Jessie’s Mom Character Analysis

The problem was that Mom wasn’t here. That she would never be anywhere again. When I thought about that for too long, which I didn’t, when I could help it, I realized it didn’t matter much where I slept.

Certain facts tend to render everything else irrelevant.

“My dad died of lung cancer,” Theo says, apropos of nothing, and takes another long hit. “That’s why I smoke. Figure if you can run twelve miles a day and get cancer anyway, I might as well live it up.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“I know, right?” Theo puts out the joint, carefully saves what’s left for later. He stands up and looks me straight in the eye. No trace of his temper tantrum left. “Hey, for what it’s worth, I’m really sorry about your mom.”

“Thanks,” I say. “Sorry about your dad.”

“You know how it is. Mean girls get mean in seventh grade and they stay that way until your ten-year reunion, when they want to be best friends again. At least, that’s what my mom says.”

“It’s funny how high school is high school everywhere,” I say, and smile at Dri. Try not to feel uncomfortable at the mention of moms, like it didn’t set off an invisible flare in my chest. “I mean, this place is completely different than where I come from, but in some ways it’s exactly the same.”

SN: how long ago?

Me: 765 days, five hours, twenty-two minutes. You?

SN: 196 days, one hour, three minutes.

Me: You count too?

SN: I count too.

There aren’t pictures of him around, which would be weird, but then I realize there aren’t very many pictures at all. [...]

The walls of my old house were covered with pictures of my family. Each of my school photos were framed and mounted in chronological order, even the ones where I was caught with my eyes closed [...]

I will tell her about the mess I’ve made of things, how my new life feels on the verge of unraveling, and she will tell me how to fix it. [...]

And she’ll remind me that everything that is new always feels tenuous, that a lot of this, maybe even most of this, is in my head.

In T minus four hours, I will be home again. Even though my mom won’t be there, at least, finally, I will be someplace I recognize.

This is a house full of pain, of bad juju, as Theo said, but it’s also a house of starting over. Maybe we need to light a few candles. Better yet, start putting things on all of the white walls. “You know, I mean, this place is beautiful, but maybe you should put out some pictures too. Of your husband—I mean your, uh, other husband, Theo’s dad, and of Theo as a kid. So he can remember.”

The problem was that Mom wasn’t here. That she would never be anywhere again. When I thought about that for too long, which I didn’t, when I could help it, I realized it didn’t matter much where I slept.

Certain facts tend to render everything else irrelevant.

“My dad died of lung cancer,” Theo says, apropos of nothing, and takes another long hit. “That’s why I smoke. Figure if you can run twelve miles a day and get cancer anyway, I might as well live it up.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“I know, right?” Theo puts out the joint, carefully saves what’s left for later. He stands up and looks me straight in the eye. No trace of his temper tantrum left. “Hey, for what it’s worth, I’m really sorry about your mom.”

“Thanks,” I say. “Sorry about your dad.”

“You know how it is. Mean girls get mean in seventh grade and they stay that way until your ten-year reunion, when they want to be best friends again. At least, that’s what my mom says.”

“It’s funny how high school is high school everywhere,” I say, and smile at Dri. Try not to feel uncomfortable at the mention of moms, like it didn’t set off an invisible flare in my chest. “I mean, this place is completely different than where I come from, but in some ways it’s exactly the same.”

SN: how long ago?

Me: 765 days, five hours, twenty-two minutes. You?

SN: 196 days, one hour, three minutes.

Me: You count too?

SN: I count too.

There aren’t pictures of him around, which would be weird, but then I realize there aren’t very many pictures at all. [...]

The walls of my old house were covered with pictures of my family. Each of my school photos were framed and mounted in chronological order, even the ones where I was caught with my eyes closed [...]

I will tell her about the mess I’ve made of things, how my new life feels on the verge of unraveling, and she will tell me how to fix it. [...]

And she’ll remind me that everything that is new always feels tenuous, that a lot of this, maybe even most of this, is in my head.

In T minus four hours, I will be home again. Even though my mom won’t be there, at least, finally, I will be someplace I recognize.

This is a house full of pain, of bad juju, as Theo said, but it’s also a house of starting over. Maybe we need to light a few candles. Better yet, start putting things on all of the white walls. “You know, I mean, this place is beautiful, but maybe you should put out some pictures too. Of your husband—I mean your, uh, other husband, Theo’s dad, and of Theo as a kid. So he can remember.”