Meet Little Jeni

Interview with Little Jeni, Creative Director

By Jen’s Brain

Interviewer: Hi, Little Jeni. Thank you for talking with me today. I’ve heard a lot about you.  Your friends described you to me as “the fearless adventurer of the crew.” Does it fit?

Little Jeni: [Smiles] I suppose it does. I’ve also heard the terms “Reckless,” and “Crazy” tossed around. 

Interviewer: Is that how you’d describe yourself?

Little Jeni: It’s not entirely inaccurate.

Interviewer: Do you think that’s because of the brain injury?

Little Jeni: I’ve been told it is. It’s taken years to sort out who’s who, who does what, who remembers what. It’s complicated because of the brain injury. 

Interviewer: You mentioned sorting out whose memories are whose. Yours seem to be some of the earliest. Can you tell me how old you feel when you’re remembering these things?

Little Jeni: The brain injury? I was four, almost five. It was the summer before kindergarten. 

Interviewer: What do you remember about the time before the injury?

Little Jeni: I could already read and write by then. We had a tall bookshelf in the upstairs hallway where everyone would put their books when they were done, so someone else could read them. The children’s books were on the bottom shelf. Isaac Asimov, Ray Bradbury, and Ernest Hemingway were halfway up. On the top shelves sat all the medical texts, military manuals and computer programming books. The rule was: “If you can reach it, you can read it.”  So, I’d climb on a chair to reach the books on the top shelf. 

But then, the words were just…words. When I was reading, they sounded like they looked. When I wrote, they stayed where I put them. Nothing was slippery.

Interviewer: And after the brain injury?

Little Jeni: Everything hurt. My head hurt for a long time—so long it felt like weeks. I couldn’t keep my balance. If I tried to walk, the room tipped over. Mom had to carry me everywhere.

Interviewer: Do you remember a specific moment from that time?

Little Jeni: I remember my mom driving my brother to school one day - the kindergarten was in the same building as the high school - and the teacher stopped us in the hallway to ask why I wasn’t in school. Mom just said I was having a bout with a tummy ache. I was wearing my yellow, two-piece pajamas with the feet and I was so dizzy, if I looked up, I got nauseous. I just kept my head tucked against my mom’s shoulder and my eyes fixed on my yellow foot, and it wasn’t so bad. 

Interviewer: After the injury, you’ve said your perceptions changed. How?

Little Jeni: After that, the words changed. Sometimes, it’s like watching a film when the actor’s lips and the sound are out of sync. Or the words that are coming out, aren’t the ones their lips are making. People would say one thing, but I’d hear something else. Something…extra.

Interviewer: And written words?

Little Jeni: Sometimes, I’d be reading something, and a word would jump out like it, alone, was printed in bold. Then another. It was weird and uncomfortable, but I started seeing patterns in the words. 

Interviewer: What kind of patterns?

Little Jeni: Sequences. Codes. Daddy taught me some codes—just games, really. But when I lined the words up using those codes, they made new sentences. And those sentences meant something.

Interviewer: Can you give an example?

Little Jeni: On Sundays, I’d read the newspaper over Daddy’s shoulder. He was a slow reader. I’d already be finished with an article that continued on page six while he was still reading paragraph six. I’d read a story about something happening somewhere far away, and certain words would pop out. I’d get impatient, waiting for him to turn the page, so I could find the rest of the hidden words, and finish the story. Those words told a different story than the one everyone else was reading.

Interviewer: So, the story you ‘heard’ wasn’t the same as the one you ‘read’?

Little Jeni: Well, what everyone else read wasn’t a different story so much as it wasn’t the whole story. For example, a story on page one may have been about Queen Elizabeth’s diplomatic visit to some foreign country. On page three, there would be a story about some other country’s investment in a new military technology. On another page, there’d be a half-page ad for some store selling a toy rocket with the greatest, flashiest, newest bells and whistles. Then, on the opinion page, I’d read someone’s take on whether the U.S. should become involved in some other country’s business. All together, I would read a story about Great Britain brokering U.S. military tech for a conflict in a country we don’t want to be seen as messing with. 

Interviewer: [Shocked] So that’s how it’s done?

Little Jeni: Yep. That’s how they do it. Well, that’s how it used to be done. Now, with the internet and everything being digital, it’s harder. It’s like everything is encrypted. It’s harder to pick through the bullshit to find the truth.

Interviewer: [Laughs] I agree. You also mentioned your dreams changing.

Little Jeni: Yeah, the dreams changed, too. I started having dreams where I’d have conversations with people I’d never met, and they’d tell me things. Then, the things we talked about would happen. Or I’d dream about something happening to someone and it would come true. 

Interviewer: Did you tell anyone about that?

Little Jeni: I tried. When I told someone about it, they said it was called déjà vu and that everyone has it. But it wasn’t just that I’d have a conversation with someone in my dream and then see them on the six o clock news, having that exact same conversation with a reporter a week later. It was really happening.  

Interviewer: That must have been hard to explain.

Little Jeni: It was. Once, I dreamed something bad was going to happen to a friend’s twin brother. On the bus the next morning, I told him about it. I was just trying to warn him, so he’d be careful.

Interviewer: How did he respond?

Little Jeni: He called me a freak for dreaming about him. Other kids heard him and teased me. Then, what I dreamed happened—just like I said it would.

Interviewer: What happened after that?

Little Jeni: Well, they didn’t stop calling me a freak, that’s for sure. In fact, they started calling me a freak and a witch.

Interviewer: How did that make you feel?

Little Jeni: Confused. Different. Broken. Scared.

Interviewer: What scared you?

Little Jeni: Knowing something no one else knew. Knowing something bad was happening, and not being able to tell anyone. Or, if I did, they wouldn’t believe me or called me crazy. 

Interviewer: When you look back now, what stands out the most from those memories?

Little Jeni: The feeling of absolute aloneness. The knowledge that I’m not like everyone else, that I don’t belong anywhere. 

Interviewer: How about now? Has that feeling changed?

Little Jeni: No. Not really. It’s a different kind of aloneness, now. Because of the treatment program, we’re all pretty isolated from the rest of the world.  I have to admit, I get profoundly lonely, at times.

Interviewer: This has been really hard on you, hasn’t it? The treatment program?

Little Jeni: It has. I just want to turn the clock back to a time when I didn’t know any of this. Somehow, it was easier when I was a freak and a witch, not just someone’s science experiment. 

Interviewer: Well, I can’t speak for anyone else, but I don’t think you’re a freak or a witch. I think you’re a brave, strong, selfless woman. I admire you for following through with this.

Little Jeni: Thank you for that.

Interviewer: Well, that’s about all I have for you, today. I look forward to meeting with you again and hearing more of your story. Promise you’ll come back?

Little Jeni: I’ve been told I’m kinda the lynchpin which holds this thing together, so I don’t think I’ll be going anywhere, soon.  

Interviewer: Well, then, until next time, I’ll bid you good-bye.

Little Jeni: Good-bye. And thank you for listening.