Jessie

NOW I CAN DANCE

The front door opens. Looking like he just rolled out of bed, a young man of around 14 trudges down the driveway. The mailbox – his destination – is packed. He grabs the bundle of letters and the mail-bag resting on the ground and, mumbling sleepily, drags his feet back up to the house.
Isaac, Taylor and Mrs. Hanson are the only occupants of the kitchen, Isaac at the table, Taylor and Mrs. Hanson washing the breakfast dishes. Zac walks in, dumps the mail-bag on the table, pulls up a seat and goes through the wad of letters in his hand.

Zac:	Bills, bills, bills, more bills. Tay, the mail-bag's for you, do you want me to throw it out now or use it for kindling?
Taylor:	Real funny Zac.
Zac:	Wasn't it? Bills, bills, this one's for you Ike, bills, bills and, drumroll please, another bill.
Taylor:	Thank-you for sharing that.
Zac:	You're welcome. Now if you'll all excuse me.

 
Zac walks out of the room, heading for the stairs. Chuckling wryly at his younger brother, Isaac opens the letter. The address on the envelope has been handwritten, but has been deliberately masked.
 

The Letter:

Dear Isaac. Please don't shout out to everyone that it's a letter from me, I know you'll recognise my hand-writing and all. Just give me a chance to explain and I will. Knowing Mom and Dad they'll have had the cops looking for me night and day, but they won't find me. As you may have already noticed, this letter was hand-delivered by a very good friend of mine, so there's no post-mark on it to tell you where I am. But first things first, I hope this finds you well. When the chance comes up to do it discreetly, give mom a kiss for me, tell her I'm okay. Because I am. To be honest I've never felt better. I suppose you're wondering why I ran away. This is going to sound really weird, and I doubt you'll understand but . . . well . . . I just had to. It had nothing to do with you or anyone else, but I was suffocating. If I'd have stayed much longer, I would have just wilted away. Here, I've found a place where I can be myself. Nobody knows who I am, and I can do everything I've ever wanted to do. You probably think I'm too young to be doing stuff like this, but I've grown up very quickly. Not that anyone noticed. I think that was the major thing, that nobody even noticed me. You and Tay and Zac all look out for each other, and Avie and Mackie are still playing dolls and trucks and tea-parties together. Where did that leave me?

The sound of shattering pottery breaks Isaac's concentration. Mrs. Hanson kneels over a broken mug – Jessie's – in tears quickly reaching flood proportions. Both Taylor and Isaac dash to their mother's side, comforting her. Zac walks in at that point, seeing the letter left on the table, the handwriting capturing his full attention.

The Letter:

Where I am right now is beautiful, and it suits me perfectly. I don't want you to come looking for me. Just be reassured that I'm okay, and I'm not in any danger. It's so peaceful, and there's so much for me to do instead of sitting around in my room brooding. I feel like I'm needed here. I wasn't at home, no matter how much you may have loved me or thought you loved me, I was just another mouth to feed. As I said, it wasn't anything that any of you did; it wasn't that you all weren't enough for me, I wasn't enough for myself. At the risk of sounding extremely cliché, I need to find myself. I need to find what it is that's going to make me happy. Here, if I want to spend the whole day practicing ballet, then I can. I suppose time really has no meaning here at all, that's what I love about it. Maybe one day I'll find the courage to tell you where I am, and you can come to visit. But right now I just need some time to myself. Once again, please don't tell anyone I wrote to you, I don't want them to worry. Just tell them that I'm safe, and most of all, that I'm happy. Luv, Jessie.

The look that passes between Isaac and Zac, whilst hard to put into words, is easily understandable. Zac's expression is bordering on helpless, whilst Isaac's is almost pleading. Sighing in resignation, Zac comes over to Diana, who's weeping over the broken mug.

Zac:	Hey Mom, it's alright. I know Jessie's okay, she's a survivor.
Mom:	*sobbing* How do you know?
Zac:	Call it a gut-feeling. Jessie's gonna be fine.

*
Cloistered in the study-come-office, a few minutes later.

Zac:	So what do we do?
Isaac:	What can we do?
Zac:	There's always telling Mom and Dad, but somehow I don't think that's such a good idea.
Isaac:	No, Jessie asked that we not tell them. If we can at least do that much for her.
Zac:	The cops might end up finding her you know.
Isaac:	And I'm the Queen of England. Jessie's not that stupid. And the cops probably wouldn't recognise her even if they tripped over her on the street!
Zac:	True enough, but that kinda leaves us right back where we started.
Isaac:	I know.

 
Lengthy silence.
 

Zac:	Ike?
Isaac:	Yeah?
Zac:	Do you . . . uh . . . do you think Jessie'll ever come home?
Isaac:	Honestly?
Zac:	Yeah.
Isaac:	I don't know . . . I just don't know.

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