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The space I set aside for Jake is still there. I feel it every day-some days more than others.
Today is a more day. Mainly because I haven't been able to shake off what happened this morning.
I think I saw him in the park.
I know how it sounds. I saw someone who's been dead for a decade and he was alive. He looked younger, too, which was weird, but he also looked happy.
When I think about the way it happened, it makes me wonder if there is a possibility that it might have been real.
Doubting any part of any detail I see makes me want to puke all over again. I haven't heard voices or experienced any delusions in a long time. I'm careful. I take care of myself: I exercise and eat right. I don't take risks.
This morning I was walking through the park across the street from where I live. It's a short cut to the nearest bus stop. A familiar route I take daily. Then, I heard music. It's not unusual to hear music in the park; people throw parties there all the time. But this is Los Angeles, and the part I live in, most of the music is played by mariachis or has an excess amount of tubas and accordions. What I heard was an acoustic guitar. I looked in the direction it came from and saw two boys, young men really, sitting on the stone fountain in the parks' center. They both looked to be teenagers, maybe early twenties. The one with the guitar was thin and had curly brown hair. He smiled and plucked, then began singing a song I've never heard before. As he got into the chorus, I got closer-stopping dead when I saw the lanky, brown-haired boy beside him. My heart dropped from my chest, because it was Him! Jake-just like he used to look when I first saw him at Joes' Pizza-except he was sitting beside the boy playing guitar, and tapping his hands on his knees, singing a harmony.
I couldn't take the chance that I was seeing things again. I had to be seeing things-Jake is dead.
So, I ran away as fast as I could. I wasn't dressed for a jog either. I was just starting my daily job hunt, wearing my discount power-suit and heels-which I promptly took off once I hit the pavement. I passed the bus stop and kept going until I couldn't see the park anymore. I ran until I had to stop. By then, I was way on the other side of Figueroa.
I went into the first place with an open sign, which happened to be a diner. The waitresses were all wearing roller skates, but they had decent coffee and a 'Help Wanted' ad in the window. I filled out an application. It doesn't pay much beyond tips, but it comes with a one room loft to make up for it. I don't want to sling hash for a living, but am running out of options.
+++
As I stalk through the grassy park early the next morning, I'm singing a new song I heard on the radio. It's by this band called My Chemical Romance. Humming 'I'm Okay,' I'm careful to keep most of my weight on the balls of my feet so my heels don't sink into the spongy ground.
I left a little bit early because I have a job interview at that diner, but I also want to search the park. The muscles in my calves tighten uncomfortably, like a spasm might be coming on. I bend down and flip my heels off-problem solved. Then, it's a leisurely stroll, through the soft green grass, not caring if the bottoms of my stocking feet are stained for the duration of their short life. The cool grass feels good.
Better still, there is no music playing this morning. No acoustic guitars. No haunting young boys with bronze hair and hazel eyes.
+++
Taking a deep breath, I sit down at the back table, across from an older, heavy-set man. His name tag says, Zane. He has buzzed salt and pepper hair and bright blue eyes. His hand rests across the table. In it, he holds my application. Glancing between me and the paper, he takes a deep breath.
"Can you skate?"
I nod, "Yes, sir."
"How good are you?"
"Been skating my whole life. It's one of my favorite things to do."
He nods. "You know this is under the table, right? I need someone who won't ask for a W-2, which is why the job comes with the apartment upstairs and two comp meals a day. Another employee puts Mom and Pop into a higher tax bracket and they're gonna be retiring in a few years."
I nod my head as if this is standard. "Yes. Your parents own the place?"
"Nah. I'm the night manager. I came in this morning for the interview." Zane takes a napkin from the dispenser on the table and wipes the sweat from his forehead. "Mom and Pop is just easier to say than Henrietta and Voytek." He smiles at his little attempt at humor, so I do, too.
"Would I have to buy my own skates?"
Zane shakes his head. "We'll provide you with a pair. What's your size?"
"Six and a half." I mumble. "What about a uniform?" The other waitresses are all wearing black bottoms with monogrammed pockets and hot pink button-down shirts. They look like a ladies bowling league on roller skates.
"It's twenty-five for the uniform. You pay when you can. You know, most people don't want to move for a low paying job."
"Well, it suits me. I don't own a car and I'm in my second year of business school. My night class is just down the street. Right now, I've got five roommates who are all model-slash-actresses moonlighting as dancers. The house is a constant party-zone and I need a quiet place to study."
He smiles wide and sets a small silver key on the table between us. "You'll do. The place is small, but it's clean. I'll give you a few days to get moved in. You can start Wednesday morning at seven."
"Great." My face is stretched in an uncontainable grin.
