For Jane

By Mia Lindenburg 

 

When Jane first saw me, 

she said I must be an Irish Jew. 

A compliment. 

Jane had cancer, 

or so she said, 

and the chemo had driven her crazy. 

She was paranoid of half the new faces that came in 

I was lucky enough to be one of them she trusted, 

She taught me gin rummy. 

Her paranoia started after she was nearly kidnapped by Ted Bundy. She and her sister were playing out in their yard near UW 

when a Volkswagen beetle parked in front of them 

and a man rolled down the window. 

Their dad ran out, 

scooped the girls up, 

and they played inside for the rest of the year. 

Now, Jane was mostly afraid of poison in her food 

and that one woman that she thought was pouring piss in the community room. She said she could smell it, but I didn’t smell anything. 

When I got out, 

I promised Jane I’d call her son. 

So, I did, 

sitting high out of my mind on my friend’s couch. 

He picked up, and we had a polite, quiet conversation 

before he told me to please never call this number again.