Responsibility (short story)

 

Jayne lugged the last crate of freshly washed beer-glasses to the front-bar and restocked the shelves. Glancing around the busy room, she wiped over the polished oak counter and reflected on the controlled chaos that was her life. It was another Saturday night, after eleven years of Saturday nights, working in Flannery’s Pub. She knew most of the customers and her routine had become so familiar she could do it in her sleep. In fact, on nights when she was especially exhausted, she often dreamt about working long after her head hit the pillow.

She was Manager now which, she knew, was less about her prowess in the job, and more about the fact her young colleagues kept leaving. They moved on to better paying jobs or, if they had studied at University, they moved on to professional careers. She, meanwhile, was going nowhere. Her employers knew it. Her colleagues knew it. The customers and everyone in town knew it. In a world which moved endlessly forward, her life had escaped this Universal Law of Physics and remained dead still.

Gradually, as the years marched forward, she noticed that her colleagues seemed to grow younger and younger, until eventually she no longer felt like she was one of them. She didn’t understand their vernacular, music, or computer-games; and their interests and worries were no longer the same as hers. Increasingly, they were leaving her out of their jokes and gossip, presumably assuming that she would find their conversations dull. Yet, she was happy enough with how things were. She liked her customers, the shifts fitted in well with the demands and responsibilities of her life, and she felt lucky to have a job in a small town with few employment opportunities.

A blast of cold air suddenly rushed across the room, sending serviettes flying, as the front-door banged open and two young women entered. Jayne looked up from her work, expecting that she would probably recognise who they were.

The young women remained standing beside the doorway, folding umbrellas and removing coats. They were scanning the room, seemingly in search of an empty table. Both were tall and pretty and appeared to be in their late 20’s. They were also beautifully dressed in clothes which could only have been bought in one of the larger cities, as the smaller rural towns, like the one in which Jayne lived, didn’t stock anything so impractical or expensive.

The women laughed loudly. All eyes turned in their direction, but they continued laughing, lost in their own amusement. The sound of their laughter was somehow familiar to Jayne. It was the first thing about the women that she recognised. But the memories were from so long ago. From a time when Jayne’s life had been very different from how it was now. So different that to think about it brought tears to her eyes and left a dark heaviness on her heart.

Annoyed at herself, Jayne reflected on the importance of stoicism. Sentimentality, after all, was for people without all the responsibilities she carried. Straightening up, she fixed her eyes on the women’s faces, which were growing increasingly familiar. It had been ten years earlier, and their faces were younger then. In fact, all of their faces were younger then, hers included. And they had all been so happy. Together. Happy and hopeful and young together.

The tears welled in her eyes once more and she wiped them away roughly with the sleeve of her dress. She shook her head in an attempt to shake away the foolish emotions. Pointless. So long ago. And I was a someone else back then.

But the memories were bubbling to the surface. Faster and faster, they bubbled around her. Memories that she hadn’t let herself dwell on for so many years. She tried – but she couldn’t push them away. They were like treasures she’d buried far away under the ocean, but now they’d worked their way loose – unexpectedly – and they floated one after the other to the surface, then on a tide back to her. Beautiful memories. Golden memories. Jewels of memories of happiness and hope.

No! That was a long time ago, she told herself. Too long ago. She had responsibilities now. People … people she loved depended on her. Those were the hopes of another life and another time and another person. A child with impossible impractical dreams … and without adult responsibilities.

But, in her head, a voice whispered: Where are you on that list of responsibilities?What about you?

Jayne felt confused. The memories had triggered some sort of mutiny in her mind. She had never considered that what she did in her life was anything other than Necessary. Duty. Fine.

Her heart hammered in her ears like a war-drum. And, the room seemed to be spinning. Jayne grabbed onto the counter, knowing that if she didn’t she might soon collapse to the floor. Her fingers were tingling and her knees had grown weak.

This was terrible. The memories. The women from her past. These successful women who had moved on so far from her that they were now worlds apart. They mustn’t see her. They mustn’t know that she still lived in this tiny town and she still worked in this dead-end job and she had thrown all her dreams and plans away. Plans they had all talked about long into the night over many years. Obviously, they’d followed through with their plans. But her ...

Why did they come back?! Things were fine, until they came back and set free ridiculous ideas and hopes and memories ...

Jayne desperately looked around for her colleague, Ned. Perspiration formed droplets on her forehead and on her palms. Where was he? Way across the room, she spotted him. Clearing tables and chatting to customers.

Oh, geez. He had to take over. She had to go home. Now! The women couldn’t see her. It was all becoming a confusing nightmare. She could phone for a relieving Casual to take her place, once she escaped to a backroom. But she had to let Ned know what she was doing.

He’s not turning around! She knew he would wander around the room chatting and cleaning up and oblivious to her emergency for ages. Too long. So, she would need to cross the room herself to talk to him.

Jayne pulled her hair down over her face and held her hand up to her forehead, like a visor shielding her from a blinding spotlight. She hunched down, scanning the carpet between feet and tables following along an imaginary trail. Almost there. She inched towards her colleague with growing confidence that it would be Okay.

Suddenly, a hand grabbed her shoulder from behind and a voice shot out at her: ‘Jayne!’

Maybe it’s another Jayne, she told herself ... and continued forward picking up the pace.

‘Jayne Miller!’ the voice fired out again - only louder. Jayne raised her head and found all eyes in the room were fixed on her. Conversations had stopped and the only sound she could hear was the war-drumming of her heart. She wished the floor would swallow her completely.

Slowly, she straightened up … pulled the hair back from her face … and turned to face her accuser. Aware that her hands were visibly shaking and perspiration was now dripping from her fingers, she swung her arms behind her back and attempted to drag her tongue from the roof of her mouth - where it had become stuck – so she could speak.

With herculean effort, Jayne dragged the corners of her mouth into a smile, then managed to whisper, ‘Hello, Gayle. How are you?’ Then, seeing the other woman racing in her direction, she added, ‘Hello, Amanda.’

The young women wrapped their arms around her, laughing and hugging her in tandem. Jayne became annoyingly aware that she hadn’t felt vulnerable – taken care of by anyone else – in years. She stiffened and pulled away.

The young women stepped back, smiling at her.

‘We haven’t seen you since High-School!’ one said.

‘So, How are you? What are you up to?’ the other added.

Suddenly aware of the uniform Jayne was wearing, they both said in unison:

‘Do you still work here?!’

Oh, jeez, Jayne thought. The obvious question. The dreaded question. The question that held a huge mirror up to her life – focusing on everything she was and did in a glaring accusing spotlight.

The tears had returned and were now running down her cheeks. The word Failure repeated in her mind over and over like a jack-hammer: Fail-ure. Fail-ure. Fail-ure. She had let them down. All those years at school, together, discussing plans and careers and families of their own one day … and all their hopes for the future.

She pinched her finger to stop the tears. It didn’t work. Her emotional defences were broken and the Past was punching her in the face. She knew how scruffy she looked … and her apron smelled of stale beer. Although, her clothes had been fresh and clean at the start of her shift … but, they didn’t know that. And, so what – even if she had been wearing a clean apron …

She focused her attention on a spot on the carpet - willing her tears to stop. She hadn’t cried in ten years. She didn’t plan to start now. It was so stupid. Childish.

She thought back: The last time she had let herself cry was at her mother’s funeral, eight years earlier. She had been eighteen.

And before that - two years earlier - she had cried when she realised that despite coming top of her school, and having her teachers tell her that she could achieve anything in life she wanted - she knew that it was her responsibility to care for her mother. Her young mother who never asked to get bowel cancer … and secondaries in her bones … and pain-filled sleepless nights. Her mother … who had tried to help her with the housework. Of course, she had told her mother: No. I can manage fine. You rest. And she had managed. She loved her family. She regretted none of her choices. It was her responsibility.

So why the tears? So stupid to cry. So weak and stupid … and in front of her successful friends. A nightmare.

But the tears ran freely and her mind was so tired she couldn’t think.

The young women somehow walked her to a table, sat her in a chair, and Ned was summoned to bring them drinks. Strong ones.

Jayne felt foolish – but also comforted. Wrapped in arms as strong as her own. Women who seemed to love her and look after her as she had done for her family … And their words, which drifted to her through the night and the drinks, made sense: Responsibility to take care of yourself. Your Mother would have wanted you to take care of yourself. Your Mother would have wanted you to follow your dreams. Your siblings and father can look after themselves now. They’re old enough now. Ten years, long enough ...

The evening continued with all the words Jayne knew she needed to hear. Hope stirred first in her heart - and this was followed by relief, as the heavy burden of responsibility which she had shouldered for so very long lifted away. Her siblings had just finished high school, and her father had been doing better for a long time; he was even a pretty good cook.

Jayne took off her apron, after noticing that Ned had already called in relief staff - not needing to be told by her. She also realized that her friends were right: other people can shoulder the responsibility of their own lives … and she did have a duty of responsibility to herself - her mother would have wanted her to follow dreams and put herself on her list of people she needed to care for.

The three young women left the pub just before closing, having made lots of plans for the future: Jayne would stay with them, in the city, while she started at University and she could work part-time in a city pub. It would be fun, the three of them together again.

Jayne handed her apron to Ned, on the way out the door. She wouldn’t need it anymore. Like all the other young people she had watched move on from Flannery’s Pub over the years, the time had come for her to be the one saying Goodbye.

                                                              * * *