Like Seeing Stars

10.

Fingers float across prickly black hair. Sweat rolls down his neck, back, and forehead; still, he replaces his ball cap to protect his fair skin from the sun. He catches his own reflection in the freshly washed window he just serviced; something seems off. It's like he's looking at some other guy washing windows in 100-degree heat, not himself. This reflection seems too old and weathered to be him. The eyes are off, he seems too tall, too sturdy, too other... almost like he's from the future and he's seen too much.

Nothing about this day feels real.

From the moment the words 'unresponsive' and 'surgery' rocketed out of his doctor's mouth, like bullets ripping through his chest, Jesse has felt as though he is caught in a waking dream. Most would think it should be a nightmare but that just doesn't fit.

Everything seems too perfect. The sky is too blue, the clouds float along in cookie-cutter perfection, the grass too green and trim, the people too jovial; and then there's his reflection stricken, terrified.

He doesn't fit.

"You alright, kid?"

A heavy hand lands on his shoulder but even the contact doesn't quite bring him around.

"Hmm?"

"You okay," the worried face of Mr. Anderson hovers in his field of vision. "Is the heat getting to you? If you need to sit down, I don't mind. Don't need someone passing out in front of my shaved-ice shop, it'll look like we can't do our job!"

Jesse attempts a laugh but even that doesn't come out right. Maybe his dad was right, maybe he shouldn't have come to work today, maybe he should've taken some time to swallow everything down and digest. Time. There's just not enough of it anymore.

"Sorry, Mr. Anderson, I guess I just have a lot on my mind. Got kind of side-tracked. But I'm alright," he puts a smile on his face and starts collecting his equipment, he has two more clients to visit before the day is through and one of them is a car dealership. He needs to move faster; he just can't seem to get to full speed. "I'm also all done!"

"Well, you did an excellent job as always," Mr. Anderson smiles widely as he takes in his shop front.

"Thank you, sir, I appreciate that."

Despite the compliment, a sharp pang flares in Jesse's chest at his client's kind words. This will be his last week on the job after working for Squeaky Clean Windows and Pressure Washing for the past two years and he's going to have to explain to his boss why. Of course, nearing his senior year of high school, the end was nigh, but it wasn't supposed to be this soon or for this reason. Part of him wonders if he should tell him today but the rest of him knows it wouldn't be wise.

He's not sure he could say the words out loud. Not yet. And the first time he does, it certainly shouldn't be to his boss.

Nearly six hours later and Jesse pulls into home base to drop off his truck. Before he gets out, he takes a moment to absorb the place. In nearly two years of working three days a week, he feels like he's never really taken the time to look the place over. The first thing to note is how perfectly the windows are maintained. Of course, if you're going to offer window washing, you have to maintain a reputation. These windows are washed every three days by the owner himself. Jesse has always admired the man and his work ethic.

An oversized, painted mouse holding a pressure washing wand, stands tall and proud on one end of the building with a speech bubble that says, "Don't just keep it clean, keep it Squeeeeaky Clean!" A laugh escapes his mouth, he feels like he never really appreciated the down to earth cheesiness of the thing.