Jeremy Horace

Jeremy Horace

By: Natasha Beitman

It was a day like any other. Jeremy Horace, who had celebrated his 25th birthday 3 days before, was sitting at the foot of his bed, rubbing his eyes. The clock, screaming in alarm, read 7:03 am. Jeremy was late. But Jeremy had always been late. He didn’t really remember the last time he had been on time. He didn’t really liked the idea of being punctual. He didn’t much like the idea of anything anymore. He just sort of… did things.

The sun was rising, and Jeremy looked out his window. He did not comment to himself on the beauty of the day, nor did he notice the lithe figure of a jogger, clad in nothing but short shorts and a tank top running down the street. He didn’t not see those things anymore, because he simply did not care about them. He didn’t much care for anything anymore. He just sort of… saw things.

Today, Jeremy was going to drive his usual bus. It was the 8, and it went from once place to another, every day, without fail. It was one of those things that no one noticed, no one recorded as important. It just was, just like Jeremy Horace. He just was.

He placed is hands on the pipe. It was filled to the brim, a full bowl ready to be burnt to ashes. He did not smile at the thought like he once had. He just accepted it as another motion of the morning. Brush teeth, iron shirt, smoke weed, put shoes on and walk to work… it was simply the way things were. Just like they had been for 7 years, and like he had accepted they would be for the rest of his life. He did not question it, because he knew that it was pointless to do so. He would not risk changing what was normal, because if he risked it and made a mistake, he would never be able to go back. He hated that idea. He liked playing it safe, never challenging the status quo that he had placed upon himself.

After the weed was gone, he flicked the ashes into a garbage can. His one bedroom apartment was comfortable. There was a bed, a lamp, a garbage can, and a small table where he ate cereal. He needed nothing else. There were no pictures on the walls; there were no memories to this apartment. He simply slept there, ate there, but could not be said to live there. Indeed, anyone would swear that Jeremy Horace was not living at all.

Jeremy Horace walked to work. He didn’t have a car. He never went anywhere, so he figured he didn’t need one. The only time he had ever driven one was back in high school, when he had stolen his parent’s car one night, to go see Marie. That was the last night he saw her. He walked to work, unlocked the doors to his bus, and turned it on. He put his coffee, black, in the cup holder, settled his driver hat on his head, and pulled the bus out of the bus terminal. He drove all the way across the city, stopped at all the stops he had to stop at, and 8 hours later, he parked his bus at the terminal, and walked home.

Today, Jeremy Horace woke up, smoked his pipe, walked to work, and drove his bus through the stops. On his 3rd time around, someone finally got on. It was a man, dressed in a fine suit. It was exquisite, deep and rich in both color and fabric. It could be said that anyone would immediately feel the power of this man, with his chiseled jaw and slim silver briefcase. He pulled out a cell phone once he sat down, the blue plastic chair seeming too cheap to be touched by such a fine tailored suit. Jeremy couldn’t help but listen.

The conversation ended in silence. Johnny Rip, the successful business man, sat staring at his cellphone for a good 5 minutes. Jeremy Horace, the bus driver, knew that Mr. Rip had missed his stop twice now. He also knew why. Johnny Rip’s wife, Candace, was leaving him. She was taking their 2 kids, the very air that Johnny breathed, with her. Johnny Rip was contemplating the easiest way to kill himself, because without his children, he saw no point in continuing his life. He spent 18 hours a day in the office, hard at work, so that they could go to the private boarding school he knew they needed to succeed. He worked so his wife could indulge in the 3 day spa trips, and the Dolce and Gabanna shoes. Today, he was wearing the only expensive suit he owned, and today, he was thinking about the gun that his father still had, hanging from the wall in his office. He also thought about how his wife, Candace, had once seemed like the best option for a young, handsome and successful young stockbrocker. She, in all her blonde, plastic, playboy bunny-ness, was his. And now, time had passed, enough time for her to settle with at least half of his estate, and she was no longer his. Not that he cared, he knew of her affairs since the day he saw his first grey hair. It was his children, who he knew would go with her, who he would be unable to live without.

Jeremy Horace turned away from Johnny Rip. There was nothing he could do. He couldn’t tell Mr. Rip that he would be okay, that he could fight for his children, or that his wife was a bimbo. Not because it wouldn’t help, but because he was too lazy to open his mouth. Jeremy was a bus driver. He played deaf and blind. He listened and he saw, and he did nothing. He would not break the cycle, not get attached, for if he did, there would be the risk of injury. Jeremy Horace could not afford injury. He liked playing it safe. Jeremy Horace however, despite his nonchalance, did give one last thought to what he had learned about Johnny Rip.

I’m right. This proves it. I could have gotten married to Marie, and lived happily ever after. But I also could have married Marie, and had it fail, and had to go through a bitter divorce. I did the right thing. Being alone is better than loving something that is going to leave, no matter how hard you try to hold them

Jeremy Horace parked his bus at the end of another day. It had been as mundane as the last. Johnny Rip had finally gotten off, and Jeremy knew that it wasn’t his stop. He had gotten off the bus at the exact same place where Jeremy had picked him up. Jeremy didn’t know what would happen to Johnny, but he didn’t really care. His apathy was a shield, and he locked the doors of his bus, he pushed Johnny Rip right out of his mind with a clean shove. That done, he took a deep breath, and walked through the pouring rain towards his house. Once he arrived, he lit his pipe, smoked another bowl, and sat on the edge of his bed. In the silence, he took of his shoes, and lay back. He closed his eyes, and promptly fell asleep.

It was a day like any other. Jeremy woke up, and went through the motions of his morning. On the walk to work, he thought about life. He didn’t understand why people gave in to the “plan” that society set on them. Go to school. Get good grades so you can get into another school. Study something equally pointless. Get a job because of the paper stuck to your wall that says you studied something pointless for an inordinately long time. Work hard at your job for years on end. Earn money. Use money. Save money for retirement. Retire. Die. What the fuck was the point to it all?

Jeremy laughed at the idiots that went with the “plan”. Like the man on the bus the day before. He had gone with the plan. And look where it had gotten him? He had seen the newspaper that morning, lying on the sidewalk. As it fluttered past, Jeremy read about Johnny Rip’s suicide. Simple as that. A life, wasted. Blown away by the loaded gun that someone handed him in the form of a cell phone call. What was the bloody point to wasting life like that? He knew that Johnny Rip, in his last moments, must have regretted everything.

Jeremy got on the bus, and the day began. It was a particularly slow day, the emptiness of the bus cold and unforgiving. Jeremy wished he was home with his bong, instead of going through what seemed like an endless circle of stops. Red lights turned green, empty bus shelters lay beside full homeless shelters and trash cans. It was all so pointless and routine. Jeremy looked at the road, his eyes unblinking. What he saw, no one would have been able to tell you.

The sun was setting as a passenger finally got on the bus. Jeremy Horace looked over his shoulder at her. Even a person like him, who took no note of anything due to some sort of voluntary blindness, registered her extraordinary beauty. She was delicate, wide eyes and perfect, but there was hardness to her movements, as if their fluidity was simply an act. She was wearing heavy makeup, and Jeremy thought it made her look older. It was obvious that she had been crying, as there were streaks of mascara down her face. There was a bruise on her arm, and Jeremy Horace wished in some deep part of his mind that he could reach out and touch her unearthly beauty. Their eyes met as he stared, and he saw the pain in her clear blue eyes. A pain so vast, Jeremy believed he would drown in it.

She didn’t stop; her motion continuous as she walked past him. Jeremy could still see her through the driver mirror. She had lain down on one of the long blue seats, curling up as tightly as she could. Jeremy watched as she closed her eyes, and he let out a whisper of a sigh. She looked at peace, asleep. There was no more pain spilling out of her terrifying eyes.

He drove on, quickly forgetting the shocking presence of the rail thin girl in the back of the bus. He brushed his hair out of his eyes, looking at the last stop of the night. It took a moment for him to register it. He stopped the bus, and opened the doors. No one got out, so he closed them and drove on. He drove into the station, parked the bus in the usual spot, and stood. He was required to run a final check of the bus, to make sure it was clean for tomorrow. It was then that he saw her.

She was curled up in the same position as before, sleeping soundly. He thought she looked like a fallen angel. She was dressed strangely. An ill fitting coat cloaked her tiny shoulders, and a tight spandex mini skirt barely covered her upper thighs. She was wearing a golden bra as a top, and he noted in disgust a medley of bruises dotting her skin. She was wearing stilettos, and her toe nails were carefully manicured. He thought she looked about 16.

He shuffled up to her, running his hands through his sandy hair.

“Hello.”

She didn’t move. Jeremy didn’t know what to do. He had never been faced with this situation, and he just didn’t know what the accepted way to proceed was. He hated not knowing things, and this bugged him more than usual. After all, she was getting in the way of his schedule. He should be walking by now.

“HELLO!?”

Jeremy spoke a little louder. The sound felt strange in his ears. He hadn’t spoken harshly in a long time, and he didn’t understand what this tiny little girl could possibly due to him to make his blood boil so. Then she moved. Sitting straight as an arrow, she took one look at him, and bolted to the other side of the bus, like a frightened animal. The doors were locked, and she turned around. There was defeat in her eyes, and it was the most heart wrenching thing Jeremy had come close to feeling in a while. His stoner eyes were always downcast, but now he threw them further downwards, because he felt like he was violating her beauty with his gaze.

“Well? What do you want from me?” she queried

Jeremy could almost feel the exhaustion in her voice. It was as if her mind was weary, but he didn’t like the idea that this was something she accepted. Any other girl, mostly one as striking as her, would have screamed bloody murder by now. It was as if this was something she was used to, and he felt the stirrings of a sickening feeling in his stomach. The perpetual fog he had clinging to him was still there, and so, he simply shrugged.

“Nothing.”

She looked at him now. He didn’t look menacing, and she needed somewhere to stay. She was hungry she realized, and the pain that coursed over her skin was still at a dull roar. She had grown accustomed to reading people… really, she had developed a gift for it. She saw no violence or ill in the skinny, hunched over figure in front of her, and so, she made a decision. The impulsiveness she had always known was that of a person with nothing to lose. She had nothing to lose.

“Would you mind giving me a place to crash tonight? I have no place to go.”

She watched as he thought. She saw a flash of his eyes, as they drifted over the bus. They were dark brown, like chocolate, and she knew then, with one glimpse, that she had made the right decision. He nodded slowly.

“Thanks.”

He pointed to the doors, and took out a key from his pocket. Slowly, he shuffled towards them, and opened these slowly. She wondered why he moved with such hesitation. It was as if he feared each step he took. She understood fear, but she didn’t know why he, a bus driver, had so much to fear.

They stepped out into the cold air. It was March, and she wished she had had time to stop to buy some pants. For her whole life, she had only known the disgusting heat of men and the cold that creeped around her insides. She had never worn pants before. The men she lived with did not allow her to wear more than what she was wearing now, minus the jacket. The jacket she had stolen from a man last night. He had gotten off at the bus stop where she was sleeping at, and had, for some reason, left it there. It was an expensive jacket, tailored, but ill fitting to her tiny frame. She had laughed at the silly business man, who like a zombie, had discarded it for her to take.

They walked together in silence. She watched him as they walked, without fear of their eyes meeting. She knew he wouldn’t look at her. She could feel his discomfort. It was as if he hadn’t been in the company of anyone, much less a girl, in a long time. It was odd, but that made her feel comfortable around him. She had known nothing but the harshness of experience her whole life. They blurred together, but they were all still ever present in her mind, a dirtiness she could not scrub away.

They walked over the dark asphalt, and she turned her head to watch as their steps carried them past one streetlamp and towards the next. It was a never ending cycle, darkness to light. She didn’t know how far the walk was, and she was beginning to worry that she wouldn’t make it. Her feet were heavy, and her body ached. The minutes wore on. It felt like an eternity. Her eyes began to close, neck snapping up every couple seconds. Finally when she could bear it no longer, she gave in. Letting the darkness engulf her, she felt like all the nights she had passed out from drugs, from exhaustion or simply from the choice to no longer face the world.

He turned. One second she had been beside him, the next, she was on the ground behind him. Crumpled in a heap, she had simply collapsed. He ran over to her, the motion odd and disjointed. He hadn’t run since he was 18, and it simply was no longer natural for him to do so. His slow gait was a staple, and the fact that he ran towards her sent shock waves through his body, but mostly, through his mind.

“HELLO?!”

He shook her. Her eyes fluttered, but he saw that she would not return to consciousness. She was breathing, however shallowly, and he knew then that he would have to carry her the rest of the way. They weren’t far now, but he hadn’t exerted himself physically in many years. He sighed. At least she was tiny. He couldn’t just leave her out here. It wasn’t with resolve that he picked her up. It was motion, numb and out of body, much like every other motion he made during a day. The strangeness of the situation didn’t register in his mind. He simply picked her up, heaved her into a comfortable position in his arms, and began walking, slowly as usual, towards home.

He lay her down on the couch. His arms were sore, but she was there, safe, and still asleep. He found a clean blanket in the closet, tucked and forgotten in the back. He unfolded it slowly, and let it drag as he took it over to her. She was breathing lightly, chest rising and falling. He would find her some clothes, he decided. He threw the blanket over her, and began walking away. He turned back, stopped, and went to tuck her in. If he had been asked in that moment why, he wouldn’t have been able to respond. He didn’t understand the changes, for really, he didn’t even feel them. Like he had been for ages, he continued to be. Just doing things, never noting their importance.

It was a day like any other. Jeremy Horace woke up, put on his clothes, and walked towards the kitchen. He noticed the sleeping form on the couch, and gave it a nonchalant shrug. He poured himself some cereal, and sat at the grimy table. After he was done, he went to the sink and in a moment of brilliance, he grabbed a cloth. Moistening it, he cleaned the table.

He left a note on the table for her. It had no substance, no hello, simply a clear “Went to work” and nothing more. He knew that she would know to stay in the house. He was sure she would be here when he got home. He walked to work. He drove the stops. He did not feel butterflies or anticipation for the night to come, but he did feel something. He felt the knowledge, the reminder that someone was waiting for him at home. There was a smile that played on his lips, and it was like the rest of his life. It just was, and Jeremy Horace paid little attention to it. But the glow, the twinkle in his eye, was there. Anyone who knew him would know that something was changing for Jeremy Horace.

When the day ended, Jeremy walked home with his slow gait. He walked into the house, and saw her sitting at the table, eating cereal. She was kicking her tiny feet back and forth, hitting the table leg. Her eyes were focused on the spoon in her hand.

“Hey”

“Hi”

He sat down at the table. It was odd to see it so clean, but he was glad he had done it. It was strange, he hadn’t had any reason to clean anything before that day, at least, he never did clean unless the stench was overpowering.

“How was your day”

“Good”

He paused. It felt strange to exchange small talk with her. Really, it felt strange to speak to anyone about how his day was. No one ever asked, and he never cared to wonder why. His phone had stopped ringing long ago, and at this point, he didn’t even have a home line. He simply did not interact with others, unless it was to purchase food, answer a direct question or to ask where a bathroom was on the infrequent occasion he ventured away from the places he knew. Even for that, he didn’t remember the last time he had gone out of the circuit he drove his bus on. He hated unfamiliar things, for they were just opportunities for him to make a fool of himself.

“It was good. Nothing exiting. There was maybe, 2 people on the bus.”

She laughed. A small smile danced on her lips, and it was that instant that, had his life been a movie, fireworks would have exploded above his head. A bystander, standing inside Jeremy Horace’s head, would have witnessed the spark, the tiny flicker of light in the heavy, black fog that engulfed him. He wanted to tell her a joke. He wanted her to break out in a full grin, to laugh until tears came out of her eyes. He wanted to be her happiness.

Seconds passed. She brought the spoon to her lips again and again, and slowly, the spark faded. Jeremy stood.

“I have some ice cream. I don’t really know why I have it. I’m lactose intolerant. Do you want some?”

“I haven’t tasted ice cream before”

He looked at her.

“Well, time for something new I guess.”

He padded over to the fridge, and pulled open the freezer. He dug around, and found the ice cream, unopened. It was Birthday Cake, a flavor he had bought for himself on his birthday. It was the only reminder of the day he had, and despite his inability to eat it, he had seen it while grocery shopping, and had, on impulse, bought it. It had been a terrible waste of money till this moment, but Jeremy didn’t notice that there might be something in that. He didn’t see that the risk, the impulse, had been worth something in the end. He only saw a coincidence, stemming from a moment of irrationality that he didn’t not pride himself for having. He placed the tub in front of her.

“Thanks”

She knew he was watching her. She didn’t mind. She pushed the cereal bowl to side, and grabbed the ice cream. Placing the spoon in the hardened mass, she allowed a smile to again dance on her face. It felt strange to her, a foreign thing. It felt like it didn’t belong to her. She placed the spoon on her lips, feeling the cold. Then, she took a bite.

A grin broke across her face. His eyes widened at the beauty of the site. The sadness in her eyes receded, and he laughed as she flung her spoon into the tub again and again. He didn’t remember the last time he had laughed. He liked it. She was devouring the creamy chocolate ice like a starving girl, which in a way, he felt she was. He felt an extraordinary happiness at seeing her smile, and he closed his eyes, trying to find a place where to keep this feeling alive forever.

It was a day like any other, but something was different for Jeremy Horace. He woke up with a spring in his step. He felt this inkling, which quickly grew into something real, something which he felt compelled to do. For the first time in his illustrious career, Jeremy Horace called in sick. He went over to the sleeping figure on the couch, and pulled the blanket over her from where it lay on the floor. He walked to the corner store in the brisk morning light, and bought eggs, milk and cinnamon rolls. He got more ice cream, since they had quickly run out, and he walked back, the heavy loads light in his arms. He walked back into the apartment, and cleaned up. He scrubbed the bathroom, swept the floors, and opened the blinds to let in the light of the beautiful day outside. He set the table, placing a vase with some fake flowers in the middle of it. He found his keyboard, hidden inside a closet, and set it up in the corner of the room. He smiled. For the first time in a long time, he woke up to a day he wanted to live.

Days passed. Jeremy Horace wanted to tell her about his life, but he realized it was not extraordinary. It was almost pathetic. A series of disappointments, of coming in last, of pretending that he was satisfied with being nothing. So he didn’t speak about his life. She didn’t tell him anything about hers, saying that her name was Jane. He knew it wasn’t, but he didn’t press. He didn’t need to know anything other than the happiness that she, without even knowing it, brought into his life. He had purpose now, and he had begun feeling things again. Happiness, longing, desire, impatience, creativity, determination… all the wonderful FEELINGS that he had left behind in high school were coming back to him.

Jane and Jeremy Horace danced in his living room. The sun was setting outside, and a golden light dripped in through the windows. They were laughing, dancing to music that came in from the speakers Jeremy had bought the day before. His new iPod was gleaming, and the Debussy that filled the room warmed his heart. Music was slowly returning to his life and to his fingers, as books were reappearing all over his floor. The changes were subtle, but together, they linked to create a different Jeremy. His eyes were no longer dead, his body was no longer as hunched, his steps not as slow. His days at work felt longer, tedious. He no longer felt satisfied with the boring route, with the lack of meaning in his life. Now that he had meaning, or at least, someone that meant something to him, he looked at the rest of his life with sadness. What a waste he thought as he fell asleep. His pipe lay forgotten in his night table drawer.

Jeremy Horace was walking back from work. It was later than usual, because he had had to take the time to get a drunkard out of the bus. He had cleaned up the vomit, air freshened to get rid of the stench. He shook his head as he did it, sighing at the idea that a few weeks ago, that had been his future. He didn’t know where he was headed now, but he did know that he wasn’t going to the same place where he was going before Jane had come along. He liked the idea of having no idea, but at least knowing that he wanted to try and find out. Or try at all. He had jogged lightly home, anticipation of seeing her making his heart beat faster. The exertion was strange, but he had been doing more activity than usual in the past month, and it felt good to go back to it.

He ran up the stairs of his apartment.

He stopped.

The door was in the hall, splintered.

He walked towards the gaping hole that was the threshold to his apartment.

He walked in.

He saw her.

He screamed, a cry of agony so great, it filled the room with horrifying pain.

It was a day like any other. The world moved around them, people turned away from him as he walked down the street. Jane was in his arms. Her blood covered him, mixing sweat and tears. The hospital loomed above them, and Jeremy, walking in, was still screaming.

Hours passed.

It was a day like any other. Jeremy Horace had just been told that Jane, sold by her parents into prostitution, had been found by her pimp. She had been beaten to near death, and the doctors could do nothing to stop the internal bleeding. Jane, or rather, Briggitte Cormier, was dying.

Jeremy walked into the hospital room. He hated her there, so small and pale in the great white expanse that was the hospital bed. A monitor beeped slowly, and IV’s dripped into her system, flowing with her blood. Jeremy lay down beside her on the bed, and put his arm around her tiny frame. He felt casts, one on her leg and one on her arm. He could barely see her through the bruises, but her beauty radiated through to him still.

She stirred.

“Jeremy?”

“Hey.”

“I need to tell you something.”

“Mm?”

“Find beauty in the world. Find extraordinary beauty in ordinary things. Create beauty in your life. You gave me beauty. Give it to the rest of the world. Don’t go back to being a bus driver. Don’t go back.”

Jeremy felt tears well up in his eyes. Jeremy Horace felt the cold creeping in around him, and he thought to himself how futile it all was. This girl, her life condemned from birth, had done nothing but suffer. He had a comfortable life, and the one time he had decided to take a risk, he had wound up here, heart ripped out his chest and first love dying in his arms. Why did he break the status quo? He had been so much happier before. He wanted to scream. Turn back the clock. Go back to when things were simple, and life was a routine, not a risk. He would go back. Forget he decided. She was dying, what did it matter if he went back to living like he did before? She would never know, and he would never be hurt again. He knew he had been right all along.

It was a day like any other. Jeremy Horace smoked his pipe, walked to work, ran the stops, walked home, smoked his pipe, ate some cereal and fell asleep. It could have been any day of the week, any day of the month, any day of the year. Jeremy Horace didn’t care. He ran the bases, rode the circuit, did the motions he was expected to. He did not see the sun rise in an especially beautiful way. He packed away the piano and the speakers, let his apartment fall apart again, and he forgot about feeling anything but content.

Jeremy Horace was driving his bus. It was the last stop of the night. He saw a girl, standing on the corner of the street, waiting for the bus. She was holding a suitcase, clad in an ill fitting leather jacket. Her blonde hair was wet, and she was crying. He drove on.

Jeremy Horace walked home. He sat down on the floor of his apartment. He closed his eyes. Johnny Rip came to his mind. If he had said something would he have saved him? What about that girl? If he had stopped, would he have been able to help her? Jeremy Horace thought about Briggitte/Jane for the first time. Tears poured down his face. Wiping them away, he stood. He grabbed his pipe off the table. He looked at it. Then he threw it against the wall.