Diane Payne, Jackie O (short story)

“You shouldn’t brag,” Denise’s mother said out-of-the-blue while she was washing dishes. “Where’s this coming from? I haven’t been bragging,” Denise mumbled. “That’s probably true, but it’s easy to do. You may not even be aware of it.” “Then you must brag also, Mom. It’s so easy to do.” “Probably. Once, while I was in the hospital, a nurse pointed at me and said to another nurse, ‘Doesn’t she look just like Jackie 0?’ You know, Kennedy’s wife.” “Really?” Denise asked. “Let me finish my story. The other nurse looked at me and gave me a sad look because she obviously didn’t think I looked like Jackie O. The nurse persisted. ‘Come on, look at her nose, her hair, her cheekbones; she looks just like Jackie O.’ The doubting nurse gave her a nod and mumbled something about how there was a bit of a resemblance, but it wasn’t something she would have recognized on her own. ‘You look just like her,’ the nurse said. ‘You could be twins,’ she said leaning over me. I thought she was going to give me a kiss on the forehead or ask for my autograph, but she just turned up my morphine IV. Then she went into the hall and I could hear her at the nurse’s station telling everyone to check out the celebrity in my room. As the first nurses approached, she ran up behind them, and they peeked in and saw me all drugged up on morphine. They probably thought I looked more like Janis Joplin. I hadn’t combed my hair in days and you know how it gets in the morning. ‘It’s Jackie O, ladies,’ the nurse announced. One other nurse agreed that I was the spitting image, but the rest just laughed. Jackie O was older than my mother. I was only in my twenties, but I guess I looked like a young Jackie O. “ “You really think so?” Denise’s exaggerated tone let her mother know she didn’t believe this resemblance was possible. “Let me finish my story. Just keep washing dishes and I’ll dry. The nurse said my hair was definitely hers. And my smile. Even my nose. I’ve always thought my nose was rather large and bumpy, so hearing this nurse talk was better than the morphine.” “Did you tell them they could turn it off, Mom?” “Please! I was in pain. I had been in a bad car accident and broke both my legs. Anyhow, the next day the doubting nurse came in and said she hoped she didn’t hurt my feelings because I was attractive and all that, and the more she thought about it, she could see a resemblance now. I had assured her it didn’t matter. But it did. After I was released from the hospital, I always found a way to tell my friends about this nurse who thought I looked just like Jackie O, and they all looked at me as if I were crazy. It was awful. Before this nurse had ever pointed out our similarities, I just figured I was an average-looking person that no one gave a second look. I actually started to believe I looked like this beautiful woman who was thirty years older than me. Of course, she meant I looked like Jackie back she was younger. And I’d bring it up to everyone. All the time. That’s how easy bragging is. I wanted to hear one more person say I looked like Jackie O. Wanted my friends to know the nurse thought I looked like her.” “Why are you telling me this, Mom?” “I just saw on the news that Jackie died, and got to thinking about years ago when I was in the hospital.” “That is weird.” Denise held up the dishtowel between their faces and said, “For a minute, I felt like a priest listening to your confession. Creepy.” She shuddered for effect, hoping her mother would laugh, but she started crying instead. “I just feel like I’ve known this woman my entire life. Like I was her in a way. In a strange disconnected way, yet still a part of her, and now she’s dead, and you’re sixteen and I’m getting older.” “Mom, it’s okay. You’re not that old. You are attractive, for a mom and all. You could date. Is that what you want? To date? Is it menopause?” “No, it’s not menopause. I don’t want to date. I just feel bad Jackie’s dead. I feel like we should’ve met somehow. Even in passing some place. Anyhow, I just heard she died and I thought I should remind you not to brag. You know, a little motherly advice. Advice that would’ve done me good after I had that accident. I need to walk the dogs. I’m okay. And don’t blame my crying on menopause. I’ll know when it happens. And it hasn’t started. I just can’t believe Jackie’s dead,” she said grabbing the leashes and rounding up the dogs. “Mom, I’m sorry you feel so bad. You do sorta look like Jackie. I’ve seen pictures of her in my history book.” “Really?” “I can see a resemblance. Think I look like her too?” “You have her cheekbones.” Then she started blubbering and the dogs followed her out of the house. “I’ll try not to brag, Mom,” Denise said as the door closed. Denise turned on CNN and it didn’t take long to see pictures of Jackie O, as her mother called her. She imagined her mom being a young woman in the hospital, legs in casts, living off morphine while hearing nurses make comments about how crazy that nurse was for thinking she looked like Jackie O, and how the true believer nurse would come into her room, and just stare at her, certain her mother was Jackie. Weird, because in a way, from the pictures Denise remembered seeing of her mother when she was younger, there was a slight resemblance. Denise thought of all the jokes she has made about her mother’s funky hair, her bumpy nose, and thinks of all the times her mother must have wanted to tell her this story about that nurse and Jackie O, but changed her mind knowing she would laugh, just as her friends must’ve laughed, and her mother just wanting to tell her daughter about a time when people, or at least that nurse, thought she was beautiful. Denise looked at CNN one more time, hoping her mother has stopped crying while out walking the dogs, and wishing she could be as kind as that crazy nurse. But she is her mother. Not Jackie O. Not that kind nurse. To say something about the two of them looking alike just wouldn’t feel right. She looked in the mirror and sighed, knowing she’d be twenty in a few years, the same age her mother experienced this hospital ordeal. Neither she nor her mom looked like Jackie O. They looked like each other. For the first time, Denise realized in many ways she was already becoming her mother. Denise looked at the TV once again, this time holding a hand mirror, searching for that other resemblance, the resemblance connected to that glamorous world.