also the beginning.



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