The Story of Wednesday

Jessica wanted to be good.

She knew it wasn't good to stay up all night, even if she'd had a nap the day before, but she wanted to be able to turn her research paper in on time, so when Wednesday morning came around it found her at the computer, staring bemusedly at her outline.

Jessica had resigned herself to having a long conversation with the blank pages about Gwendolyn Brooks, New Historicism, and abortion; she pretended not to notice as 12:00am turned to 1:00am turned to 2:00am. When her alarm went off at 3:00am, she realized she wasn't going to make it to work. She called in and explained that she wasn't well and would have to take the morning off. She didn't mention the essay, which might have been lying; and her crew would have to make up for her absence. Those weren't good things.

It was good when she finished her paper, though. "Life . . . and death" were the last three words. Alphabetize the Works Cited page. Fix the header. Spellcheck. Print. Staple. She put the essay into her green American Literary History folder. She smiled, then fell onto the couch and slept for a long time.

Only it wasn't a long time. She woke up at 7:45am, only about three and a half hours after finishing her paper. Sleep was good, but who could afford it? Jessica brushed through her hair with her fingers; she didn't shower, but she did eat breakfast; and she only had to park three blocks away from campus when she got to school. Good and bad were balanced, then.

When she presented the abstract of her second research paper to her Writing Literary Criticism class, everyone applauded and the professor was highly impressed. Good. But Jessica really hadn't the slightest idea what she was going to write for the next nine pages of her paper. Bad. So, it was more balancing. Where was her umbrella?

She had done all the homework for all her classes that day. She didn't pay attention very well sometimes, and her stomach was yelling at her for not packing a lunch, but when she was walking the three blocks back to her car after Spanish class, she told herself, "No te preocupas. Todo es bien."

The ladies at the Daughters of the Utah Pioneers museum were fascinated by her research paper (the one for Church History this time) and wanted a copy of the essay to keep on file. That was good; almost as good as what happened later, when Jessica helped her neighbor attach a door in the hollow doorway of Jessica's bedroom. Her very own door! But now what would she do with the shower curtain?

Next, she should have started those revisions for her Church History paper. Or written up that ensayo for Spanish. At the very least, she should have taken her clothes out of the dryer and hung them in her closet. But she didn't do any of those things. Instead, she curled up on the couch and tumbled headfirst into unconsciousness.

She woke to an itch on her face. Her dad was standing over her, flicking her bangs with a pencil. She swatted at him, irritated. He giggled, poking at her again. In an instant she had spun around to face him and punched him solidly in the kidneys before he could scurry away. He cried out, retreating. His giggles faded away as he left the room. But she was awake now, and things were not good.

It was 8:30pm. That meant the dance concert she was supposed to attend and write a review of was already over. Bad. She had ten online worksheets she needed to do for her Spanish class, and they were all due at midnight. Bad. And she had done nothing on her Church History paper, which was due on Friday. Very bad.

She didn't eat dinner. She bolted to her laptop, bolted herself to the laptop, and started working on those Spanish assignments. She knew - and dreaded - that she'd be pulling another all-night marathon on Thursday to finish her Church History paper, but that couldn't be helped now. It was nearly 11:30pm before she finished the Spanish homework, but she couldn't miss work again, so she crawled into bed with the promise of another meager night's sleep awaiting her. Lying there in the dark, Jessica wondered if she was sleeping more during the day than during the night this semester. Then she sighed and rolled over, clutching her stuffed cheetah, Jumanji, to her chest.

Jessica wanted to be good. She hoped that counted for something.