Looking for Jane: Announcing Her
Harry looked around him, wondering who in the room could possibly be Jane. None in the room looked like someone he could successfully write about. But if she was Jane, needn’t she have to be plain?
He took a sip from his glass thoughtfully.
Mark on the other hand looked entirely comfortable, leaning back on the rickety chair. “Harry, you look stiff as a board. Relax,” he said, grinningly.
“Do you come here often?” asked Harry. Somehow, Mark now looked far more interesting a subject than the mysterious Ms. Jane.
“First time actually,” said Mark with a smile. He took out a cigarette from its case and lit one up. “You’re not having one youngling,” he said without looking at Harry, which infuriated him.
But before Harry could retort, the lights dimmed to a subtle navy blue. There was a hush. The show was about to begin, and Harry turned his attention to the stage.
A solitary shimmery spotlight, golden in hue, shone, in tune with the eerie non-music that was being played. Harry knew there was no sound. But he heard it. He swore he heard it.
And there she was. Jane. Finally Jane.
She was a tall, yet petite beauty, with the palest of skins Harry had ever seen. Her lips, lush and full, were even paler, with only a slight gloss roughly brushed across. Her stature was somewhat lank, as if hung on wires like Pinocchio. And no. She wasn’t a blonde. No decent Jane would be. Her hair was a deep dark black. The colour of almost-coal. She wasn’t remarkable looking, but her eyes. Her eyes spoke great intelligence. As if she was the one devouring the audience, not them of her. She wasn’t the gaze. No… She chose to gaze instead. And wasn’t she the performer instead?
She sang. And it too wasn’t remarkable. But haunting nonetheless. Harry was captured. But before long, it ended. The non-music stopped. The golden spotlight disappeared, and the room was once again washed in blue. Yet Harry’s gaze at Jane remained. She noticed his gaze, gave a quizzical return before turning to look at Mark.
“Markustio!” she exclaimed, her smile in pleasant surprise as she walked off the stage towards them.
“Please, come sit with us,” replied Mark as he pulled a chair out for the lady. “This is my guest, Harry. I’ve brought him to hear you sing.”
Harry took her silkened hand to shake it. He knew he was being studied by this woman from just the way she gripped his hand gently. “Pleasure to meet you Harry,” she said, before taking a seat. “I haven’t seen you in ages Markustio,” she commented before taking a slim cigarette Mark offered her.
“It’s been approximately four years,” replied Mark.
“Ah yes.” She turned to look at Harry instead. “Harry. Like that famous guy Dirty Harry. How do you like my performance?”
“You were remarkable,” replied Harry, leaning forward eagerly.
“Of course of course,” she whispered, “You’re friend here is a terrible liar,” she said to Mark in which he laughed. Harry was annoyed.
“He’s a writer, actually,” said Mark off-handedly. “We’ve just met, and I thought I’d show him…the alternative.”
“Alternative? But it gets nothing but ordinary here,” said Jane quite surprised. “You should know, Markustio.” But Mark remained quiet.
“So Harry, a writer. What do you write?” asked Jane when she got bored of Mark’s silence.
“I write novels. Sometimes short stories…or little vignettes for the paper,” replied Harry obediently. “And I really wasn’t lying. You were remarkable on stage,” said Harry frowning.
“You truly are sweet. But we both know it wasn’t my singing that was remarkable. You merely liked the way I looked. I suppose you found something in me that you were looking for, didn’t you?”
Harry was taken aback. “Well…”
“Harry is looking for a…character for his story. He seems to be having a writers’ block.”
“Well DH, that is a shame,” said Jane, tipping the ash of her cigarette into the tray. “It sucks not having the inspiration you need.”
“Yes, it does.” Harry cleared his throat. He wished he could say something more intelligent than answering all the questions thrown at him. “Jane…I…”
Jane looked at him expectantly. It was her vivid stare from her gray eyes that made Harry blurt out “Who are you?”
But Jane didn’t look surprised. Or angry. Though Mark did. Harry couldn’t help but blush in embarrassment.
But Jane smiled. A small passable smile that no one could have noticed except for Harry. Was it amusement? At Harry’s obvious child-like demeanor? But she finally looked up, looked at Harry and took a long drag off her cigarrette.
“You know, DH, I really don’t know how to answer that question. I could be a million things. And a million things more. Or less. What do you want to know?”
“Just…just how you think. What you think, believe, your life your aspirations the people around you. That kind of thing,” said Harry once again unable to stop himself.
“So you’re looking for a Clifford’s notes on me?” smirked Jane.
“I just want to know who Jane is. And no, not a Clifford’s version. I’m sorry,” blushed Harry once again.
“You’re a careless person DH. But because I like you, I’ll tell you what you need to know about Jane,” said Jane after a moment’s silence.
“She’s not the person you think she is. And at the same time she is exactly the person you’ve pictured all your life how Jane could be. But she doesn’t care. Jane doesn’t care a fuck because she does realise it. How much she realises! Her life is full of realisations. She realises she isn’t the heroine, she never was casted to be one. Till recently when all of a sudden the geek appeal emerges. Like Seth Cohen. Like Peter Parker. It’s the rage. Likewise she realises she’ll be the rage too. This…this is the thing you would have expected already.”
“But that’s the problem in the first place. She won’t be the rage. Not at the moment anyway. She’s just a…a manner of convenience. Because she’s female. Because she’s plain when really, she is plain. And she knows just how plain she is.”
Here Jane yawned and Harry grew more curious. He didn’t understand a bit of what Jane had said. But she said it so convincingly.
“You see DH, what I say, what I say about Jane now isn’t going to matter. At the end of it, you’ll only remember me. And the impression you get of me. But if. If ever you do happen to remember to what you listened, it’s a lesson worth learning,” said Jane with a smile.
“But I am listening,” said Harry stubbornly.
“Jane is just…she’s just Jane. To say that she is difficult to describe is false. But to actually attempt to do so is mere futility. And again she doesn’t care a fuck. But also cares a great deal.”
“So…so she’s a contradiction?” probed Harry.
“A little. A little contradictory,” she laughed and Harry laughed with her.
“Really, I don’t know what to say anymore that you would and could understand,” Jane whispered.
“But I want to hear more.”
Leave a Reply