The Quintessence of Macy Jensen

I was tired of always lying; it was like an itch on my back I could never reach, and their was never anyone there to scratch it for me. I lied to my mother constantly about grades, her thinking I was an A student while I barely made it past a B-. I lied to my best friends about why I couldn’t go to as many parties on the weekends. And to top it all off, I felt like I needed to lie to Macy-freaking-Jensen, somebody I naturally couldn’t care about -whether she knew what was happening in my life or not.

But in that moment when she asked who the girl shying behind my legs was, the word “sister” fell off my tongue without asking me first, and I cringed after I heard my own words but knew there was nothing I could do. So I kept up the lie and watched as she walked away, a bounce in her step that I realized she always had. I cringed at my water-stained ceiling, why did I care about the way she walked, with a bounce or not? She was a loner and nobody I would associate with in a million years. I sighed as I stood from my bed after I ignored my mother’s first call and she called for a second time. I took my sweet time as I bounded down the staircase to the living room where she sat, her apron crowded around her feet and my father sitting beside her with the newspaper in one hand and a cigar in the other.

“What mom?” I was an ignorant high school student and what more could anyone ask for? My father sure couldn’t, I had already gained his unconditional love the moment I was deemed captain of the football team. My mother on the other hand, well she could find anything to nag me about; whether it was my messy room or uncombed hair. She liked to point out the flaws in the clothes I choose to wear and she always ranted about my style right before I left for school, and my father would be my saving grace and tell her in a harsh voice to “stop annoying your son Lola.” My mother and father then would get into a tiff as I left the house, closing out their curses as I locked the door behind me. And when I came home after football practice my mother would be a mess in her navy apron wiping her eyes of dried tears and waxed mascara. And it went the same way every time it happened, like clockwork: I would sit next to her and let her fall into my arms and get tears on my shirt. I would then ask her where dad went and it would always be the same answer, “out.”

And without fail, my father would stumble home at nine on the dot reeking of alcohol; go to bed; then make up with my mother in the morning. It was a wonder they weren’t divorced, and to be frank I was prepared for that very day, whether sooner or later. “Can you please take Amelia home now?” She asked as she fussed with her skirt, one that was white and full of spaghetti stains. I had missed dinner again, but it didn’t matter, it wasn’t like I’d missed it before. Actually, I had missed the daily meal many times this week, and I had to blame my stupid decision for that, a decision I made nearly two years prior. And that decision had changed my life - and it would keep change it forever on. I was younger back then but I couldn’t say stupider. I would probably make the same damn choice if it was thrust in front of me this very second. It took me a few minutes to find Amelia and rip her away from the doll she was tearing apart, and a little struggle as she thrashed about screaming for me to let her down.

“Stop it Amelia it’s time to go home now.” I tried to prompt her with the prospect of going back to her home, the place where she lived every other day of the year minus the one week I watched her. But she wouldn’t have it and cried some more, calling out nothing I could comprehend. I finally grew irritated as I dropped her to the floor, running a hand through my hair before calling my mother in distress. The door opened with a screech as my mother stepped in the room. She sighed and leaned down to Amelia’s level, running a hand through her child-like hair. “Come on Amelia, it’s time to see mommy.”

Amelia looked up to my mother with a pout but nodded her head nonetheless, holding her arms out for me to take. I grabbed her in my arms before turning to the closed door, where my mother once stood. I let the door hang open as I left, gripping onto the wooden rail as my bare feet made contact with the polished wood. “Come on Amelia, say goodbye to your grandma and grandpa,” I prompted as I stood in front of my dad, him dropping his paper and putting out his cigar. “Goodbye Amelia darling.” My mother kissed her cheek like always and Amelia giggled in return like always. “Goodbye Amelia.” My father ruffled her hair like always and Amelia smiled like always. Then I was off, driving down the main rode with Amelia in her car seat and the radio on some rock station.



I stood in Fay McGovern’s foyer as she bustled into the room with curler in hand, which held it in place in her strawberry hair. She smiled, not at me but at the girl in my arms who was grabbing at Fay. “Hello baby girl I’ve missed you.” She cooed as she dropped the curler to the table placed against the adjacent wall, picking up Amelia from my arms. She bounced the girl who replicated Fay on her hip, a hip that was just bone. “I hope you had fun with daddy.”

“Yeah, we had fun.” Once I said those four words it was as if Fay just realized I was in the room, for she looked up at me with slate eyes that held no emotion. “Yeah, thanks Brett, for taking her and all. But I have to go, so I’ll see you the next time you take Amelia.”

It was funny, the way Fay talked to me as if we were a divorced couple and I lived in a different state, only seeing her when I came to pick up my daughter. But, in all actuality, me and Fay saw each other day in and day out; in classes, in the hallways, hell even when I went to her roommates’ party and made out with her in Fay’s bedroom. She was a passing face that I never talked to, for it brought up to many memories for both me and Fay. It brought up the memory of that one night where everything changed, it brought up that one night that I left her to wonder if I was ever going to come back.