• You tap your fingers on a table that seats two, and wait. The chime of a bell rings, and the cafe's door opens.

    'How old is she?' you wonder. '16? 18?' Her raven colored eyes scan the cafe, and they land on you. Her eyes sparkle with recognition. One hand waving, the other absent-mindely pulling at a lock of her hair, she scampers over, and sits down.

    "Hey!" she says, and greets you warmly. "I'm sorry to keep you waiting." Elbows on the table, she leans forward, and rests her chin on her hands.

    "Uh . . ." You stutter, bamboozeled by her perkiness and sudden closeness.

    "The interview," she says, and pushes you back into reality. "For the personality profile." Her eyes question you, wondering what you're planning on asking her.

    You run your hand over the top of your hair, and pull out your notepad. Your ID for the newspaper you work at gets tangled in the wiring, and you quickly pull it loose. You uncap your pen, and meet her gaze.

    "I really appreciate you meeting me on such short notice," you say, hoping that the gratefullness you're feeling seeps through. "Firstly, could you give me your full name, and the spelling?"

    "Sure," she says, with an easy smile. "Jay Thomsan. J-a-y, like in yard. T-h-o-m-s-a-n. What else would you like to know?"

    "Were you born here? Or are you orginally from out-of-state?" You ask, lightly tapping your pen on your right temple. You only do this when you're nervous.

    "No, I was born in Ottawa. A little town, two states over," she says, dismissavely. "It was a little hole-in-the-wall town." Her eyes cloud over, and for the first time since you laid eyes on her, she frowns. Deeply.

    "Huh. How do you feel about your old home town?"

    "Ottawa was never my home town. Ever," she says, her voice picking up an angry edge. "The people that lived there were uneducated hicks, and I HATE all of them. Their stereotypical idea of women made me SICK." Her volume increases, and the venom drips from each word she spits out.

    You notice her shoulders shaking, and recognize the level of her anger. You've been there before.

    "Waiter!" As he walks over, you quickly skim the menu. "Could I get two lemonades, please? Thank you!" You press a $20 into his hand, and his cooperation is immediate. The drinks arrive within forty-five seconds.

    "My treat, as a thank-you for agreeing to the interview," you lie, as you push the sugary beverage towards her. "Drink up."

    She takes a few sips, and breathes a sigh. Crisis averted.

    "I'm sorry," she sighes, looking regretful. "What else can I do for you?"

    "'Mind talking about you hobbies, now that you're in Payne? What does Jay enjoy doing on an average day?" You make finger-quotes on the word "average."

    "Well, I'm pretty fond of roller-skating," she says, her almost-outburst forgotten. She's leaning on the table again. She smirks. "Problem is, I can't stop or brake worth you-know-what."

    'Quote material!' you think, and nod to let her know that you'd like her to continue.

    "I knit, too. Don't laugh! It's actually really relaxing. That, and where as most people have to go buy a new sweater or glove or hat when one wears out, I can make my own. I enjoy knowing I have the ability to make something." She pauses and sips her drink.

    "I also practice Tae Kwon Do. It's a martial arts." You raise your eyebrows, as if questioning why this roller-blading-knitter practices martial arts, too.

    She snorts with laughter, as though she can read your mind, and you blush.

    "Because I want to, that's why," she answers, and snorts again. "I don't try to live to anybody else's "norm," I live in my own. If someone decides they want to know me, first they have to accept me. ALL of me. I like knitting. I like Tae Kwon Do. I enjoy roller-blading, even if I do run into things sometimes. I just like being ME."

    "Well, that's good. And nice and honest," you say, hoping it sounds semi-relavant. Normally, YOU'RE the one pushing people and making them uncomfortable. Right now, Jay's pulling one over on you.

    "Do you work?" You ask.

    "Oh yes, I work," she states.

    "Where? Or more-over, what do you do?" You push, hoping to soothe your nerves.

    "I work at a roller rink," she says, grinning like it's the funniest joke. "Ironic, huh? I work the concessions stand at the place."

    "Not at all. I worked at a Dairy Queen for a while, myself," you say, remembering the incident involving the pizza sauce and the soft serve ice cream. Esh.

    "You're still in school, correct?"

    "Sure am. Sophomore over at PC, gawd bless the public school system." She grins again, this time with a playful glint to her eye. You recognize this one as well, and decide that the "accidental" flood that resulted from mis-informed students pouring beakers of chemicals down the sinks wasn't so accidental after all.

    'She's an easy-going person, who justs wants a good laugh in life,' you realize. Dang, why aren't all interviews this interesting?

    "Well, I'm glad I was able to interview you for this story," you say, standing up and putting out your hand for a handshake. She stands up to, and for a mila-second, you think you see her raise her eyebrows. Quick as it was there, it's gone. Jay grins again, and high-fives your outstretched hand - hard.

    "Thanks, hon. Call me if you need anything else," she says, as she picks up her hoodie that's laying next to her, and for just a second, the words "PC Press - Award Winning Paper, Inspiring Stories!" is visible. And then it's gone, as Jay Thomsan runs out the door, smiling and laughing and waving.