I Am the Messenger

"No," I answer. "God bless you." And I make my way home.

The bags slice through my hands, but I don't mind. No, I don't mind at all.

He works. He drinks. He plays cards. He waits for the Sledge Game all year.

This.

Is Marv's life.

Well, that and forty grand.

On Tuesday I go over to Milla's place to see how she's going. I never get sick of being Jimmy, although Wuthering Heights is getting on my nerves a bit now. The trouble is, Heathcliff's a completely bitter arsehole and Catherine frustrates the hell out of me. My purest hatred, however, is reserved for Joseph, the miserable, complete bastard of a servant. On top of all his preaching and carrying on, it's hard to understand a word he says.

The best thing about the whole story is Milla. For me, it's her in the pages. When I think of that book, I think of her. I think of her old moist eyes watching me read as she listens. I love closing the book and seeing the old lady resting in her chair. I think she's my favorite message.

But then there's Sophie, Father O'Reilly, and the Tatupu family. Even the Rose boys.

Okay, okay.

The Rose boys is pushing it.

I'm walking the Doorman a lot lately, and as I do it, I remember all the messages so far. In one way, I feel like I'm cheating. This kind of reminiscing is supposed to be done at the end, and I haven't finished yet. I've got two messages to go. Two of my best friends.

Maybe that's why I'm letting the previous messages return to me.

I'm afraid for Marv and for Audrey.

I'm afraid for me.

You can't let them down, I lecture myself as each minute shoves past.

Afraid. Afraid.

I didn't come this far only to fail the ones I've known longest and care for most.

I run through them again, from Edgar Street to Ritchie.

Afraid. Afraid.

The messages give me courage.

"Any luck with the job search?" I ask Ritchie as we all get together at my place on Sunday night.

He shakes his head. "No, not yet."

"You?" exclaims Marv. "Get a job?" He falls into fits of hysterics.

"What's wrong with that?" Audrey interjects. Ritchie stays quiet, and we can see he's a little hurt. Even Marv. He tries to suck the laughter back and hold on to it.

He clears his throat.

"Sorry, Ritch."

Ritchie tucks the pain a touch deeper inside and gives us his usual, easygoing self. "No problems," he says, and secretly I'm glad Marv's stirred him up a bit. If anything, he'll keep trying now just to shut Marv up and see the look on his face when he gets hired by someone. There's a certain satisfaction in shutting up Marv.

"I'll deal," says Audrey.

When the game packs up it's close to eleven. Ritchie's already gone when Marv offers Audrey a lift home out on the front porch. For obvious reasons, she declines.