“Jennifer Juniper, lives upon the hill/ Jennifer Juniper, sitting very still/… Whatcha doing, Jennifer my love?”
— Donovan
In the summer of 2008, my daughter was driving across an intersection, on the way to a store. “I was pregnant,” Lisa told me, “and I wanted some cheesy bread from Papa John’s.” She had the right-of-way at the intersection and was surprised when she was struck on the right front passenger’s door by a silver BMW.
After inspecting her own car, Lisa approached the woman who had hit her. “She was on her cell phone, making calls; she barely looked at me and never asked if I was OK.” Before they are able to exchange information, a man drove up, got out of his car and asked the woman if she was OK. “I whipped up my shirt,” said Lisa, “and showed my big belly. ‘Is she OK? Is SHE OK?’ Dude got in his car and left.” After they exchanged information, Jennifer — the other driver — asked Lisa if they could handle the matter without the police and insurance companies. Jennifer promised to pay for the damages, asking only that Lisa get 3 estimates. “She was going on vacation for two weeks, so after I got the estimates, I waited until she came back. I wasn’t too worried when she didn’t answer the first few calls, but after about a week, I was calling with increasing frequency and urgency.” When the phone number was disconnected, Lisa went to the address.
“This rough-looking dude answered the door, but he was nice after I told him why I was looking for Jennifer.” The man told her that he had been renting the address for a few months and did not know Jennifer, but had seen a silver BMW at the other end of the street. Lisa did a “drive-by” but did not see the car. She went home and Googled, finding her parent’s address, which was near the address that Jennifer had given her. She went to the new address and knocked on the door. She suspected that someone was there, but when no one answered, Lisa went on the attack.
I did not interview my grandson — now 11 — about the events from 2008, but Lisa, who worked the 3-to-11 shift at a printer, would dress him and drive to the address, sometimes twice in a day. “We would buy a cone from the ice cream truck and walk up and down the street, calling out, ‘Jennifer! Jennifer!’ Xavion would say, ‘Mommy, she’s playing hide-and-seek with us.’”
One day, on a “drive-by,” Lisa saw the silver BMW. She knocked on the door again and Jennifer’s mother answered, saying in halting English that Jennifer was not there. “I told her why I was looking for Jennifer,” Lisa said, using the words “money, insurance and police, with great emphasis on the word POLICE.” Lisa gave the woman her number and Jennifer’s father called her the next day. “He was mad. Jennifer had told him that she had settled the matter. I gave him the quote and he promised to pay me, in cash, the next day.”
Jennifer was sitting on the sofa when Lisa entered the house, and after saying, “I knew you’d find me,” glared while Lisa completed the transaction with her father.
“He gave me $2,200 in cash, and I counted out each bill while Jennifer gave me the stink-eye. And the thing is — I had full insurance, and the police department told me that I still had time to file a report. But she told me that she would pay, and I was going to make sure she kept her word.”
Whatcha doin,’ Jennifer, my love?