DaySleeper

I wake up in the morning to Jade, petting my hair. I twist away from her, muttering that she’s a freak.

“Thanks,” she scoffs, “but come on. We’re helping Maggie file some stuff today.”

“What about painting?”

“Wrong colors came in, apparently. Though, I can’t tell the difference between all the shades of grey.”

I grumble and sit up.

“Kay.” I reply. She stands from my bed, and leaves the room. I rub my eyes and stand as well, following her.

I stop at the foot of the steps, staring at the living room. The furniture has been pushed against the walls, and four stacks of boxes await us.

“Those are all… files?” Greg asks. Maggie nods.

“We have to put them in alphabetical order.”

“Can we just die instead?”

Maggie glares at Jade.

“No, and after we alphabetize them, then we need to have them all transferred onto a computer,” she says.

“I’d rather paint,” Jade whines. I giggle a bit.

“Jade. Shut up.” Maggie says. She sighs. Maggie directs us to each grab a box. I pick up one, which is heavier than it looks, and nearly drop it on my foot. Maggie grabs the other side and helps me carry it across the room. I thank her, and sit down on the floor, opening the lid. Inside, at least a hundred manila folders have photos and papers falling out of them. I realize something.

“Who has the M’s?” I ask. Matt does. “Switch?” I ask him. He shrugs and we trade places. This box is messier, but I don’t want someone else to find my folder. It’s not their business.
I take out the folders and make a few piles of them around me. I open the first, staple the photos to the folder and put the papers back inside. I try not to stare at the black eyes and busted lips I see in the photos. I don’t know these women. It’s not my place to stare. So I do it quickly, adjusting the contents and then placing them in the box, in alphabetical order. The TV is on while we work, and we watch the news. I have been cut off from the rest of the world for so long, so I find myself asking people to clarify what they’re talking about. Maggie seems to know most of it, so we sit together, while she tells us what we don’t know. I don’t come across my file until it is three o’clock in the afternoon. I flip the pictures over and begin to read the information.

Name: Cadence Mason

Age: 19

Birthday: August 14, 1991

Gender: Male

Alternative residence: none

I try to remember this day clearly. I can’t remember what was broken or bruised on my body. All I can remember is that I came here with Maggie, and that was that.

I look up. Nobody seems to be noticing me taking my time with this file.

I flip over the first picture and stare.

My breath hitches.

“Cadence?” Maggie says. I look up at her and I can see the understanding spark in her eyes. She stands and climbs over everyone, joining me.

Everyone seems to get the hint and they leave. Jade and Avid both stare back at us for a long moment before Avid leaves and Jade follows.

I look down at the photo in my hands. Maggie stares too, her head on my shoulder.

“You were so bruised,” she says into the fabric of my teeshirt, “I’d never been that scared in my whole life.”

“I'm sorry,” I mutter.

“Don’t say that. Because it was never your fault.”

“It always felt like it was.”

She sighs. Her breath is hot on my shoulder.

“I know.”

“I don’t remember if it hurt,” I admit.

“It did,” she says, “The way you looked… it had to have hurt.”

I look up at her. She sighs again as I staple the pictures into the folder and shove the paper back in.

“Let’s get back to work.”

She doesn’t argue.

~~
At dinner that night, I cannot stop thinking about the photos. My bones protruding from my body, the way the shining bruises rested on my skin. It makes me sick. I look down at my wrist. Admittedly, I am still very thin. I may have only gained fifteen pounds since then. Who knows? I don’t know anything about my body, it seems.

I take a bite of my food, without even noticing what it is, and replay the image of the skin draped across my shoulders like a circus tent, two equally spaced posts jutting upwards, supporting the canvas. I bite the inside of my cheek.

Ethel stares at me. I ignore it. I eat my dinner, wash my plate, and say that I am going for a walk.

A walk ends up with me going and sitting on the corner, four blocks down, smoking my last cigarettes. I think I’ll quit soon. It’s not an attractive habit. I watch the cars zoom by. Last time I was here, it was freezing outside and I had no one left. Tonight, it’s humid and I have a group of people that I know will be here for me, no matter what.

What am I bitching about?

Oh yeah, that’s right. I am homeless, jobless, and in love with a guy who will not have me.