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Tilly
1996
The first time I heard Alanis Morissette’s revenge song, “You Oughta Know”, it grated on my nerves. Her voice was shrill, bitterness permeating through the song, and her anger made me…kind of uncomfortable.
I was also happy then.
Or, at least, I thought I was.
When I was happy, I’d prefer optimistic songs. But then again, doesn’t everyone? I couldn’t imagine that was a personality quirk of mine. No. Happy people enjoy happy music. And I really thought I was happy the first time I heard that song.
But now? Now, it had not only struck a meaningful chord in my life, it had become my anthem. And every mixtape I made began with Alanis’s mezzo-soprano voice, the bite of her words, and the sting of its symbolism. It kept me centered; it kept me focused. And it kept me from answering his calls. After what he did to me, he didn’t deserve to hear my voice. Ever again. And somehow, I felt Alanis would agree.
I was listening to one of my mixtapes on my Walkman as I entered the Evanston branch of Spotlight Video. It smelled just like the old branch that I’d worked at for most of my freshman year of college in Champaign—like plastic VHS clamshells, stale popcorn, and the slightest hint of Cool Water cologne.
It smelled like home.
“Tilly Hamilton,” a familiar voice called from the sales floor. My old boss, Hannah Cho, walked toward me with her signature friendly, welcoming smile on her face. I always enjoyed working for Hannah and was excited to do it again.
“Hannah, hey,” I said as she pulled me in for a hug.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” she said. “I didn’t think I’d ever see anyone from that branch again.”
“If I had known you worked here, I would’ve applied in the fall.”
“Well, you’re here now, and I’m thrilled. This location is a little different than what you were used to in Champaign,” she said, walking toward the back of the store. Obviously, I followed close behind. We entered the back room where I’d had my interview the previous week.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“The employees here are…eccentric, fun. They have their own little Breakfast Club vibe going on.”
“Can’t go wrong with John Hughes.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve learned he’s sacred here. Like, watch-your-step-if-you even-think-to-criticize-anything-Hughes-has-ever-done kinda deal.”
“Yikes,” I said, gritting my teeth. Although, I was kind of impressed with what I was hearing about my new coworkers. I liked misfits and people with quirks because I was one of them. I’d spent my freshman year at one of the biggest universities in the Midwest, and I hadn’t found my people.
Maybe here, at this Spotlight Video, I finally would.
And if not, I guess we’ll always have John Hughes.
Hannah took a seat at her desk and gestured for me to sit in the chair opposite her.
“Got it,” I said, resting in the seat. “No Hughes bashing. What else?”
“Hmmm, I don’t want to sway you one way or the other, but I’ll give you a quick rundown on the employees. Then you can make up your own mind when you work with each of them.”
“Great.”
“All right, so to start, there are the helpers. The people you should ask if you have a question or a problem. There’s Emmett. Nicest guy on the planet—he may be promoted to assistant manager soon; I’m just waiting for corporate to give me the go-ahead to split the job between him and his roommate. Long story, but they want to share the responsibilities.”
“His roommate?”
“Yeah, we’ll get to him in a minute. Another person you can turn to is Marley. She’s become my closest friend here, and she’s Emmett’s girlfriend now.” Hannah stopped and smiled.
“What is it?”
“Oh, nothing, I just realized that’s the first time I’ve said that. You know, out loud.”
