Jesse
** Editor's Note: This story contains language that some readers might find offensive.
The man is cocooned inside of a sleeping bag, lying with his back against the cement wall of the underpass. His eyes are closed, arms limply wrapped around a garbage bag full of his possessions.
It’s two in the morning, and the cold weather has driven the majority of New Orleans’ residents indoors, everyone anticipating the predicted drop to twelve degrees by six a.m.
Three boys drive by in a jeep and spot the man lying on the ground. They immediately hit reverse, pulling the car into the grass next to the bridge, leaving tire marks on the soft ground. They had hoped to find someone here; it was the third spot they’d been to that night, searching to find the next subject for their video series.
They climb out of the jeep, one of them with a video camera in hand. They approach the man, stopping when they are just a few feet away from him.
“This is your night to shine,” Brian says, looking at Judah.
“Right,” Judah replies. He remains still, eyes trained on the man in front of them.
“Camera’s ready when you are,” Tommy says. He’s holding the camera out in front of him, lens pointed at the man, his finger resting on top of the record button.
They’re all tipsy, bordering on drunk. Brian’s mom never checked the level of her whiskey; she went through it so fast it was hard for her to keep track of how much she had left.
Judah takes a deep breath. “Guess I should start by waking him up.”
The other two boys nod. Tommy pushes his finger down to start recording. Judah takes a few steps closer to the man until the tips of his tennis shoes are almost touching his sleeping bag. He shoots a glance at the camera, then swiftly kicks the man in his side.
The man’s eyes open and he instinctively sits up, pulling his possessions closer. Judah runs back several paces, restoring the distance between them. The man looks at the boys, but doesn’t seem to really see them. His sleeping bag slips down slightly, but he doesn’t adjust it. Instead, he removes his arms from around the garbage bag and wraps them around his knees, beginning to rock back and forth.
“Well,” Brian chuckles, “I think he’s awake now, though that wasn’t too original. What else you got?”
Judah thinks. If he had known this was what they were going to be doing tonight he would have planned better. He’d watched some of their past videos before; they always managed to do something really edgy in them, something unpredictable and funny. One time they tackled a guy while he was sleeping and duct taped his hands behind his back. They taped his mouth too, then took turns sitting on him, riding him like a bucking bronco. Another time they found a guy who was so out of his mind on drugs that he didn’t even know they were there. They took a permanent marker and drew all over his face and arms, mostly penises, and wrote the word “BUM” on his forehead.
Of course, no matter what the main action in the video consisted of, they always ended them the same way. They would all stand in a circle surrounding their target and piss on him while yelling out the title of their video collection, “Piss on this!”
This was Judah’s chance to prove that he was cool enough to hang with the group, that he was capable of joining them on their homeless bashing escapades. Brian was giving him the opportunity to star in his own “Piss on this” video, and the last thing Judah wanted to do was look like a pussy in a video his entire school would see by Monday.
“Empty out your pockets, give me any spare change you have.”
“What? Judah, we’re here to fuck with him, not give him more drug money,” Brian says.
“I know, just trust me.” Judah answers.
Brian and Tommy dig in their pockets, producing an assortment of quarters, nickels, and dimes. Judah takes the change and walks back toward the homeless man. He stands close to him again, this time noticing that the man’s clothes and sleeping bag are stiff with dried sweat and collected dirt. His eyes are fixed on an object in the distance. The skin on his face resembles a worn leather shoe – stretched, faded, dull.
Judah reminds himself what this guy is: a druggie, an alcoholic – someone who clutters up the streets of his city because he chooses drugs over shelter, too focused on getting high to ever attempt finding a job. “They’re parasites,” he’d heard his dad say, angry after being approached by yet another one on his way to work, “They live off of hard-working people’s wages, never doing a damned thing themselves. Lazy bastards don’t even pay taxes.” Judah knows that now is the time to do something about it – prove to the people out there trying to take advantage of the system that he sees through their lies. Others may buy into all the sob story bullshit, but not him – he’s too smart for that.
Judah speaks to the man, “Hey, bum, you need some money?”
The man looks up and nods, tentatively reaching out a hand.
“Then catch,” Judah says, throwing the coins one by one, aiming at the man’s face, hands, neck, any exposed body part. He steps closer with each throw, pelting the metal disks at him, “Come on, catch!”
The homeless man ducks his head, holding his hands over his face, palms turned outward in an attempt to protect himself, as well as to signify his willingness to surrender. “Stop!” he screams, “I’ll talk, I’ll talk. The boat’s in the shoat with the coat; Peter brought it there. Ask the others, they were there, they saw.”
“What?” Judah asks, stunned.
“Awesome,” Tommy says, stepping closer with the camera, “We got a crazy one! This is gonna be good.”
“Brian, help me grab his bag,” Judah says.
Brian steps forward. The man has resumed his rocking motion, eyes wildly moving from one boy to the next. They both grab the bag and jerk it toward them. Judah tears it open and they shake out its contents over the man’s head: dirty clothes, empty water bottles, newspapers, and a toothbrush fall out.
“It’s raining trash!” Judah calls, laughing as the man places his hands above his head once again.
“That’s what he was holding onto?” Tommy scoffs, “How worthless.”
“We want you to leave,” Judah yells at the man, “to get the fuck out.”
“That’s right,” Brian chimes in, “You’re trash, just like all that shit in your bag – we want you gone.”
“What’s he doing now?” Tommy asks.
The man has gotten onto his hands and knees and is digging through the contents that have been scattered around him. He is intently looking for something, mumbling incoherently under his breath. Finally, he moves a dirty shirt aside and picks up an envelope lying underneath. He then sits back, clutching the envelope to his chest. “I know who sent you,” he says, looking up at the boys, “The FBI will never give up. But you just try and break me, just try. The fish made a wish in the dish, you’ll see.”
“What the hell?” Judah asks.
“You really picked a winner tonight,” says Brian, “Definitely a good one to run off. We don’t need crazies running around, bringing down the standards of our neighborhood.”
“Wonder what he’s got in that envelope,” Tommy says.
“Maybe his money?” Judah offers.
“Yeah, or his dope,” says Brian.
“Let’s get it,” Judah says, bending over to try and take the envelope from the man.
The man pulls away from him though, holding the envelope tight against him, gathering his knees into his chest so he’s in the fetal position.
“Judah,” Brian says, “I think it’s time for some tough love. You getting that envelope from him will make this video go viral.”
Judah nods, “Hey motherfucker,” he yells, “who do you think you are?” He kicks the man in the back. “You think you can just live anywhere you want? Dirty up our streets and not have anyone do anything about it?”
“We’re going to show you that this is our city, not yours!” Brian adds, emphatically kicking the man’s side.
The man groans as he tucks himself into the fetal position, mumbling jumbled phrases.
“You aren’t worth shit!” Tommy yells, aiming his foot at the guy’s face. The man protects his face with one of his hands, the other still clutching the envelope to his chest.
Brian grabs the man by the collar and leans down to him. “Nobody would even care if you died right now,” he says, “No one. Your life is meaningless – nothing. All you are is a failure, a waste of space. And we want you out of our space, got it?” He shoves him back down onto the concrete and looks at the others. “I think it’s time, boys.”
They gather around the man and all unzip their pants. Tommy tilts the camera wildly while pulling himself out of his pants. He adjusts it straight again and nods. All three piss on him, soaking his sleeping bag, hair, neck, and chest. “Piss on this!” They yell, laughing. The man doesn’t try to roll away, he remains tightly curled while the urine streams around him, running through his limp brown hair and continuing down his face. Through all of this the envelope remains dry however, tucked underneath him protectively.
The boys step away from him and zip their pants back up. “He’s still holding on to it,” Judah says, glancing at the man. He is moving now, crawling on the ground, collecting his assorted possessions, stuffing them inside his sleeping bag and trying to roll it up.
“Then do something about it,” Brian says, “You’ve waited long enough.”
Judah pauses, watching the homeless man. He is still on all fours, holding the envelope in one hand, muttering incoherently under his breath. Judah approaches him. “I want that envelope,” he says.
The homeless man doesn’t look up.
“Hey!” Judah yells, “I said I want that envelope!” He kicks him, and the man rolls onto his back.
“Be careful not to touch him,” says Brian, “I don’t want any piss smell in my car.”
Judah stands over him. The man cringes, shutting his eyes tightly; his right hand clutching the envelope by his side. “Are you so crazy you don’t understand me when I talk to you? Give me the fucking envelope, NOW!” Judah steps on the man’s hand that’s holding the envelope, crushing his fingers.
The man hollers out in pain, but still maintains his grip. Judah steps to the side of him, freeing his fingers from underfoot. The man begins speaking rapidly under his breath, saying the same thing over and over.
“What the hell are you saying? Say it to my face, bum!” Judah yells, frustrated that his one shot to prove himself is turning sour so quickly.
The man looks up at Judah and repeats, louder, “Crust of bread said Fred, crust of bread for the dead.” His speech is disconnected, and leaves Judah confused. The man takes the envelope and tears it in half, holding up both pieces to the boy.
Judah hesitates briefly, then snatches the pieces from him. He takes a few steps back from the man, moving closer to his friends.
“Well, what is it?” Brian asks.
“It’s some sort of letter, a card,” Judah says.
“Read it out loud, this is going to be hilarious,” says Tommy, focusing the camera on the torn envelope.
“There’s a note on the outside,” says Judah. He reads it to them, “You weren’t at the shelter when we came by. The manager said if we left this with him he’d get it to you.”
Judah slides out the paper from each half. “Weird. It’s a birthday card. There’s a note written on it.”
“Go on,” Tommy says.
Judah continues reading, “Just wanted to let you know that we’re thinking about you. Susie and Jacob ask after their Uncle Jesse all the time. This is our fourth trip this month, and we still haven’t been able to see you – I’m getting worried…are you still taking your meds? We’ll try to come by again next week; I want to make sure you’re ok. I really do wish you’d reconsider coming to live with us in Baton Rouge. We could help take care of you there. I hope you have a nice birthday and are keeping yourself well. Your loving sister, Margaret.”
Judah is silent after reading. He looks again at the hand written words, at the embossed “HAPPY BIRTHDAY” in big letters on the card’s front.
“What a freak!” Tommy says, smiling. “All of that effort for a stupid birthday card? Really shows how mixed up his priorities are.”
While Judah was reading the homeless man had finished collecting his belongings and left. They could still see him in the distance, walking slowly with his sleeping bag bundled over his shoulder.
“He’s definitely fucked up in the head,” Brian says, “It reminds me of this joke I heard one time. Here, turn the camera on me. Ok, what does a homeless person get as a birthday present? Nothing! Haha!”
Tommy cracks up laughing, then hits the stop button on the camera, their video complete. Judah still hasn’t spoken. He just keeps turning the card back and forth in his hands.
“Well, that’s a wrap,” says Brian, “That wasn’t too bad for a first time, though I was hoping for something more valuable in the envelope.” He heads for the jeep, Tommy following close behind him. Brian looks back and sees that Judah hasn’t moved. “Judah,” he calls, “let’s go!”
Judah doesn’t turn his head, but he knows he has to join them. He opens his hands and watches the two card halves flutter to the ground. He begins to walk toward the jeep, but stops as soon as he gets out from under the bridge. Tiny snowflakes are falling, some sticking to the ground and dotting it with white. New Orleans hasn’t seen snow in five years; he can’t help but feel a rush of excitement – maybe tomorrow would be a snow day and school would be canceled. He starts to smile, but then remembers the video they’ve just made.
Judah looks out in the direction the man took when he left, but he can no longer make out his shape in the darkness. He holds one hand out in front of him, palm facing upward, collecting the snow as it falls. It’s surprising to him how quickly it melts when it hits his skin; changing from perfect ice crystals into freezing drops of water. He shakes his head, then dries his hand off on his jeans and walks over to the jeep.