One's Company by Ashley Hutson

Author:Ashley Hutson
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Publisher: W. W. Norton & Company
Published: 2022-05-02T00:00:00+00:00

For the first year I was Janet Wood, my first love. I needed her sensible brain to ground me, to fully settle me into my new world. In the morning I woke as Janet Wood, and I stretched in my bed as Janet Wood, wearing the same navy-blue nightgown emblazoned with the number zero that Janet Wood wore, and my alarm clock was set for 7 a.m., Janet Wood’s wake time, the light barely penetrating the ugly curtains that shrouded Janet Wood’s bedroom window, and when I turned off my alarm I was Janet Wood, and when I clicked on the lamp I was Janet Wood, and when I looked in the mirror I saw Janet Wood’s dark and shiny hair, and my eyes were newly brown.

I’d rise from bed and put on my robe and bedroom shoes, and I’d say hello to ghost Chrissy, who, within days of beginning this routine, became real Chrissy. “Get up, Chrissy!” I’d call softly as I passed her bed to exit the room. And Chrissy would wake with the groan of a child and stretch and yawn, and I’d go to the bathroom and splash my face with cold water before shuffling into the kitchen. The dog followed me everywhere but I ignored it. In the kitchen I might find Jack standing in front of the stove. The overhead light would be on, plus the morning light coming through the window at full glare. Rainy days were best, gloomy and dark outside, the orange-yellow kitchen happily glowing inside. And if Jack was already there I would make coffee, do my part, and if he hadn’t arrived yet I would make toast for myself, maybe pour a glass of orange juice. I’d also set the table for my roommates if they were behind schedule, and I’d wait until they bustled in, sleepy but bright, friendly. “Good morning!” each of them called to me. “Oh, morning!” I’d reply back.

On the days Jack cooked breakfast, I was his sous chef—I fried eggs or whipped together simple mixtures I knew by heart. Eggs and bacon, or gourmet oatmeal, toast, coffee, orange juice, milk. Wanting to get the dog away from me, I threw scraps of bacon or rubbery scrambled eggs across the kitchen, where they splatted in a far corner. Together Jack and I created a serviceable meal, usually finishing up just as Chrissy breezed in, still sleepy-eyed. Afterward we washed the dishes, each of us taking turns according to the day. We were responsible adults, always doing the dishes immediately following a meal and rarely later, though on the days it was not my turn I often found dirty dishes lingering in the sink hours after eating, the egg residue drying into an implacable scum, but instead of complaining I washed them myself, enjoying harmless, catty thoughts.

In the living room, in its cage, the canary chirped. I fed it or cleaned up after it while keeping my mind blank.

After a leisurely breakfast I brushed my hair and dressed for work.

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