#45 JENNA'S CONSTANT SORROW

I'm a man of constant sorrow
I've seen trouble all my days--Bob Dylan

Jenna was sent out for coffee early that day, she had been working for a car dealership for the past week and one of her tasks was to fetch coffee for the owner and a few of his better salesmen, the only ones working the showroom lately, the recession leaving the dealership with fewer sales and fewer sales people. Jenna was hired to answer the phone and direct calls; when the permanent secretary went on maternity leave they decided not to replace her until the economy improved. Everything in Jenna's life was now about the recession. She lost her job, her boyfriend lost his job, her best friend was demoted in the interest of saving jobs and even Jenna's father was talked into early retirement.
 
Jenna walked listlessly to the nearest coffee shop in the damp fog of a San Francisco morning that did not appear to be lifting as the paper had said. Jenna wondered why the weather forecast was so often wrong. Didn't they feel embarrassed? How could you not predict three days of cold and rain? Instead the paper said its usual "morning fog, afternoon sun." Jenna figured the weather bureau laid-off most of its staff and because San Francisco was fairly predictable, never varied the forecast.

These were the kinds of thing Jenna thought about as she walked the streets or rode the bus. She also thought about the homeless people who looked more bedraggled and pitiful than usual after a night of awful cold and wet. Jenna had been in the city for two years, coming from Marin and still she could not look at the homeless with dispassion. Her parents taught her to be concerned with those less fortunate than ourselves but Jenna sometimes wondered if she were one of the less fortunate. She had been unemployed for seven months except for the few temp jobs she managed to get, boring with low pay but still important to have. Jenna was just scraping by, unable to call her parents who were on a mission in Zimbabwe. Whenever they emailed, the message was filled with the hardship and misery they encountered each day and she felt thoughtless saying she has no money for clothing or any extras at all. Each month she scrapes together enough for her rent, some basic food and bus fare. She shops in dollar stores for things like shampoo, detergent and powdered lemonade. Yesterday she found a skirt on a dollar rack in Goodwill and felt elated until she got it home and found it was missing the zipper.
 
As she was balancing a tray of expensive coffee drinks she passed a guy wearing a wet blanket, flip flops and shorts obviously having looked at the weather report before spending the night in the park. Jenna wore a sweater but she too had on sandals and felt the cold on her legs and feet. She would have liked to offer the man a coffee to warm himself up but they were not hers to offer. This was what life had become; constant worry about money and form. How much were you supposed to give, to whom and what happens if you don't. Jenna's therapist said she had a guilt complex instilled by her parents who were hippies from the sixties and always said it was necessary to do your part in establishing equality; that you could not enjoy things while others were suffering. Jenna was now an adult and could make these decisions herself but old habits die hard. She was in the unfortunate position of having little but seeing others with less every day. That is life in San Francisco. Nothing is hidden, the poor aren't pushed into outer, less attractive locations: everyone gets a place on the streets of San Francisco. She always liked this about the city but found with the recession it was beginning to pall a little. She could no longer tell the truly unfortunate from the hucksters and spent too much time feeling either uncaring or conned. She wished her parents would come home; she wanted to talk to her father who was always the voice of reason on these matters. He could clear things up for Jenna; her therapist, Michelle, wasn't up to speed on activism and its discontents. She wore expensive shoes and had an Italian espresso machine in her office, real artwork on the walls and leather chairs and sofas. Jenna didn't think she had guilt over any of it or worried about the homeless on cold, rainy nights.
 
Back at the car dealership, she returned to the phones and the filing and was able to forget the streets for which she was grateful. It was not the most exciting job she'd hoped to have but it was a job and allowed her to unwind her perpetual brain loop of the more exasperating things that filtered in each day. The salesmen were bored and often funny and seemed to like Jenna though thought her a little serious. They were good-time kind of guys and wanted to cheer her up, make her laugh, lighten up. One in particular was often back in the office circling her desk, looking for "trouble and tribulation" he said and laughed with gusto. Jenna didn't find the remark particularly funny but these were salesmen: She had no experience with this playful type. Her boyfriend was a coder, recently laid off from a tech firm that was supposed to be a sure thing. He was finding trouble and tribulation and was not at all jocular about it. Jenna thought maybe these salespeople could teach her a thing or two, including the one saleswoman who wore short skirts, patterned stockings, high heels and low-cut blouses. She laughed with the men, flirted with the boss and practically manhandled the male customers; she was one of the dealerships star salespersons and let everyone know. If a customer took  a test run with Gina, there was usually a sale. "Never underestimate the power of a short skirt," she would say with glee. She had none of the scruples Jenna had been raised with: not exploiting the body for cheap effect being one of them. Jenna had grown up and seen enough to know she had some pretty outdated modes to work through. Michelle said she had every complex women raised in religious homes had and asked her to talk about her beliefs.

Jenna told her she had been raised in a secular home and religion was not only scorned but deemed unworthy of attention. "Superstitious peasants" was what her father called those who went to church or professed a need for a savior. Jenna knew little about religion except for Buddhism from a course she took in college. Other than that, she practiced yoga, or did before she had to give up her membership in the yoga studio though she was in it for the stretching more than the meditation. Sometimes she wished she had a firm belief system other than what her parents taught her, something bigger than humanity but she was as yet unable to realize it. She was beginning to think humanity could become depressing if that's all that was playing.

Whenever Jenna delivered the coffee, everyone was effusive in their praise for her ability to order all the various coffee drinks, get them straight--no mistakes with all the correct change given to each. Somehow Jenna didn't think this merited much praise but then again, no one else wanted to do it. Ever. At the switchboard, she had no time to think about the homeless, the weather, her parents and her own situation which was a relief. The day passed uneventfully except for Gina's big sale at the end of the day. Another for her this week.

When Jenna left for the day the sky was still a lifeless ceiling of melancholy. She walked up Van Ness for a few blocks then caught a bus. Her cell phone rang and she saw it was her friend Melynda and took the call. She said he was getting evicted and would soon need a place to stay until she finished the semester at Hastings. Jenna didn’t really want her to stay with her in the crowded studio she sublet but couldn’t really say why so she agreed without enthusiasm.

Just then a fight broke out on the bus and she was distracted for a minute, hung up and decided to get off and walk to the rest of the way. The woman next to her also got off and told her in a sincere forthright way that if she found Jesus she could put away that sorrow and find a new beginning. Jenna didn’t know why she listened to the woman; she was constantly badgered by people on the street and briefly wondered if she emitted some signal that said “susceptible.” She thought she might talk to Michelle about it in their next session. The woman went on to say Jenna could be saved, she had only to open her heart to the lord.

Her arrival at her building on Chestnut Street coincided with a distraught call from her mother. She said there had been a massacre in the village nearby and they would have to evacuate the clinic where they had been working. She was hysterical and needed to talk to her daughter, to calm down, to know she was okay.
“Mother, I think it is you we need to worry about. I‘m fine. How is Dad?”
“He’s fine…he thinks we should consider coming home.”
“I think that’s a very good idea. Please, Mother, go along with him.”
“I don’t exactly know what is going to happen next; a Christian organization is helping with the evacuation and providing medical care. We might join this organization to help continue their work. They have great courage and respect for humanity and both your father and I are impressed. They led a prayer circle last night and I participated, I’m so fearful over the events of the last two days. Your father did not join in but it left me feeling stronger, with more hope. For the first time all the talk of Jesus did not put me off. I wondered if I might be going crazy. Your father thinks maybe temporarily so because I swore I saw the image of Jesus in the clouds and that he was still there after the clouds had passed. Your father thinks I’m getting loopy and we should start for home.” She sighed and said she would let her daughter know if they would be coming home or joining the Christian organization and staying on to help.

“Please come home, Mother,” said Jenna as she hung up. Her father usually made the decisions so she felt hopeful.

It was strange she had heard the name of Jesus spoken twice in one day. She never thought of Jesus, suspected he was a fictional character, not relevant to her own existence but now she wondered. Gina, the star saleswoman at the dealership wore a cross pendant. She said it was her secret to a lucrative career in sales, the short skirts just a leg up. Jenna did not know why she told her this, she hadn’t asked about the necklace. All of a sudden she was bombarded with Jesus. She went to bed, a little tired and worried about her parents but glad they would likely be coming home. She thought of the woman saying Jesus could save you. She hoped she was right; her parent’s might need some help. With that she went to sleep and when she awoke, the sky had finally cleared, the sun was shining and she got ready for another day at the car dealership. On the bus her mother called and said they were definitely coming home, her father did not care for the organization now in charge.
“Thank God,” said Jenna.
“No, thank Jesus,” said her mother. “Your father got upset with all the talk of him and said we would go home after all.”
“Then thank Jesus,” added Jenna. “When will you be here?”
“We’re leaving the village late this afternoon with an evacuation team. Then we’ll get a flight in two days to Heathrow. I expect we’ll arrive in San Francisco sometime at the end of the week. My days are all confused.”
“I’ll pick you up. Give me the details when you know them.”
“See you soon, dear. I’m very upset. I have mixed feelings. I admire this organization immensely. I feel we are abandoning a mission that is important to so many people.”
“Better come home,” said Jenna. “Regroup.” They then were disconnected.

What happened later that day was in all the newspapers. Militants stormed the small village and took control of the clinic. Most of the workers were shot point blank though a few of them escaped in a bus that had been there to help evacuate the workers. Jenna’s father had been found among the dead, though her mother managed to hide with two women until the raid was over. She survived with seven other people who made it to safety in a nearby town. She was hysterical and had to be hospitalized. She was not able to call her daughter for two days, the longest most dreadful days Jenna would ever know. She didn’t go to work but stayed near her land phone while gripping her cell phone begging, she knew not who, for news. Gina called and said she was praying for her parents, that the car dealership would all say prayers, she would see to it. Jenna was weak with distress by this time but found some comfort in Gina’s pledge. Without them, she was alone with her fear that threatened to eat her alive.

When she finally received the call the relief hearing her mother’s voice was beyond joy, the pain over her father’s death piercing. She wanted to go to her mother but she said she would be arriving home in three days. “Your father has been cremated, yesterday…the Christian organization took care of everything with a tribute ceremony for those killed. It was a most beautiful thing, Jen, I wish you could have heard it..”

Jenna doubled over into the fetal position onto the hardwood floor, crying into the phone, clutching it as a life-line, unable to speak.

“Don’t worry, darling,” her mother sobbed into the phone. “There is nothing to worry about now. I am on my way home…”

Jenna appears again in #60 MY FIRST CHRISTMAS