Jesse

Memory: 1

Three years ago. I am only fourteen. What do I know about selling drugs?

Ty's old Chevy car flies into the night, the seats vibrating, adding to my sickness. My stomach is already in knots. I couldn't stop staring out the window. At the passing building lights, flashes of traffic.

I could almost see my reflection in the window. My face still looks boyish, more rounded. My eyes less sunken, less purple-ringed.

I couldn't let my mind wander. I couldn't think about what I was about to do. If I think about it, I would start to see the wrong.

But I have to do it. Ty said I have to. So I do. You don’t argue with him. Black Swann is looking for new, young recruits. That’s why I’m here.

We had been driving for a good while now. We are headed to Berkeley.

I focus on my breathing. Touching my hand against the glass of the window occasionally. Feeling my skin. Biting my lip. The little things.

I lick my dry lips, feel the sweat trickle. I rattle my fingers against the arm rest on the passenger door.

From the corner of my eye, I see Ty smoking, as usual. He flicks his glowing cigarette into the pitch black. The breeze is cool. Rustling. It helps me breathe. It helps me not suffocate.

Little did I know, I would never forget this night. Things I see here would stay with me until I die. Things I wish I had never seen. Things that still haunt me in the night. The screams. The horrifying screams. And the pools of blood. Her pale face twisted in distraught. The screaming bang of the gun…

We had hardly said a word to each other. I don’t mind though. No then.

Finally, Ty exits off of 170 and onto Airport Rd into Berkeley. I don’t know this town very well, but I guess Ty did. I have no clue where we were meeting.

From what I could see the place was really rundown, raggedy-looking people walking here and there along sidewalks, bordering brick, old buildings, some abandoned others boarded-up. Was this even the right place?

Ty turns right onto a narrow street where dilapidated buildings, offices, and a neglected strip mall lurked in the shadows. We pull into the parking lot of a shady-looking laundry mat. It's blinking pink-florescent sign reads: READY-N-A-JIFFY MAT. The second "A" and "T" lights are burnt out. That’s a good sign. There are only three cars parked. Two are rusted old-fogie-cars, another is a sleek black car with tinted windows.

He swerves around and slowed to a halt. Ty eyes me. "Go in, ask the clerk for the special order. He'll know."

"Wait…what?"

He rolled his eyes. "Just do it."

"Um, okay."

"Now get the hell out of my car."

The rest I remember in only flashes. The jingle of opening the door. My heart slamming wildly through my chest. The lingering stares of the creepy old woman and man as I walked to the back. The strange, overpowering smell of the place.

The skeleton of a clerk, his glossy eyes lost in his skull. What I had said:

"I'm here for the uh…the special."

"I'm sorry, the what?"

"The uh," I cleared my throat, "the special order."

"Oh, Viola will show you, this way—VIOLA, VIOLA WHERE ARE YOU!?!" I could nearly hear the fear in voice, his broken English, covered in a thick, foreign accent. Well before he begins shouting for the girl.