He dropped by his apartment, on the way back from delivering divorce papers to a woman who threatened him with a baseball bat as she cursed her soon to be ex-husband in Spanish. Two of the guys were sleeping, the others were out, he dumped his books, his rumpled ball of jeans, t-shirts and jackets, his notebooks and a mixed matched deck of cards in his sleeping bag, cleaned out his bottle of juice, peanut butter, apple, crackers and frosted flakes out of his respective shelves, left his key on the table and slammed the door on his way out. Fuck them, he didn't care if they were short on the rent, Todd and Pico were drug dealers they could afford it.
He finished at nine, he sat in front of the shop, with everything he owned in the world in his backseat, forty seven slips, from forty seven packages delivered over 201 miles of New York City, he blasted Anti-flag and ate his pizza the grease sliding down his hands feeling relived to be away from people, away from noise, of cars revving and horns honking.
"Did you hire someone?" Jess asked the door slamming behind him.
"Of course, some high school drop out who will probably sell the credit card numbers to bad people, who will steal packages, bad mouth old ladies, sympathize with felons and their subpoenas, but he has his own car, needs cash and I've signed him up with three quarters of the packages for tomorrow. I've got Rael doing the rest of 'em, you've got the day off tomorrow."
"See you on Wednesday then." Jess dragged his sleeping bag and his army bag down the stairs.
He closed the door and all he heard was silence, pure silence, as Joe's footsteps receded as he left, locking the door behind him. He hung up his jeans in the closet, folded his shirts in the bureau, stacked his books on the shelf of his bedside table, arranged his CD's next to his socks, and as a final afterthought arranged knickknacks he had found on the varied New York streets on this bed side table, a silver cross on a broken chain, a old fashioned cigarette case, a broken pocket watch that ticked slowly and calm, and a little plush tiger with dirty paws. He peeled off his sweaty t-shirt and kicked off his t-shirts and laid on the bed in his baggy jeans. He traced his veins with his fingers, surveying little cuts and nicks he had made himself in times of estranged despair, and manic boredom.
"Perfect." he muttered to himself. Even having a place to himself, that feeling in his heart still weighed down on him. He shut off the light and drifted into an uneasy sleep tossing and turning in the humid heat. It was the same dream, the dream he always woke up sweating to, with the smell of Jack Daniels in his nose, and a dirty taste in the back of his throat, the dream he had never told anybody, because it wasn't just a dream, it had happened many nights not so long ago. Some days it felt like the distant past of a bad dream, and some days it weighed on his mind, made him shift in his seat, break out in cold sweat, some days he worried about the night because he still felt 11 years old some nights.
He shook himself awake, running his hands down his arms, hugging himself, shaking the soaked hair out of his eyes.
"Fuck." He muttered padding towards the bathroom running his head under the cold tap. Standing up he saw himself in the mirror, water droplets dripping down his face, his hair long lankily past his ears, his eyes sunken and dark, his cheek bones gaunt in stark comparison. He pushed the sopping hair out of his eyes and turned away from the mirror. Afraid because he didn't recognize himself.
He left through the ally door, with a paperback in his back pocket, and his backpack over one shoulder he wasn't sure what he was looking for as he got in his car. Stopped at a red light drinking his burnt coffee and eating his stale donut, he said out loud. "I'm lonely." as if it had just occurred to him, when in reality he had known this since he had gotten on the bus to try to find his father.
He parked, and walked in. The bells clanged as he walked in, and a cheerful teenager blonde greeted him from the counter. He nodded, and walked around not sure what he was looking for. He ran his fingers across the cool tanks, stopping to look at the inhabitants of each one.
"Can I help you?" The blonde girl asked suddenly at his side.
Her presence spooked him, he tried to shake it off.
"I want that one." He said pointing to the wall of aquariums at a small fish off to the far end away from his school, starring stubbornly at his reflection in the glass.
"Are you sure, the others look more healthy."
"No, him."
Jess paid with his rent money he wouldn't be needing and left with a three gallon tank, five mismatched, unsocial small fish, and a little stone gazebo that looked strangely like a place he had once known in the middle of a small town square.
He watched them swim, watched them swish their little fins and swim through the gazebo, he put his hands on the glass and watched them smiling.
"I'm Jess."
