Jessie

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ODE TO MY FAMILY

SFX:	Knock knock knock

The door is opened by a young teenage girl, around eleven or twelve, with witty blue eyes. Her hair is white-blonde and swept back in a braid. She is dressed as if she's about to go on a long hike, warm and sensible, all that's missing is a back-pack. One can tell from her expression that for some reason she is quite pleased with herself.

Girl:

Oh, you made it! Great, I was beginning to think it was you who wrapped your car around a tree. It's been on the radio at least six times in the last half-hour! I really hate the radio sometimes. Honestly, if I could find a decent station with no commercials or news breaks every fifteen minutes I'd be in heaven! You don't know of any do you? I didn't think so. Nobody does. Anyhow, you didn't come all this way just to listen to me ramble on, I better introduce you to everyone before you run off like all the others.

The girl opens the door wider and walks down a short but cosy hallway, the walls covered with framed photographs of a large family. The carpet is a dusty white, marred in places by faint-coloured stains. Approximately eight pairs of shoes of varying size and description sit in a jumbled heap by the door. A coat rack stands in the opposite corner. The girl stops by a wood-pannelled doorway, patiently waiting.

Girl:	One thing I can tell you before we start, my family's enormous. Four boys and three girls, two parents, and all that's missing is the partridge in the pear tree. And you thought you felt sorry for the Brady Bunch! Can you imagine what it's like having three brothers older than you, with an average mental age of seven? I can tell you, it's not pleasant. The only good thing about having nine people in the one house is that we all have our own bathrooms. *chuckles* At least Mom and Dad were smart enough to finish those arguments before they started; it's bad enough with everyone fighting over the TV.
Woman:	Jessie, is that you?
Jessie:	Yes Mom.
Mom:	Who are you talking to hon?
Jessie:	Uh, nobody. Just myself.
Mom:	Would you keep it down a little then, you know how Zoë gets with loud noise.
Jessie:	Sorry. . . . I suppose you've probably figured it out, but that's my Mom. Who would have thought she'd still be having kids at her age? I'm not even sure if Mom thought she would be. I mean, my oldest brother's nineteen, but Zoë – my baby sister – she's only one. Well, she's actually about a month away from turning two, but still. That's an awful long time. And nine kids! Ouch! I swore to myself a long time ago I'd only ever have two kids, and hopefully they'll both be caesareans. How Mom endured giving birth nine times is something I'll never understand. But then, she really loves children, especially babies. You only need to see her with Zoë to figure that one out. Taking care of a little baby takes up a lot of a person's time, so I guess it's pretty understandable when Mom sometimes forgets about the rest of us. Zoë's only just learning to walk, how on earth can she take care of herself without anyone else? It does get a little annoying at times, having to ask a question three or four times before she even hears, but she gets pretty run down by the end of the day too. I mean, watch this. . . . Mom, when's dinner?
Mom:	*frustrated* Jessica Grace, do I have to do everything for you?! I'm not your slave, you're more than old enough to get your own dinner!
Jessie:	*shrugs* See?

Casual as anything, Jessie walks into the kitchen towards the refridgerator, not even glancing at a woman in her early forties sitting at the enormous table. Kind sea-coloured eyes and a long blonde braid falling down her back is testament to which of her parents Jessie takes after. In front of her a cute toddler (also blonde) is sitting in a high chair, being taught how to use a spoon. Both mother and toddler are wearing bibs spotted with evidence of the last few disasters.

Mom:	Now that's good, Zoë. Yes, the spoon goes in . . . and slowly up. Good girl! Now lift it up, where does the spoon go Zoë?

Zoë puts the spoon in her mouth cautiously, almost afraid it'll turn into a snake and bite her.

Mom:	Good girl Zoë! Good girl! You're so clever, aren't you?
Zoë:	Mama!!

Grinning, Jessie walks back towards the door, a green apple in hand.

Jessie:

She's gorgeous isn't she? Everybody who sees her just goes immediately into GaGa land. I find it quite amusing actually. I honestly have to wonder sometimes if all the attention's not going to turn her into some kind of doll. I saw that on a movie once, the girl was sixteen and her mother still forced her to curl her hair and wear ribbons and all. It was just really sad, sixteen going on nine. God forbid Zoë ever end up like that. Although I think if it does Avie and I should be able to save her. One thing little girls can't resist is playing with make-up. *chuckles* Avie'll have her out of ribbons so fast it'll make Mom's head spin! Who knows, maybe Dad'll find enough time in between phone-calls and his hand-held technology to laugh about it. He's got such a weird sense of humour. But even that's better than no sense of humour at all. You see all the bastards on TV, who beat up their wives and terrorise their kids, and it really does make me thank God that even if Dad's a bit goofy, at least he's nothing like any of those assholes. It's kinda weird, from what my friends tell me, all their parents are afraid of their microwaves and refuse to get within ten feet of their VCRs, but Dad's not like that, he's the exact opposite. *chuckles* Think yourself lucky you weren't here when he thought he'd lost his most-prized possession (besides Mom and us kids of course), his cam-corder. It was quite amusing to watch.

Tossing her blonde braid over her shoulder, Jessie leads the way into a large open space obviously identified as a lounge-room by the two large couches occupying a good part of the space. A large AV unit resides in one corner, entertaining a young boy – again, a blond – of approximately 4 or 5 with the sights and sounds of Sesame Street. Not noticing him, Jessie pulls aside one of a pair of folding doors. Inside – ignoring the nine school desks – rings with the air of a study. A man of early middle-age, perhaps a few years younger, is relaxed in an office chair, feet resting on the office desk in front of him. A phone receiver held between ear and shoulder, he's fiddling with the complex-looking controls of an expensive-looking camera. He spares a few seconds to wave to Jessie before returning back to 'work'.

Jessie:	That's Dad for you, *shrugs* always busy with one thing or another. Over there's Mackie. He does what we feed him to, sit there quietly, play with his toys and look cute. *chuckles* He does a pretty good job of it too. He's growing out of the tantrums, Mom's so busy with Zoë I think she just ignores him. All he's after most of the time is the attention. Avie's a bit the same way, I think she resents not being the baby of the family anymore, but she'll get over it. You don't wanna see her when she gets into a real tantrum though. It's a battle of wills between Mom and Avie, who can last longer. Most of the time Avie loses because she freaks out Zoë, then Mom goes ballistic at her and Avie ends up grounded for a week. Poor child, she just doesn't understand the art of negotiation. I remember the time when she bro–
Boy:	Jessie, you haven't seen Zac around have you?
Jessie:	No Tay I haven't. Why?

Taylor's already turned away.

Taylor:

Oh, no reason.

Jessie:

Now there's another thing I've not been able to work out, even in three years. Taylor must get a million letters every day, and at least two-thirds are proclamations of undying love and/or marriage proposals. Correct me if I'm mistaken, but I think that's just plain sick. Tay has got to be the weirdest person I've ever met. I mean, he's happy to spend entire days staring out his window, lost in his own little world. Sure he likes to get outside and rollerblade or play soccer, but even more he likes to daydream. You could be in a conversation with him, say one wrong word and he's off on his own little fantasy trip. It's infuriating; I know, it's happened to me several times. Is that really healthy? Honestly, if he got locked in his room for fifty years I doubt it'd bother him one bit. Which is another thing I can't understand, because his room is so . . . so . . . boring. Maybe he'd spend the first couple of years painting the walls and the furniture and all? Then he'd just spend the rest of his life stretched out on his window seat, existing in a world he's made up. Now that may sound like Seventh Heaven to him, but not to me. How bored would you get? He kinda reminds me of something I saw on Ally McBeal. John was in prison, talking to Ally about why she lived in her own little dream world, and that the only reason she did was because the world she created was the only one in the end that wouldn't let her down. I don't really know if that applies to him or not, but he does like Ally McBeal a lot when he gets the time to watch it, so I can't help assuming so.

Absently, Jessie starts walking up the narrow stairs. The polished wood seems to be oak.

Jessie:

There's only two other people left in the family, and neither of them are here right now, which is really useful. In fact, Zac's hardly ever here period. He's always off somewhere with one or two of his billion friends. There may be a lot of 'people persons' in this world, but I reckon it'd take someone really friendly or really rich to beat the number of friends Zac has. So many Johns and Tims and Billys and Davids, I never know which one (or ones) he's talking about come dinnertime when he recounts all his adventures, as such. To me they're all just the Davids or the Jakes or whatever. If it weren't for Zac, Tay really would never leave his room. I learned a lot of my negotiating skills from Zac; if he can get Tay to come down out of his dreams for a few hours, he has to be good!

Still absently, Jessie heads for the end of the upstairs corridor, towards a door on the left.

Jessie:

And I think if there's one way to describe Isaac, it's that he takes after Dad. That has to prove, at least in our family's case, that goofiness is inherited. Or maybe it's just because Ike's been around Dad the longest. I pity older brothers that way; no matter how much Mom and Dad annoy me, Ike, Tay and Zac have had to put up with it a whole lot longer. But Ike's really sweet. Doesn't give a damn what anyone else thinks, which I suppose is why he can do things that are kind of . . . well . . . just a little bit dumb. Like some of his impersonations, I'm just like 'Yes . . . that's nice Ike. . . .' slowly moving away. *chuckles* But that's all forgiven because he must be about the only person in this whole house who cares what I think or what I'm thinking. Sometimes he's the only one who even remembers I'm alive. It's kinda the down side of having such a huge family, you get lost in the crowd. Which is good sometimes but still, it'd be nice if somebody actually saw me. . . .

For a second, an infinitely sad look is evident on Jessie's young face as she stands by the door to her room.

Jessie:

Anyway, you'll have to excuse me, I have to go pack.

The door closes behind her.

*
A knock outside Jessie's door.

Isaac:

Jessie?

Silence.

Isaac:

Jess? Dinner's ready, you gonna come down?

Silence.

Isaac:

Jessie? Are you okay?

Silence. Strangely worried, Isaac pushes open his younger sister's door. The room displays Jessie's avid fondness for ballet, the soft cream-white walls hung with posters and paintings of ballerinas. On a small peg by the canopied bed hang a pair of faint-pink pointe shoes. Otherwise the room is empty.

Isaac:

Jessie?

Nestled among the pillows of the bed is a white stationery envelope. His hesitancy obvious in his expression, Isaac picks up the envelope and takes out the letter. Reading through the handwritten letter, his eyes slowly widen in shock.

Isaac:

Oh shit.

Sighing almost in disbelief, he sits heavily on Jessie's bed, head resting in his hands.


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