In Jane

Jane, 20, single, student, front door, now

Yes, I know exactly how I got into this situation. Getting fucked by a guy I don’t know, in a place I don’t know either. Angela and I, we’d been out drinking, just hanging out, nothing much. Later I couldn’t even remember the two guys she talked to in one of the pubs, the one where she dropped her picture ID coincidentally, HA, coincidentally, on the filthy floor. The filthy, sticky floor I remember just fine.
She was sure the guy would call her and bring back her ID and then he'd marry her and all that crap; I was sure she'd have to go through a lot of hassle to get her papers renewed. But this picture, the one on her ID, with her hair long and curly, this picture would never show up again.
Only one day later she called me triumphantly and that’s why I had to tag along on a double date.
Yes, I remember exactly how I got into this situation.

Mario, 52, single, carpenter, hallway, now+30years

No, I never married, and no, no kids either. No, I don’t think it’s something to regret. My closest friends are all divorced and they don’t see their kids either. They pay for them, yeah, they pay. And they get a painting now and then, and stick these paintings on the sallow walls in their tiny apartments.
Me? I live in a one-bedroom, never needed much space.
Well, was there one I would have liked to tie the knot with? No. Funny. If you ask me I see a bunch of Marys. I mean, ha, I see a bunch of blank faces, good teeth, freckles, tits, no, but one girl, man, one girl, now that you ask me, this is really a long time ago. I don’t even remember her name. It was just a one-night-stand. Maybe Angela, Angela might know her name. She was a friend of Angela's. She really had an attitude. Kind of snotty. Not my type. But once you kissed her you forgot everything. Why did I kiss her? Man, those days I did nothing but kissing. I remember being in her. I really do.

Sani, 16, virgin, pupil, bathroom, now+16 years

I know he wanted to kiss me yesterday, and more. He wanted to. Just as I know that the condom was the destroyer. I showed it to him and that was that. All of a sudden he was playing teacher again. An authority. An older person. I will never ever show him a condom again. Or anybody else. Never.
But will I get another chance? Will I? His mouth was just a breath away. It’s all Jane’s fault. She’s obsessed with condoms. Since I started bleeding I even find them in my lunchbox. Is this sane? How can a guy make up his mind about kissing if you show him some plastic? At what time do you bring up the subject? After kissing that’s for sure. After. Even if Jane and I have the same size I’m not in her shoes. I’m not. Shit, I'll probably never get another chance.

Angela, 36, married, part-time stylist, 3 boys (12,10,2), living-room, now+16 years

Grab it fast, that’s my motto. And it takes vision. I mean look around, all these singles with their sturdy shoes. And if they indulge themselves in an extravagant pair they leave the house with the price-tag on. On sale, it cries, on sale, but nobody will buy them, nobody.
Yes, I’m into my second marriage. As I told you already,it takes vision. Giovanni, my first husband, he could never understand me. In his eyes it was a kind of insanity that I owned 73 pair of shoes. I don’t even know how many pairs I own now. But I know there is no price tag on any of them.
Sure, I love sales. I ebay. Harry, my second husband, is not familiar with that. But I ebay him books for his class and he’s happy about that. See what I got today. Knee-length boots. They look exactly like the boots Jane used to wear. I always wanted to have such a pair. Anything is possible.

Harry, 45, married, teacher, 1 boy 5, master-bedroom, now+16 years

It didn’t happen, alright?! It didn’t! I didn’t even think about it, okay? My name is Harry not Humbert Humbert. My god. She smiles at you and you don’t think at all. You feel heroic, truly heroic, and special, and everything. And then she gives you a rubber. You stare at the rubber. The red rubber. And all over sudden you jump. Sweat trickles under your armpits. Her smile freezes for a moment. You stare one more time: her pure skin, her pierced belly, her knee-length boots. My god! Her knee-length boots! Why should she be any different? She will buy and buy and buy. Shoes will be everywhere. There will be cabinets just for shoes and designer sales and opportunities and diets and not today, honey, not today. Only Saturday. Or Sunday. Nothing happened! I swear!

Giovanni, 67, divorced, 2 children 45,43, retired, attic, now+45 years

My boys are always asking me the same question. Is there a woman in my life? Is there? I just smile. No, I can’t visit on weekends. On weekends I see her. I am not allowed to say her name. It must be some religious thing. Maybe she thinks that once you say her name you are really with her. So I call her Saturday-Sunday and she smiles. She doesn’t know that I call her name a hundred times on weekdays. She doesn’t know that I call her name silently whenever we do it. I’m really obsessed about the name thing now, as obsessed as she is about protection. Give me a break! At our age! But she insists on three rubbers. Three. It really is strangulating but then also kind of stimulating. To be honest now I put three on even on weekdays. I put three on and I call her name. It was a coincidence really that we met again. I saw her in the drugstore, we talked, and at home I realized that I had her keys in my bag. It was a Saturday and we've met every Saturday and every Sunday since then. But I am not allowed to say her name.

Jane, 20, single, student, kitchen, now

Eating is an act.
First you think about it. You prepare. You set the table and with ten to twenty bites and one swallow it gets inside you. And once it is inside you, you will never get it completely out. Something always stays there.
I always like to play this. Game over. No joker left. Poison. There was poison in the food. Think. Think quick. Put three fingers in your mouth. Puke. More poison. More fingers. A hospital. You are lying in a bed with white linen and thinking about a life. Who will you become in twenty, thirty, forty years? Jane? Jane?