Jill

I was at Target the other day and, after picking up the handful of items I needed was able to use an express line to check out. But there were two people ahead of me and, while cooling my heels, took notice of the girl running the register.

 

She looked vaguely familiar. Unable to immediately place her, as I waited for the line to move, my mind leafed through its index file of faces past and present until, after going back far enough, it stopped on the one that, apparently, had jogged my memory. Thirty some odd years removed, this girl looked a lot like Jill.  I hadn’t thought about Jill for a while; in fact, since the early 80’s probably not much at all. She’d fallen into that black hole of brain matter where friends and acquaintances go after falling off the radar. Nevertheless, there was a time when Jill Bauermeister had been a friend. A very good friend.

 

During the fall semester of 1977, Jill and I and a bunch of other kids became charter members of the KWRS air staff, the new campus radio station at Whitworth College. Of course, after graduation, this distinction would mean nothing on a resume. But in the beginning, all that mattered was being part of the small group of misfits lucky enough to go hands-on when KWRS first signed on. And while some of us knew a little about what we were doing- little being the operative word- it was mostly trial and error (lots of error) growing into our new roles as campus communicators. But it was an exciting time being a fledgling broadcaster on the fledgling station. It was certainly never dull and always a good time; and part of the fun was getting to know Jill. 

 

KWRS broadcast out of a small studio tucked into the loft of the Hardwick Union Building, better known as ‘The Hub”. An equally small production room was on the other side of the glass. The “lobby” (more like a bullpen) was furnished with a couple standard issue office desks and file cabinet and a teletype machine occupied a nook just behind the office door. Because of its compact size, the radio station itself wasn’t much of a hang out place, but Jill and I often seemed to cross paths at shift changes and then hang out during the transition times. She was a sophomore, I was a senior. She was from So-Cal, I was from No-Cal. But, for whatever reason, we just seemed to click. And once the friendship took, our yak-fests started spilling over from the studio into the bullpen, and then on to the snack bar downstairs. Or re-convene later at Whitworth Pizza. I guess we had a lot to talk about.

 

Not far from campus, many KWRS “off-site meetings” seemed to end up at Whitworth Pizza and, like all late-arrivals Jill and I would throw a few bucks on the table when we showed up and help ourselves to a slice from one of the large communal pizzas. To wash it down, several shared pitchers of soda or suds were readily available. Still under 21, Jill generally started with pop. But when certain nobody was around to narc, she’d graduate to beer. It was funny- she’d could knock ‘em back with anyone and swear like a longshoreman. It was funny, because she was so petite and unassuming. But it was mostly just done for effect. She knew her limits and didn’t have to curse to fit in. Adorable to a fault, everybody liked Jill just as she was. I especially liked her.

 

I liked her because she was easy to talk to. Funny and with the gift of gab, she didn’t seem to mind sharing that gift with me. Jill and I could talk for hours and many times, after everyone else had gone back to campus, we’d drift to a dimly lit booth, sit down and finish off a pitcher, listen to the jukebox and chitchat. About radio, school, life. And love. We were both coming off a bad break-up, although Jill was handling it better. At least it sounded that way. Whenever she mentioned the guy’s name, she’d roll her eyes, shake her head- like, what was I thinking?- and change the subject. Or turn it around on me.

 

Depending on the hour of the evening, song on the jukebox, beer consumption- or the right mix of all three- she had little trouble coaxing me into sharing my own tales of woe about Kelly. And poor Jill always ended up getting an ear full.  Sensitive and a good listener, though, she never tuned me out or made me feel uncomfortable. Instead, as I jabbered on she'd reach over, take my hand and say things like “It’s okay” or “Shh….It's all right. I understand.” And maybe she did. I don’t know. But when I’d finally shut up, I’d feel embarrassed for doing all the talking. I'm sure I was a complete bore some nights. But Jill was the real deal, the real compassionate deal and when I really needed a sympathetic someone to connect with, she was there. The only one there. The only one I’d allow there.

 

When we walked out together at closing time, Jill would put her arm around my shoulder, steer me towards my car and let me talk a little more. Finally there'd be that awkward moment when I knew the evening was over but wasn’t quite sure how to bring it to a proper end. But Jill never left me hanging; she’d punch me on the shoulder, give me a hug, and tell me to get a good night’s sleep because things would look better in the morning. Then with a last word, “Bye, now” (which was actually two words), she’d retreat to her own car, not look back, and I'd watch her drive off.  But while fumbling with my keys, in the serene afterglow of too much Old Milwaukee and Jill’s hug, I’d think, “Wow!  She’s so cool and so sweet and I really think I like her, and gosh, I wonder…I wonder… I wonder if I’ll remember any of this tomorrow?”

 

I did, and remember nothing ever happening besides parting pleasantly in the parking lot. Even cold sober, at that point in time I wasn’t on the lookout for a girlfriend, slash, relationship. In fact, I was actively avoiding them. Nevertheless, I liked Jill, even though (on first blush) I wouldn’t think of her as my type. With olive complexion and short black curly hair, she wasn’t at all like long-blond, fair-skinned Kelly. Nevertheless, I felt attracted to her, although not in a pining-away-for-her, way. Which was crazy.

 

Besides, I’d bet my last dollar the attraction wasn’t mutual. She just liked hanging out with me. Nothing more. That’s what I told myself, anyway. So going to the next level, like dating? No, I didn’t see that happening at all. It wasn’t even on the radar. Me and Jill; on a date? Maybe. But not with each other; we just weren’t in that place yet. In fact after Kelly I swore I‘d never date again, and nobody’d ever want to date me. Yet, when during one of our late-night chat sessions at Whitworth Pizza, I sort-of-on-purpose-but-with-absolutely-no-expectations suggested we go out sometime for real, for whatever reason, she didn't say no. But I was right: neither of us was in ‘that place’ yet.

 

We did the movie and dinner thing a couple times, and while these evenings were surely pleasant and we had some laughs, somehow they just didn’t feel ‘right’. It wasn’t the company; it’s just that we were trying to put structure, or meaning, to the comfortable, free-form friendship that’d been born out of our KWRS workload. And removed from that environment, or being out together not because of it, for whatever reason ‘we’ just didn’t work. So nothing approaching a romantic moment ever came out of these ‘date nights’. Sparks never flew.

But that was okay. I wasn’t expecting any.

 

Like I said my head wasn’t there yet; my heart certainly wasn’t. And while I can’t speak for Jill, deep down, I don’t think hers was either. Though we valued each other’s friendship, the bar had been set real low on a deepening of our platonic feelings. At least from my perspective- truth was, at the end of the day- those days- my heart was still beating for Kelly. Though it’d been over a year and, with Jill, I often referred to her in the past tense, Kelly and her memory remained very much present. I just couldn’t it let go. I couldn’t forget. So Jill and I remained ‘just friends”. But for me, that was completely acceptable; anything else would’ve just screwed things up. Even better than friends, though, Jill and I were buddies. When I needed a kind, sweet, sympathetic, soul mate, in the truest and simplest form, Jill Bauermeister had filled that role. I didn’t regret it in the least.

 

After I graduated, Jill and I stayed in touch, running into each other a couple times a year, having coffee, catching up. Stuff like that. But, as I continued the slow grind of building a career in radio, Jill went off to do something else. Though really good at broadcasting, she moved on to her other passion, the outdoors, and didn’t look back. She took a job with the U.S. Parks Service and, during that time, left Spokane, met her future husband and ended up living and working out of Washington DC. By then, we’d lost track of each other and any updates about her came sporadically and only second hand. But knowing Jill was happy and loving her life, was good to hear. It made me happy.

 

It made me happy to have known her, too. Jill was fun and a great person and I enjoyed our time together, whether on “dates” or at work. I got a kick out of her off-beat sense of humor and the kooky way she looked at life sometimes. But by the end of 1983, except for the few snippets of news I got from Whitworth, and a few other people who knew her, Jill had become just a nice memory from a different time. End of story. Except late in 2002 the story came to sad ending when I read in a bi-yearly alumni newsletter that Jill had died over the summer. Ovarian cancer had claimed her. She’d just turned 45.

 

I hadn't seen her in almost 20 years but the news of Jill’s death hit me hard. Mom had just died a couple months before, so maybe I was still bummed from that. This was hardly the first time somebody I knew had died, too, but Jill was the first from college. And though long removed from those days, and she hadn’t crossed my mind in years, reading about Jill’s untimely death rekindled thoughts of her and those magical, carefree years at Whitworth when she and I were both so young and our lives were just beginning. And now hers was over.

 

How could that be? I was stunned. How could that cute, fun loving girl that I once laughed and worked with, grew to enjoy hanging out with- and even went out with- how could she no longer be living? It just didn't add up.  But knowing she’d passed on made me grieve, though I wasn’t sure why. Maybe I’d cared for Jill back then more than I thought. Hard to know though; fighting through stages of hurt, anger, denial and probably a thousand other negatives after Kelly might have blinded me to it. Or maybe I’m just kidding myself. Maybe I was just afraid. Afraid of being completely wrong; or of getting hurt again.   But I don’t know; I guess I’ll never know. However for a long time after reading Jill’s obituary I thought about her in quiet moments, when we were still just goofy college kids “playing radio”, and missed her. And unexpectedly- just going through the check-out line at Target- I missed her again.

 

I paid the girl for my stuff, wished her a nice day and left. And I didn't look back.