Voices – Page 9
“Nice place.”
They were standing in the doorway to John’s studio apartment. Jen was looking over his shoulder. John moved aside and let her in. The voices surrounded him again, now that he was so close to other people, and to John they felt like a warm blanket. He wondered if it should worry him that he’d grown so attached.
“Eh. It’s basically a closet with a bathroom, but it’s cheap,” he said.
“It’s fine, John. It’s like a palace compared to what I’ve been living in the past few years.”
John could see how that would be the case. He nodded. “You want to sleep on the couch or the bed?”
“I’m not going to sleep either way, so why don’t you take the bed?”
“You sure?”
“Oh, yes. I’m positive.”
John sat on the edge of his bed. Jen took a seat on the couch and looked at him.
“Wish you’d tell me about your dreams, Jen,” he said. They had spent almost half an hour more in the bathroom. Jen had cried for part of it, and John had not tried to stop her. He thought maybe it might help her. Finally it had passed, but she had refused to speak further of the dream.
Eventually, John had invited her to his apartment. He didn’t want to sleep with her. He didn’t want to kill her. He just wanted to give her someplace decent to stay while he figured out why he needed to know her. Jen had reluctantly accepted.
“Maybe someday I’ll tell you about them. Maybe I’ll go completely crazy and not be able to stop talking about them.” Jen rolled her eyes.
“You going to be here when I wake up?”
Jen gave him a sad, tired smile. “I wouldn’t have come back here with you if I wasn’t.”
“You want to take a shower?”
“God, yes.”
“Go for it. There’s a new toothbrush in the right drawer. Wear whatever you can find in the closet. We’ll throw your clothes in the wash tomorrow.”
“Okay.” Jen stood up, opened the closet, began looking through John’s clothes. John picked up the phone, called into work, left a message on the answering machine saying he’d spent all night throwing up and was just finally getting to sleep. Jen laughed as he hung up.
“I’m going to sleep,” John said. “If you want to watch TV, go ahead. I’m so fucking dead, I’d sleep through world war three.”
“Why are you doing this for me, John?”
“I don’t know. I have to. If I could explain that, I would…”
“But you can’t,” Jen finished for him.
“Goodnight, Jen,” John said. He stood up, put his keys and wallet on the night stand, and pulled off his shirt.
As he turned, Jen noticed a criss-crossing pattern of scars on one bicep, considered asking about them, and decided against it. John flopped down on the bed, still wearing his jeans, and shut his eyes. Within minutes, he was asleep.
Jen thought about robbing him blind, and then smiled at herself. No way. She couldn’t do that, not even after four years on the street. He’d asked if she would be around when he woke up, and she intended to be. She didn’t think he could help her, but she had to admit, it made her feel better, being near someone who had somehow managed to not let being nuts destroy his life.
She stood by the door to the bathroom for a moment, watching him sleep. Before turning to go take her shower, she said, “Goodnight, John.”
