Chapter 3 Old Friends #2
“Not reassuring,” Diane says. She’s obviously teasing, since none of my coworkers actually suspect there’s anything going on beneath my placid surface.
Still, it makes me wonder if I’ve been messing up, making work about me instead of the patients.
“You have a volunteer interview in fifteen minutes, according to the anticipated guest list. I’ll walk her over when it’s time. ”
I had completely forgotten and race to my desk so I can prepare.
We can’t afford to turn away volunteers, but the antis are always trying to infiltrate abortion clinics, lacking anything better to do with their time.
I do a quick search of the applicant, Julie, and find very little.
There’s a LinkedIn profile that doesn’t look brand-new, but it’s fairly sparse.
We went to the same undergrad, but the picture is too pixelated to see if I recognize her.
She doesn’t have a Facebook, but what under-twenty-five does anymore?
Her Instagram is private, but the picture seems to match the LinkedIn.
I’m at least reassured that she’s a real person.
The sound of voices travels down the hall and I rapidly click to a new tab so Julie doesn’t catch me internet-stalking her.
“Oh my goodness,” JJ says, stepping into my office. “Nisha?”
I’m out of my seat immediately. “JJ?”
We hug, tight and close, and I feel my body relax for what feels like the first time all day.
“I didn’t know you worked here. It’s been forever since we talked, hasn’t it?”
“Not since graduation, I think,” I say. “I thought you were moving to… Paris?”
JJ shrugs. “You know how it is. Bad breakup, and boom, back to my family’s ancestral stomping grounds.”
Blue-eyed, blond-haired JJ is not Ojibwe or Potawatomi—her family came here from Germany a couple hundred years ago. From what I’ve heard, they’re old-money Chicagoans, so I never corrected her favorite saying then, and I don’t now.
“It is so good to see you.” We were friends in college but didn’t keep in touch—not odd, since I lost touch with pretty much all my college friends, time and distance doing their work.
I feel so exhausted most days that it’s all I can do to feed myself, let alone maintain relationships, but JJ doesn’t know that. It’s a clean slate.
“You too! So you work here now? That’s so admirable.
I always thought you would do something big.
Something amazing.” Her words hurt, although she doesn’t mean them to.
I wanted to do something big, something amazing.
I wanted to change the world. Now I’m twenty-six, and I know the world can’t be changed. At least not by someone like me.
“Yeah. I’ve been doing this type of work since graduation, and I’ve been here about three years. I run the volunteer program, outreach and education, and some community relations and patient resource connections.”
“That’s a lot,” JJ says with a slight frown. She looks worried about me, and I almost want to hug her again. “But you’re supersmart, so I’m sure you do it well!”
“I enjoy the work, especially today… Julie.” I flash her a smile. “I forgot that was your full name, to be honest.”
“It’s so weird, isn’t it? You live across the hall from someone and you share everything, your whole life story, but you forget things like sharing your full name. Back then, I used my middle name instead of my last name because I hated my dad, but we’ve made up.” She gives a little shrug.
“So, Julie Perkins, huh?” I ask, lifting my printout of her application.
“That’s me!”
“I have to ask you a couple questions, but between us, it’s just a formality. There’s no need for you to tell me about yourself. Although, out of curiosity, what are you up to now? Any time constraints we should be aware of?”
“Just working for the family business,” JJ says, gesturing vaguely. “I barely understand it. Super boring, but no weird timing constraints. In fact, since I’m working for my dad, I can probably get out earlier or go in later if you need people at a certain time.”
Flexibility landing in my lap at the beginning of Forty Days is such a blessing. If JJ can take off a couple of mornings a week, a lot of our problems might be solved. “That’s awesome, really. We need that.”
“Yeah, I saw the situation out front,” she says, with a sympathetic grimace.
“There are plenty of volunteer opportunities out there,” I say, but I smile so she knows it’s not a criticism. “Why Rogers Park Health Center?”
“Women have a right to choose. There shouldn’t be some group of rich men deciding what happens to women.” Her voice is sure, confident. I see the me of a few years ago, before the endless monotony of fighting for basic rights wore me down.
I nod. “Obviously this clinic performs abortions. I know you basically just answered this question, but we have to ask as a matter of course. Are you comfortable volunteering for a clinic that performs abortions and helping patients who are seeking abortions?” Behind JJ, there’s a flicker of movement outside, in the parking lot.
For a moment, I think I see the man from the Art Institute.
Then I blink and he’s gone. JJ’s looking at me expectantly.
I didn’t hear her answer, and part of me wants to let it slide.
But we have the policy for a reason, even if I’m about to look like a massive idiot.
“Sorry, I didn’t hear you. I thought I saw something outside. ”
“No worries,” she says. “I was saying it’s fine by me. As you know, that’s why I’m here!”
“Great.” I make a note to myself in our volunteer evaluation form, just to make sure everything is properly squared away. I don’t want to get in trouble for cutting corners for my friends. After Aaron, JJ is a breath of fresh air—good people are in short supply. “Do you have any questions for me?”
“When can I start?”
I give her a genuine grin, remembering the enthusiasm for life that JJ always had. “We have a group training this weekend, and you can start picking up shifts once you’ve finished.”
She reaches for her purse and stands up. “And when can I see you?”
“Let’s go out for hot chocolate after the training,” I say. “The forecast says snow.”
Once she’s gone, I collapse onto my desk. Between Aaron and JJ and whatever happened at the Art Institute, today has been too much for me. My body is stretching, remembering something long forgotten—but I don’t know what. It’s warm, familiar. Almost like a dance.