Jack and Jill

Jack and Jill went up the hill

To fetch a pail of water

Jack fell down and broke his crown

And Jill came tumbling after

Yeah, we’ve all heard this one before.  But does anyone know the true story?  Here are the facts:

Jack and Jill were siblings.  Their parents’ names were Jane and Jason Janowitz.  Jane’s maiden name was Jerrard.  They wanted to keep the J’s in the family.  Jill was born two years before Jack.  She was old enough when he was born to know that she was being displaced in her parents’ affections.  Jack was a prince. She was his handmaiden.

And so it continued as years passed.  Jack went to an elite private college costing the family over eighty thousand dollars a year.  Jill was sent to a state university because it was so much more sensible to pay instate tuition.  Jack got his parents’ monetary support through medical school.  Jill, despite a fellowship, was forced to take out student loans to pay for room, board and expenses when she got her Ph.D. in anthropology.  Her thesis was, of course, on patriarchal societies.

Education completed on both their parts, their parents bought a summer cottage upstate, among the rolling hills and green pastures, dotted by the occasional glacial boulder, which made farming hard—for farmers, of which the Janowitzes were not.

How quaint the cottage was. How back to nature, albeit with all the modern conveniences.  But how tenuous modern life can be when the power goes out during a family vacation, and you’re left in the dark with no tv, no heat, and your phone is running out of charge.  And, perhaps most important for human survival, no water.

A drive into town would have solved that problem if a giant oak hadn’t fallen over the driveway and landed on the Range Rover.  But there was that pump up the hill.  It hadn’t been used for a while, but the farmer who sold the land to the Janowitzes assured them it still worked.

As morning broke without coffee and croissants, Jane insisted her two darling children take the ice buckets up the hill and at least pump some fresh water.

So they set out, Jill carrying two ice buckets, Jack urging her onward.  The sun glinted on Jack’s Patek Philipe watch that he had received for graduation from medical school.  Even though she had presented her parents with a bound copy of her thesis, all Jill had gotten was, “That’s nice, dear.”

Reaching the pump, Jill put down the buckets and waited. After all, men have better upper arm strength than women, so surely Jack would pump the water while she held the buckets.  But he just looked at her.  So she said, “Aren’t you going to—“

He held up his hands.  “Can’t risk them if I’m going to be a surgeon.”  He waited as she did nothing but fume.  “Come on, Jill,” he urged.  “I mean, all you do is use a trowel, right?”

So Jill, anger building, stepped up to the pump and started pumping.  Now, if you’ve ever pumped your own water, you know that water doesn’t come right away.  You pump and you pump and then a dribble, then a medium flow before it gushes out and gets all over you—if you’re not experienced, as perhaps the farmer was.

Jill was wet.  The buckets were full.  Jack was standing with his back to her, admiring the sunny landscape after yesterday’s storm.  He turned slightly, made note of the full buckets, then turned back and said, “Come on, then,” waving her on, as he took his first steps back down the hill.

But Jill didn’t move.  She lifted one bucket and swung it around her head over and over again like a sling shot until it achieved maximum centrifugal force, and then she let loose and watched with orgasmic delight as it smacked her brother right in the middle of his back.  Whereupon he lost his balance and tumbled down the hill, ricocheting off a fence post and a boulder until he landed about a hundred feet from the cabin door.

Of course Jill came running down after him, wondering if his fall had broken his twenty-two thousand dollar Crown and Caliver Patek Philippe watch.  Dare she hope?

Their parents rushed out the cabin door as soon as they heard Jill’s shriek and saw their son crumpled on the grass in front of the cabin.  “What happened?” Jane Janowitz asked her daughter anxiously.

“Damned if I know,” Jill replied.  “But here’s the water you asked for.”

Of course the story has a happy ending—of sorts.  Jill’s parents with the last of their phone charge called for a Medivac helicopter to get Jack to the nearest trauma center.  By the time the whole family was able to gather in the hospital waiting room, the neurosurgeon on call assured them that Jack would be fine, a mild concussion only, but the orthopedic surgeon informed them gravely that Jack had broken his wrist.  It would take some time to heal and probably not have the mobility ever again that he would need as a surgeon.

So Jack, whose memory of the incident was always a bit hazy, even when seeing a therapist, went on to become a dermatologist, while Jill discovered that the neurosurgeon treating Jack had been three years ahead of her at the state university.  They had fun reminiscing about their favorite ice cream parlors and pizza places and, well, what else is love made of?

So Jill and the neurosurgeon married.  It wasn’t the life she expected, but her husband did volunteer for Doctors without Borders, which gave her a chance to do some field work of her own.  His name was Dimitri by the way.  Their children were Sasha and Elena, loved equally.

Jack married a shopper.  Their children were Jacqueline and Jackson.  Poor Jackson suffered in the clothing department, having to wear off-brand jeans, but Jacqueline’s clothing always bore a designer label.  She was such a princess, while Jackson—well, that’s another story, isn’t it?