Fix Me, Fix You
Chapter Three
New Orleans was even more vibrant at night. The lights, the people, the music. It was even more energetic than before, if possible. It was louder, brighter, and even more populated. It was unlike anything Jesse had ever experienced before.
A soft smile tugged on his lips as he wandered through the new city. He was enjoying himself, but he couldn't help but question his decision of staying in the Big Easy instead of continuing to Miami. He was so afraid of making another life-altering mistake. But the vibe he felt from the streets sent life back into his bones. And he knew that he had made the right choice – even if it was only for a night.
The sound of drunken karaoke filled his ears as he finished another glass of whiskey. His blood was beginning to warm up from the liquor and he was craving a cigarette. He paid for his drinks and left the bar, the fifth bar he had been to that night.
He was trying to make his way in and out of local bars, having a few drinks here and there, trying to get into a fun mood, even eyeing a few local girls, but he realized he didn't find the same pleasure in drinking and partying that he used to. A lot of the color and fun had been sucked out of his life, and he was going to have to work hard to bring some of it back.
With a lit cigarette perched between his thumb and index finger, Jesse leaned against a brick wall, taking in the scenery and sounds. He was a little hazy from the alcohol, and his eyes were bloodshot again. The nausea from his withdrawal had lingered in his gut all evening and was now intensified.
As he smoked his cigarette, he strolled through downtown New Orleans until he came across a cheap motel. Deciding it was probably time to call it a night, he flicked the cigarette butt into the street and walked into the motel.
"How can I help ya, darlin'?" The older woman behind the desk greeted as Jesse walked in.
The locals were some of the nicest people he had ever met and the hospitality they showed him made him feel at home. How could he not have a semi-permanent smile on his face after encountering these wonderful people?
"Can I get a room for tonight?" He asked.
"Just one night?" She wondered as she typed on her computer.
"Yes ma'am," he replied, feeling the southern hospitality rubbing off on him.
"Alright...that'll be seventy-four dollars and twenty-three cents," she told him.
He nodded, taking his wallet out of his back pocket, pulling out a hundred dollar bill and handing it to her. He didn't have a whole lot of money left after the feds seized everything, but he had enough money to at least get himself started in a new city after selling his house and his expensive sound system and emptying his savings account.
Once Jesse was in his room for the night, he stripped off his worn clothes and stepped into the shower.
Steam rose from behind the shower curtains, fogging up the mirror as he stood under the cascading water. The heat prickled his skin, but he was numb to nearly all pain after the last two years, so it didn't bother him a bit. Using the bar of soap, he scrubbed his skin to wash away the grime from the city. He prayed that the soap would wash away his past as well. His life would be so much easier if his past wasn't hanging over his head 24/7.
He stood under the water, letting the soap bubbles and dirt wash down his torso. He leaned his shoulder against the tile, sighing deeply. He probably wouldn't have such a hard time coping if he wasn't so alone. But he was. He was completely alone.
It was better that way, he knew, because that's how you start over. Leave everything behind. But it was tough having no one to talk to, no one to call, and no one who will call you. He had no one.
He decided that the first thing he would do in Miami is make friends. Some wholesome friends. Friends who built him up and made him a better person.
A few minutes later, he emerged from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. He walked over to the bedside table to grab the remote for the TV, but a local newspaper caught his eye.
He began flipping through the pages out of curiosity, to compare the type of news reported in New Orleans to the type of news reported back in Albuquerque. Nothing really caught his eye until he reached the classified ads. One in particular immediately caught his attention...
CARPENTRY HELP NEEDED
AT QUINN WOODWORKING.
8841 RUE DE ZAIRE
MADISONVILLE, LA 70447
He pressed his lips together. That's the type of job he would love to have. He would have to search for a similar job in Miami.
He knew he a job like that would be so fulfilling. It was something he loved to do, something he was good at, and though he never had proper woodwork training, he knew he could learn the skill quickly and proficiently.
After pulling on a pair of clean boxer briefs, Jesse climbed into bed and stared at the ceiling.
He started thinking about the first wooden box he ever made.
When his high school woodshop teacher, Mr. Pike, first gave him the assignment, he blew it off. He thought it was stupid. Just a stupid wooden box. But he got started on it. And finished it in two days. He realized he had actually enjoyed the assignment, and though the box was amateur, it worked like it was supposed to. He had done everything right. It was the only time in his life where he felt like he had done everything right.
He thought about how his teacher reacted when he turned it in to be graded. Mr. Pike asked, "Is this the best you can do, Jesse?"
At first, Jesse was defensive, thinking Mr. Pike was being a smart ass and saying it sucked. But he realized, he was simply asking him, honestly, if that was his best work.
He remembers staring at the box, thinking that he had done everything right but not to the best of his ability. "No... I can do better," he replied to Mr. Pike.
His teacher didn't challenge him to do better, but Jesse challenged himself.
So he continued making wooden boxes. Some for class, some for the hell of it. He got progressively better with each box he made. Even after the class had ended, he continued working on his boxes.
The last box he ever made was the one he was the most proud of. It was perfect to him, made of stunning Peruvian walnut and inlaid zebrawood. He sanded it for days and rubbed it down with Tung oil. It was beautiful. It even smelled good.
He decided to give it to his mom. He gave her hell so much as a teenager (and even well into his twenties), and he thought she would appreciate a 'just because' gift, especially one he made himself. But the night before he gave it to her, he wanted to get high, so he desperately traded the box for a single ounce of shitty weed.
He sighed deeply, regretting that decision so much. He still couldn't believe he had done something so stupid and selfish. It was a great example of how the rest of his life had played out as well. It was that aspect of himself that he hated, that he wanted to get rid of.
He was done with that part of himself. He was better than that. He knew he was better than that. And he was going to live the rest of his life to his full potential.
The next morning, after a solid eight hours of sleep, Jesse went down to the bus station to buy another ticket to continue the rest of the way to Miami.
He stood in line at the ticket window, feeling hesitant despite his great night of sleep. Every time the line got smaller, his heart thumped faster in his chest. His brain made the plans to continue to Miami, but it was as if his body didn't get the memo (or rather, didn't like the memo) and was rejecting the idea.
Nervously, he glanced around him. A yellow flier pinned to a bulletin board caught his eye.
CARPENTRY HELP NEEDED
AT QUINN WOODWORKING
8841 RUE DE ZAIRE
MADISONVILLE, LA 70447
"Sir?"
Jesse couldn't take his eyes off the flier. It was as if someone placed the flier in that exact spot so he would see it. It was typed up, printed out, and posted right there specifically for him to see.
"Sir, can I help you?"
He realized the woman behind the window was talking to him. He was the next one in line.
"Sorry," he glanced at her as he walked up to the window, still glancing at the flier every few seconds.
"That's alright, how may I help you today?" She offered.
"One ticket please," he told her.
"And what is your intended destination?" She asked, clacking away at her keyboard.
"Miami," he answered.
But as the yellow flier waved in his peripheral vision, he wondered... Why Miami? Was it just because it was far away?
Why not New Orleans? It was far enough away, right?
It wasn't like he was on the run. Why did he feel like he was on the run? No one said he had to go to Miami. Hell, no one said he had to go anywhere.
"Actually," Jesse interrupted the woman behind the window. "Cancel the ticket."
"Are you sure?" She asked.
"Yeah," he nodded as he began to walk away. "Thanks."
Why not New Orleans? He liked, no loved, New Orleans. The city made him feel good, inside and out, and he already had numerous positive experiences in the past 24 hours alone. So, he made a decision for himself for once.
He was going to stay in Louisiana... For now, at least.
A soft smile tugged on his lips as he wandered through the new city. He was enjoying himself, but he couldn't help but question his decision of staying in the Big Easy instead of continuing to Miami. He was so afraid of making another life-altering mistake. But the vibe he felt from the streets sent life back into his bones. And he knew that he had made the right choice – even if it was only for a night.
The sound of drunken karaoke filled his ears as he finished another glass of whiskey. His blood was beginning to warm up from the liquor and he was craving a cigarette. He paid for his drinks and left the bar, the fifth bar he had been to that night.
He was trying to make his way in and out of local bars, having a few drinks here and there, trying to get into a fun mood, even eyeing a few local girls, but he realized he didn't find the same pleasure in drinking and partying that he used to. A lot of the color and fun had been sucked out of his life, and he was going to have to work hard to bring some of it back.
With a lit cigarette perched between his thumb and index finger, Jesse leaned against a brick wall, taking in the scenery and sounds. He was a little hazy from the alcohol, and his eyes were bloodshot again. The nausea from his withdrawal had lingered in his gut all evening and was now intensified.
As he smoked his cigarette, he strolled through downtown New Orleans until he came across a cheap motel. Deciding it was probably time to call it a night, he flicked the cigarette butt into the street and walked into the motel.
"How can I help ya, darlin'?" The older woman behind the desk greeted as Jesse walked in.
The locals were some of the nicest people he had ever met and the hospitality they showed him made him feel at home. How could he not have a semi-permanent smile on his face after encountering these wonderful people?
"Can I get a room for tonight?" He asked.
"Just one night?" She wondered as she typed on her computer.
"Yes ma'am," he replied, feeling the southern hospitality rubbing off on him.
"Alright...that'll be seventy-four dollars and twenty-three cents," she told him.
He nodded, taking his wallet out of his back pocket, pulling out a hundred dollar bill and handing it to her. He didn't have a whole lot of money left after the feds seized everything, but he had enough money to at least get himself started in a new city after selling his house and his expensive sound system and emptying his savings account.
Once Jesse was in his room for the night, he stripped off his worn clothes and stepped into the shower.
Steam rose from behind the shower curtains, fogging up the mirror as he stood under the cascading water. The heat prickled his skin, but he was numb to nearly all pain after the last two years, so it didn't bother him a bit. Using the bar of soap, he scrubbed his skin to wash away the grime from the city. He prayed that the soap would wash away his past as well. His life would be so much easier if his past wasn't hanging over his head 24/7.
He stood under the water, letting the soap bubbles and dirt wash down his torso. He leaned his shoulder against the tile, sighing deeply. He probably wouldn't have such a hard time coping if he wasn't so alone. But he was. He was completely alone.
It was better that way, he knew, because that's how you start over. Leave everything behind. But it was tough having no one to talk to, no one to call, and no one who will call you. He had no one.
He decided that the first thing he would do in Miami is make friends. Some wholesome friends. Friends who built him up and made him a better person.
A few minutes later, he emerged from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. He walked over to the bedside table to grab the remote for the TV, but a local newspaper caught his eye.
He began flipping through the pages out of curiosity, to compare the type of news reported in New Orleans to the type of news reported back in Albuquerque. Nothing really caught his eye until he reached the classified ads. One in particular immediately caught his attention...
CARPENTRY HELP NEEDED
AT QUINN WOODWORKING.
8841 RUE DE ZAIRE
MADISONVILLE, LA 70447
He pressed his lips together. That's the type of job he would love to have. He would have to search for a similar job in Miami.
He knew he a job like that would be so fulfilling. It was something he loved to do, something he was good at, and though he never had proper woodwork training, he knew he could learn the skill quickly and proficiently.
After pulling on a pair of clean boxer briefs, Jesse climbed into bed and stared at the ceiling.
He started thinking about the first wooden box he ever made.
When his high school woodshop teacher, Mr. Pike, first gave him the assignment, he blew it off. He thought it was stupid. Just a stupid wooden box. But he got started on it. And finished it in two days. He realized he had actually enjoyed the assignment, and though the box was amateur, it worked like it was supposed to. He had done everything right. It was the only time in his life where he felt like he had done everything right.
He thought about how his teacher reacted when he turned it in to be graded. Mr. Pike asked, "Is this the best you can do, Jesse?"
At first, Jesse was defensive, thinking Mr. Pike was being a smart ass and saying it sucked. But he realized, he was simply asking him, honestly, if that was his best work.
He remembers staring at the box, thinking that he had done everything right but not to the best of his ability. "No... I can do better," he replied to Mr. Pike.
His teacher didn't challenge him to do better, but Jesse challenged himself.
So he continued making wooden boxes. Some for class, some for the hell of it. He got progressively better with each box he made. Even after the class had ended, he continued working on his boxes.
The last box he ever made was the one he was the most proud of. It was perfect to him, made of stunning Peruvian walnut and inlaid zebrawood. He sanded it for days and rubbed it down with Tung oil. It was beautiful. It even smelled good.
He decided to give it to his mom. He gave her hell so much as a teenager (and even well into his twenties), and he thought she would appreciate a 'just because' gift, especially one he made himself. But the night before he gave it to her, he wanted to get high, so he desperately traded the box for a single ounce of shitty weed.
He sighed deeply, regretting that decision so much. He still couldn't believe he had done something so stupid and selfish. It was a great example of how the rest of his life had played out as well. It was that aspect of himself that he hated, that he wanted to get rid of.
He was done with that part of himself. He was better than that. He knew he was better than that. And he was going to live the rest of his life to his full potential.
The next morning, after a solid eight hours of sleep, Jesse went down to the bus station to buy another ticket to continue the rest of the way to Miami.
He stood in line at the ticket window, feeling hesitant despite his great night of sleep. Every time the line got smaller, his heart thumped faster in his chest. His brain made the plans to continue to Miami, but it was as if his body didn't get the memo (or rather, didn't like the memo) and was rejecting the idea.
Nervously, he glanced around him. A yellow flier pinned to a bulletin board caught his eye.
CARPENTRY HELP NEEDED
AT QUINN WOODWORKING
8841 RUE DE ZAIRE
MADISONVILLE, LA 70447
"Sir?"
Jesse couldn't take his eyes off the flier. It was as if someone placed the flier in that exact spot so he would see it. It was typed up, printed out, and posted right there specifically for him to see.
"Sir, can I help you?"
He realized the woman behind the window was talking to him. He was the next one in line.
"Sorry," he glanced at her as he walked up to the window, still glancing at the flier every few seconds.
"That's alright, how may I help you today?" She offered.
"One ticket please," he told her.
"And what is your intended destination?" She asked, clacking away at her keyboard.
"Miami," he answered.
But as the yellow flier waved in his peripheral vision, he wondered... Why Miami? Was it just because it was far away?
Why not New Orleans? It was far enough away, right?
It wasn't like he was on the run. Why did he feel like he was on the run? No one said he had to go to Miami. Hell, no one said he had to go anywhere.
"Actually," Jesse interrupted the woman behind the window. "Cancel the ticket."
"Are you sure?" She asked.
"Yeah," he nodded as he began to walk away. "Thanks."
Why not New Orleans? He liked, no loved, New Orleans. The city made him feel good, inside and out, and he already had numerous positive experiences in the past 24 hours alone. So, he made a decision for himself for once.
He was going to stay in Louisiana... For now, at least.