Jill and the Book.

“There is bread to be baked, employee's emails to answer, grocery shopping to be done, and I don't have the time for this.”

Bakery owner Carly Charger looked up from her hastily written to-do list and gave her friend the former Jill Grey of the respectable twenty-seven years of age, now reduced to the most inconvenient age of three and a half, an exasperated look. The innocent toddler bounced past without noticing. 

“Look, Jill. I know it was something about that book you were reading. . . But it would be nice if you'd change back now, thank you very much.”

Jill cocked her head up at Carly, smiling a puzzled smile. She had to admit, the kid was cute. Jill in her grown up state had been tall and thin and awkward, but Jill at three was round, pink-cheeked, and sparkling-eyed. Her hair, which Carly had grown accustomed to seeing dark and scraggly, was now light brown and curling in attractive, feather-light wisps about her soft face. However, much as Carly wished to the contrary, Jill remained childlike.

The sounds of dishes clattering and steamy water gushing issued forth from the kitchen as Carly opened the door and called into it, “Sorry folks I can't go get more flour yet. I have something unexpected to deal with.”

One of her employees, Mary, looked up from shaping a crescent braided loaf and said, “I'll do it, just as soon as this bread's done.”

“Thanks.” Carly turned back to her office. . . and saw no Jill.

Panicked for a second, Carly glanced round the small room (what if she had lost her friend as a kid??), then heard a high childish voice from the kitchen, raised in question, “Where did the short lady go?”

Indignant at being called short (even though Carly had to admit, she was of lesser dimensions than most) Carly reentered the kitchen. Jill was standing near Rebekah, another employee, staring up with interest at the flour fluffing up from the bread as it was kneaded.  

“Well, she's dealing with an unexpected–”

“Hi Rebekah, sorry about this, I was just wondering where she had gotten to–”

“Oh, Carly, isn't she adorable?” Rebekah turned around to face Carly. "Whoose is she? And where's–”

Jill's tiny hand shot out and seized hold of a floury bit of dough. Carly grabbed it before it could make its way into the kid’s mouth. “No, that's not for you. I don't know how to explain it, Rebekah, but this here is Jill.”

“Oh!” Round-eyed, Rebekah stared. 

 Big tears welled up in Jill's eyes as she reached for the forbidden dough. “But I want it–” (sniffle) 

“Aww, she's so cute.” Rebekah bent down to Jill's level and made her own voice high and sweet. “You can have some when it's all cooked, that'll be nice, won't it, baby?”

Jill perked up (to Carly's relief) and announced, “Yummy bread!”

Rebekah giggled. “Yummy, yummy, yummy!” 

Carly took Jill's reluctant hand in hers. “Rebekah, I need to try and figure this out. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Alright, sure! She's a cute one!”

Carly led Jill into her office and shut the door. It was a small room, with a couple of book cases full of cookbooks and a phone, and since her baking business was quite small, it needed little else. Carly marched straight to the phone and dialed for the doctor. It rang for several seconds. She made sure to keep a close eye on Jill, who was amusing herself by climbing all over the two green-cushioned chairs in the room.

“Hello, is this Carly Charger I'm speaking to?”

“Good morning, Doctor. Yes it is. Do you know my friend Jill Grey?”

Something clattered on the other end as the doctor got out his notes. “Jill Grey. . . Ah, she is a . . . strange personage, to be sure. What's happened now?”

Carly, not sure whether or not to be offended at this description of her friend, decided against it when she realized that it was true. Jill Grey had always been a rather atypical sort. Always reading books by herself in that little secluded house of hers. . . “She came over to my place early this morning, saying that she had a book she wanted to tell me about. This is not a rare occurrence. We came to my office, and suddenly she was. . . A kid. Estimated to be about three and a half, I'd expect.”

There was silence from the doctor, who was apparently at a loss for words. Then,

“Er. . . Are you sure you. . . Saw it correctly? Do you need glasses. . .”

“Absolutely no glasses, thank you. I saw what I saw.”

“I see. Well, um, do you expect a prescription . . .?”

“Whatever it takes to get her old again.”

There was another thoughtful silence from the doctor. Carly closed her eyes, trying to calm her impatience.

“I would suggest time and extra calcium.”

“How much time?”

“Well, I don't know exactly. . . Maybe twenty years or so, depending on how old she was–”

A crash in the room distracted Carly. “Jill, what have you–”

Jill had fallen off one of the chairs and bumped her chin on the floor. (O bother, now what?) She thought as the pained child began to wail.

“Sorry, what was that?” She set the phone between her ear and her shoulder, picked up Jill, sat her on the chair, and dusted her off. Jill looked up at Carly, her tear-streaked, flour-smudged face creating quite the effect. “Mommy, it hurts!”

“In the morning give her some vitamin c supplements if she's not feeling well.” said the doctor through the phone.  

“Thank you, Doctor. Alright, Jill, you're going to be fine. (Also please don't get into the habit of calling me Mommy).”

Carly, deciding that Jill was not permanently damaged, paced the room in agitation. “Doctor, do you know of anything–chronic disease, anything– that would cause this?”

“I have never heard of anything like this before. Perhaps a severe case of childhood memory loss. . .”

“It's not that. If anything it's a severe case of childhood remembrance.”

“I'm sorry, Ms.Charger. I don't know what to tell you.”

Carly heard Jill begin crying again. “What am I supposed to do with her, then?” Awkwardly she patted the toddler on the head, which seemed to help.

“If she’s not better in twenty-four hours, I would suggest calling the Institute for Memory Care or her parents.”

“Alright, thank you. Have a great day, Doctor.”

“You too. Bye-bye.”

Carly heard the call end and she set the phone firmly onto the receiver. Turning to Jill, she was startled to see the girl attempting to crawl underneath the chair.

“Jill, no. Come on out.”

Jill giggled. “See my little house!”

“I see it,” said Carly with a sigh. How was she going to take care of her for twenty four hours with all the bread baking to do?

 Had she known Jill’s parent’s phone number she would promptly have called them up. Unfortunately, she did not.

She pulled out the computer, hoping to get a few emails answered while Jill was satisfied.

“Mommy, Look!”

Carly whirled around to see Jill poised atop the end table, busily pulling apart a sticky notepad and dropping them onto the ground. “It's snowing!”

Carly swiftly rescued what was left of the notepad and gave the errant young one a stern look. “No more of that nonsense. Sit down off that table, please.”

Jill got down from the table by jumping into the chair. “Wheee! I'm hungry, mommy.”

“You can have something in a minute.” As Carly picked up the fallen sheets of sticky notes, Jill headed for the bookcase and sat down cross-legged on the floor with a cookbook, where she seemed absorbed in the colorful pictures. The contrast between this bouncy girl and the shy, awkward, laid-back Jill Grey that Carly knew would have been hilarious under different circumstances. Right now, all she wanted was to get back to her work with minimal interruptions, and having Jill back to normal would be ideal.

Carly took a deep breath, steadied her nerves, and bent over her computer, beginning to type out an email.  

Glad for a few minutes of quiet, Carly reflected that maybe she was getting better at handling children. All they needed was a bit of instruction and they got along pretty well. These gladsome thoughts, however, were short-lived, for when Carly next turned around to check on her, she saw that Jill had torn a picture of a delectable spread of chocolates out of the book and was happily munching away, unconscious of its dry, paper-y flavor.

“Stop that!” Carly pried the picture out of Jill's clutching hand and put it on the table, then stowing the rest of the cookbook safely out of reach. Jill burst into tears.

“You don't want to eat that, Jill." Carly said, trying to comfort. Jill was disconsolate.

Suddenly Carly was struck by an inspiration. She took the book that Jill had come to show her off the table. It was a thick novel entitled, “Realm of Conversion”-- the type that Carly almost never read but Jill was always engrossed in. She handed the book to the child-Jill, who took it with interest and stopped crying. The book looked gigantic in her small hands.

‘I was going to tell you about this one,” said Jill.

(Thank goodness) Carly realized that she now had to bend her neck to look up at Jill, instead of bending down. “You're back! Jill Grey, don't you ever do that again.”

Jill smiled her vaguely distant grin. “I won't. . . just as soon as I know what it is I did . . .”