Jill and the Decapitated Lunch Lady Part 2

On a much lighter note, here is the second installment of the Jill story:

Now I know what most would be thinking, what could have thrown Jill to such a low, to the point of desperation, to such an extreme that she was considering turning herslef in for the murder of the lunch lady, that horrible old woman who had just recently undergone a sex change and only two weeks ago was known as Bob, (the slightly effeminite lunch guy who curiously began to develope a much larger chest than Jill could ever imagine filling her own Madonna inspired, barely A, pointy bra with, and who had the most delicate and graceful sway of his hips when he walked back and forth from the mashed potatoes to the gravy in his this season red, the new pink, stilletto heels)when her dream of running track had finally come true, her whole life had led up to this point.

Finally, finally, she was a star of her first and only choice, after of course, volleyball, soccer, basketball, softball, and swimming: track. Was it the almost life crushing, hopeless beyond all hopelessness fact that the track uniforms were blue, (blue like the sky on a crisp autumn day when the sun is shining and it is warm enough for just a light jacket and everywhere you look are the signs of fall..changing colors on the trees, burning leaves, buses full of retired people who signed up for the fall color tour of upper New Hampshire with the hopes of squandering away what little income they made on social security at the real reason for the fall color tour, the red and yellow plastic clown head moonwalk that cost $5 for 3 incredible minutes of jumping that would take them back to a place of their youth, a place where gas cost $1.15 and women were stating their independence by cutting their hair short, adorning themselves with the fashions of men and leaving the home to work and make a living for themselves, a time when they were young and free, free fallin', a time when they were in their early fifties and menopause was but a dream that was just beginning to come true, )blue like the tears now streaming from Jill's eyes as she held the bleeding, dying, decapitated lunch lady in her arms for the last time, before running from the scene of the crime, before the po-po would arrive and begin to ask questions, thought provoking questions that would drive to the root of the crime, to the essence of such a passionate death, to the very heart of the street and the horrible events that had taken place that cold, suprisingly bright for 7:30 p.m night, questions like who would be awake and out on the street in such a safe neightborhood at such a late hour, what had the lunch lady been trying to say when in her last, dying moments she had written in blood besider her broken and mind you decapitated, body, "Jill"--what wash she trying to tell them, why hadn't she finished, if only they knew the rest of the message, questions that would eventually lead to the murder being unsolved, remaining a cold case, the evidence locked away in the basement of the police department acquiring dust and cobwebs for decades before 37 and 1/7 years later a witness would step forward who had been there that night and Jill would be eventually taken in for questioning by a ragged drained police woman with poorly bleached blonde hair and dark roots that would bring offense to any natural blonde, the roots of a woman running from her past, like Casey at Bat running from those Mudville Nine teammates on that fateful day when there was "no joy in Mudville, for Mighty Casey had struck out," and then Jill's life, the life of prestige and wealth she had lead thus far would be reduced to a made for T.V movie starring Jennifer Love-Hewitt as Jill, an actress who would never match the range, potential, and God given ability to wear pink in such an amazing way, the way only Jill could.

No, it wasn't the heartbreaking fact that the track uniforms were blue, a color Jill could never muster up enough courage, even courage under fire, to wear. No, the cause of Jill's agony, of her despair and utter and ultimate defeat(see paragraph four line one for sentence reference,) Jill had no legs. It was a small bump in the road of Jill's life, a road paved with the best asphalt and that offered local businesses the chance to sponsor a mile of highway, to give back to the community and keep its highways clean, but nonetheless, a road Jill had never walked herself, but had at appropriate times hired a leg doube to stand in for her and to walk that road for her. She had worn just the right shade of pink to mask the absence of legs at the track tryouts, she had just squeezed by on the hurdle lap of that day, dragging her legless body over each hurdle effortlessly, and without notice. She was confident she could make the team, it was her dream, the only sport for her, after of course all the other sports she had attempted and failed, but there was no way to disguise her missing legs in those blue track shorts. Blue was a primary color that would draw attention to her lower half and would eventually, maybe not at the first meet, or even in the first season of the team, but eventually, give away her secret.

Jill found herself again collasped in a huddled legless heap on her Little Mermaid bedspread, a bedspread she envied because of Ariel's tale of finding love and legs on land. It was this ridiculous thinking, the thinking that she could be someone that she was good enough, smart enough, and doggone it, people liked her, that got her nowhere, that got her lonely and yes alone, that got her laying there, wishing garlic had not been served for lunch that day, wishing she was wearing her leotard. It was this thinking that got the lunch lady killed. Dun dun dun....