Jessie and the Devil
Nothing can scare you more than talking to old people. Some of them have lived through more hells than you or I could ever imagine, while we sit here and complain about the most minor discomforts they could ever imagine... and they still found the strength to laugh and love and keep living their lives until they can barely walk or see or hear. Get them going under the right circumstances (it doesn't really take much effort) and the gravelly sound of their voice will take you to wherever their memory currently reigns. They all have stories to tell, and the fucked up thing is that they're all true. I've heard a lot of them, it's like a hobby. That's how I found Jessie.
It doesn't matter what you believe in or what your rational mind tells you while you're looking at your digital watch during that subway ride to work. You sit in his parlor (not a goddamned living room but a parlor,) you look past the wrinkles, the missing teeth, the body that's so far gone you wonder how it's still alive until you find the eyes that are as piercing and demanding as they must have been 50 years ago. You know he's telling you the truth but you'll deny it come Monday, come the city, come your life.
He settles down into his chair and starts talking. You get some background, just enough to picture the time and place, and then he gets to the point.
On the way home from the grocery store, Jessie saw the devil.
He pauses here; looks at you, doesn't smile. You think he's telling a story about a murder, some horribly violent act and is simply setting his stage up, metaphorically.
It was easy to see him lying by the gutter even though the afternoon was well on its way to being night. See, he wasn't doing too good.
It's not a metaphor.
He's got bleeding stumps where (I imagine) black wings once grew. There're cut marks all over him, but they're not bleeding, they're smoking.. like what happens from a hot knife. Cauterizing is the word, I think. He had other holes in him, too, I saw his blood flowing out of him black as night. It was only a light red by the time the gutter water from the midday rain brought it to stain my shoes... never did get that off. His right leg was trying to climb onto the sidewalk and falling, making the same clacking sound over and over again when his hoof tapped the concrete. One of his arms he's got stretched out to me, like asking for help. The other one, his right one by the sidewalk, it's gone. That's where the blood is coming from. His face was like a human, and he made the same faces we all make when we're in pain or when we hate. He starts coughing violently, shaking his body, his mouth starts belching blood right along with the cuts he just opened up again. Yeah, he wasn't doing too good.
He was going to die and we both knew it.
So I set down my bags and walk over, take a few looks around. It's as busy as any small town street at night, not very, but nevertheless there are a good number of people walking by but not really raising the ruckus I'd expect.
Figure it's only me who can see this.
I don't have much time to ponder on this, he's pulling on my pant leg with whatever strength he has left. He spits out more blood and starts to whisper. I kneel down and he tells me three true things I'll remember to my dying day, haha! See, that's a joke, that was one of them. One of the things he told me. I figure he has good practice in that area and never doubted his word, despite who he was. My time's not up yet but it's coming up soon and it sounds about right to me. If that's all the evidence I got then I know the other two are true, too. I figure that was the point, why he told me that first. So I would know.
He told me when I was going to die, he told me who I was and he told me what I had to do. Then he shook all over one more time and he was done, gone to whatever place his kind do. I stood up to get my bags. Nobody else paid the body much attention, walking right by him and over him. I'll never forget their feet dragging his blood around the street, painting the sidewalks with red footprints. I bet some of them still have it on their shoes! They can't see it, haha! I bet people have it in their carpets in their houses!. You can't ever get that off, I tried.
Yeah, I think he came to find me.
I don't have much time left, but everything's about ready. My body's almost done now, but I still have it in me to do what needs to be done. Don't look at me like that, I know what you must think. I've never told this to anyone else, but it's hard not to be... excited so close to the end. You don't have to worry none, son. Here, let me show you out, I can tell you don't wanna stay. Can't say I blame you, I wouldn't stay neither if I was somebody else, haha!
The nights are always the worst.
I'm on the subway. I look at my digital watch and I pretend I care I'm late. I pretend everything I do is important because it keeps me occupied and gives me less time to think. Here, with my mind bathed in the fluorescents, he's a crazy old man who is probably dead by now. At night I can still see his eyes and I'm not so confident. I sleep with the television on.
Why am I scared? Even at his very worst, what can one elderly man do?
It doesn't matter what you believe in or what your rational mind tells you while you're looking at your digital watch during that subway ride to work. You sit in his parlor (not a goddamned living room but a parlor,) you look past the wrinkles, the missing teeth, the body that's so far gone you wonder how it's still alive until you find the eyes that are as piercing and demanding as they must have been 50 years ago. You know he's telling you the truth but you'll deny it come Monday, come the city, come your life.
He settles down into his chair and starts talking. You get some background, just enough to picture the time and place, and then he gets to the point.
On the way home from the grocery store, Jessie saw the devil.
He pauses here; looks at you, doesn't smile. You think he's telling a story about a murder, some horribly violent act and is simply setting his stage up, metaphorically.
It was easy to see him lying by the gutter even though the afternoon was well on its way to being night. See, he wasn't doing too good.
It's not a metaphor.
He's got bleeding stumps where (I imagine) black wings once grew. There're cut marks all over him, but they're not bleeding, they're smoking.. like what happens from a hot knife. Cauterizing is the word, I think. He had other holes in him, too, I saw his blood flowing out of him black as night. It was only a light red by the time the gutter water from the midday rain brought it to stain my shoes... never did get that off. His right leg was trying to climb onto the sidewalk and falling, making the same clacking sound over and over again when his hoof tapped the concrete. One of his arms he's got stretched out to me, like asking for help. The other one, his right one by the sidewalk, it's gone. That's where the blood is coming from. His face was like a human, and he made the same faces we all make when we're in pain or when we hate. He starts coughing violently, shaking his body, his mouth starts belching blood right along with the cuts he just opened up again. Yeah, he wasn't doing too good.
He was going to die and we both knew it.
So I set down my bags and walk over, take a few looks around. It's as busy as any small town street at night, not very, but nevertheless there are a good number of people walking by but not really raising the ruckus I'd expect.
Figure it's only me who can see this.
I don't have much time to ponder on this, he's pulling on my pant leg with whatever strength he has left. He spits out more blood and starts to whisper. I kneel down and he tells me three true things I'll remember to my dying day, haha! See, that's a joke, that was one of them. One of the things he told me. I figure he has good practice in that area and never doubted his word, despite who he was. My time's not up yet but it's coming up soon and it sounds about right to me. If that's all the evidence I got then I know the other two are true, too. I figure that was the point, why he told me that first. So I would know.
He told me when I was going to die, he told me who I was and he told me what I had to do. Then he shook all over one more time and he was done, gone to whatever place his kind do. I stood up to get my bags. Nobody else paid the body much attention, walking right by him and over him. I'll never forget their feet dragging his blood around the street, painting the sidewalks with red footprints. I bet some of them still have it on their shoes! They can't see it, haha! I bet people have it in their carpets in their houses!. You can't ever get that off, I tried.
Yeah, I think he came to find me.
I don't have much time left, but everything's about ready. My body's almost done now, but I still have it in me to do what needs to be done. Don't look at me like that, I know what you must think. I've never told this to anyone else, but it's hard not to be... excited so close to the end. You don't have to worry none, son. Here, let me show you out, I can tell you don't wanna stay. Can't say I blame you, I wouldn't stay neither if I was somebody else, haha!
The nights are always the worst.
I'm on the subway. I look at my digital watch and I pretend I care I'm late. I pretend everything I do is important because it keeps me occupied and gives me less time to think. Here, with my mind bathed in the fluorescents, he's a crazy old man who is probably dead by now. At night I can still see his eyes and I'm not so confident. I sleep with the television on.
Why am I scared? Even at his very worst, what can one elderly man do?