Daydream Believer

It wasn’t a good day for a crisis. It was cloudy, and the air smelled of rain. Jean’s favourite sort of weather. So she tried to stay calm. Almost there, I’m leaving soon, she thought. Or staying, maybe I should stay. She had been feeling quite despondent towards the idea of leaving her childhood home. She was almost to the point of being maudlin.

Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the porcelain sink, looking at her freckled face in the mirror above. She glared into her own striking green eyes. It was all too much. So in that flash of a moment, she made her choice. She had to get going.

Jean traipsed over to her bed in the adjoined room, and lifted up the mattress. She reached out for her journal, a little black book where she wrote down her innermost thoughts. It was probably all gibberish, but it was her most important possession. She longed for the cathartic feeling that came with putting her mind into ink. As she blindly moved her hand beneath the mattress, it touched something else, something that was not the soft, worn leather cover of the small journal. This felt like card paper. She grasped at it, and dragged it out of the bed.

In the light, she realized it was an envelope. She’d never seen it before. Maybe it had been left by Tom or Tracy. Most likely the latter, Tom didn’t have a habit of hiding things. Jean didn’t want to be nosy, and she should’ve probably turned it right over to Tom, or maybe phoned Tracy for once, but she really wanted to open it. Jean had never been known for her decorum.

It was large, and somewhat heavy for an envelope. She ripped it open eagerly to reveal a large wad of cash. Her eyes widened. She’d never held this much money. Jean counted it out, bill by bill, and the whole stack summed up to twenty thousand dollars. There was so much she could do with the money. Jean didn’t even think of returning it now. And there was nothing else in the envelope. Nothing indicating an important use for it. So, she took it.

Jean reached for her journal and took out the pen. She grinned ardently as wrote: Today I found 20,000$.

“What are you doing?” said an accusatory voice coming from the doorway.

“Nothing,” responded Jean, with her best attempt at innocence. She didn’t turn to see who it was, but she hoped they would go away. Who was in her apartment anyway? And why? No one but her was supposed to be there. Tom was at work, and she didn’t recognize the voice. She had left the door open though, a clear invitation to those with limited social boundaries. Jean hadn’t asked any of her friends to help her move out, so she was doing it on her own. It wasn’t hard, Jean didn’t need to bring the furniture with her anyway. The job mostly consisted of collecting and packaging the knickknacks and clothing.

But the person in the doorway did not leave. Jean heard the soft footsteps as they came towards where she was kneeling. She sighed, and closed the journal. When she turned, she saw a kid. A little girl with puffy red hair and a mess of freckles across her face. She wore denim overalls with a colourful striped tee shirt underneath. And when she came closer, Jean noticed she smelled of fresh earth and vanilla.

“Who’re you?” Jean asked.

“Millicent Jean Blake. Millie-Jean to my friends,”

“My name’s Jean too!” Jean exclaimed fondly.

“It’s only my middle name. Jean is an old people name,” Millicent said in a matter-of-fact tone.

Jean frowned. She had been stressed lately, but not to the point that it aged her features. “I’m not old,”

“Yes, you are. You’ve got glasses and you drink tea!”

Jean glanced at the teacup and saucer she had left on the bedside table. It was still full with the milky earl grey; she had forgotten about it after she made it that morning. What a waste.

“That doesn’t make me old. Besides, it’s not like Millicent’s any better,”

Millicent crossed her arms at the insult. “Well, how old are you?” she asked.

“I’m nearly eighteen. You?”

“Nine and one eighth entirely,”

“What are you doing here, anyways?” Jean asked, remembering her former curiosity.

“I was just out for a walk. We’re neighbours, you know,”

“Not for long. I’m moving out today,”

“Well that’s too bad. Want some help?” Millicent offered amicably.

Jean ruminated the idea of this strange child helping her move. Millicent seemed gregarious, and could probably help to hasten the moving process. It was an odd situation all around, but she decided it probably wouldn’t be a bother. “Sure,”

“Great!”

“Wait, what about your parents? Won’t they be worried about you?”

“They’re at work,” she shrugged.

“Okay then. Come along and you can help me put my clothes in here,” said Jean, handing Millicent a medium-sized cardboard box.

Millicent followed her into the closet and helped her fold and package the hanging garments.

“Where are you going?” Millicent asked.

“I’m moving to school. I’m just going to put all my boxes in my car and leave tonight,” Jean responded. There. She had said it.

“You’re going to live at school?”

“Yeah, I’ll be in a dormitory, and have a roommate too,”

“Do you know your roommate?”

“No, not yet. I guess we’ll meet when I get there,”

“That’s weird,” Millicent noted.

“A little,” Jean agreed.

“What if you don’t like your roommate?” Millicent asked.

Jean hadn’t thought about this before. Would she have to find someone to switch roommates with, in that case? “I don’t know. I think I’ll just try my best to be nice, no matter what,”

“That’s a good philosophy,” Millicent said.

“It is indeed,” Jean smiled.

Then, they moved on to Jean’s bedside table. There wasn’t much. Just a few books and candles. Millicent started to place them delicately in another box. The titles ranged from her old favourites to her new favourites. From Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland to Pride and Prejudice.

“That’s my favourite,” Millicent said, picking up Alice.

“It was my favourite too, when I was your age,” Jean replied. She picked up her journal from her bed and put it on top of the books. Then, she remembered the envelope. She snatched it quickly, but unfortunately she held it the wrong way, and the cash came spilling out.

“Holy cow!” exclaimed Millicent. Jean smiled fondly. She had used to use that expression, when she was little. “That’s a lot of cash!”

“Yeah, it is,” Jean concurred, as she began to pick it up and put it back in the envelope.

“What are you going to do with it?”

Jean had been starting to plan that when Millicent had arrived, and she had never come to a suitable conclusion. A new car would be nice. Or maybe just loads and loads of chocolate, Jean thought with a smile. But then, she thought of school. She had debt, and paying it off was the most logical thing to do. People were always telling her to choose the logical response.

“I think I’ll pay for my school,” Jean said, after a little while.

“That’s boring,”

“I know,” Jean sighed.

“If I were you, I’d buy a lifetime supply of chocolate, like in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory,” Millicent said, her eyes lighting up. Jean was instantly reminded of her favourite childhood movie. She had been quite frightened of the Oompa Loompas, yet the magic of finding a golden ticket had captivated her young imagination with endless possibilities. She supposed that in a way, this newfound cash could be her golden ticket.

“Wouldn’t that be nice,” said Jean, with a smile.

They finished packing up the bedroom, every poster and souvenir of her past life was now squashed in cardboard boxes. Every reminder of her academic success: all of her report cards and her old school work, from finger paintings to essays. Every Polaroid, every CD, every remnant of all her fleeting hobbies. The beads, the ukulele, the unfilled sketchbooks with unopened watercolours. It was all there, stacked, taped and labelled.

“I guess you probably can’t help lift these to the car,” Jean said, looking at Millicent’s bony body in comparison to the boxes, which seemed much too big and heavy.

“No, I can’t,” Millicent agreed. “Goodbye, Jean,” she said as she walked out the door. Jean waved, but to her consternation, Millicent didn’t turn around. She skipped off down the hall, humming a cheery tune as she went.

“Bye Millie-Jean,” Jean said, to the back of the little girl with puffy red hair. Jean’s own puffy red hair was in a bun on the top of her head.

“What are you doing?” said another accusatory voice. This one deeper, older. It must be Tom, home from work early.

“Saying goodbye to Millicent,” Jean responded, still looking at the little girl bouncing down the hall.

Tom turned his head to follow Jean’s gaze. “Who’s Millicent?” he asked, furrowing his brow.

“Me,” Jean said, as she picked up the closest box. She was ready to go now. She walked out of the apartment, and down the hall, passing the caricature of her youth: the little girl who hummed as she skipped. And Jean couldn’t help but to sing along: “Cheer up sleepy Jean, oh, what can it mean, to a daydream believer, and a homecoming queen,”