Future planning makes his mind airy, his thoughts scattered from sleepless nights. They carry him from room to room, from meetings to reports to conferences, and he lets himself drift in this mechanical way. His days no longer reside in the fluidity of minutes. Instead, they are allotted in blocks of hours and half-hours and the rigidity of schedules. Days blend into weeks that turn into monotonous months that only change with the names of those he meets with.
Jesse is, in plain terms, a distraction. He appears with his crooked grins and Jack remembers what day of the week it is, the shy woman behind the counter at the coffee shop, the last strange dream he had. Jesse comes in and time flows between his wordsand the smell of cigar smoke on his fingers.
Jesse comes back again with his smile and a handful of reports. Jack blinks and their conversation brings color back to his vision dulled by five hours of paperwork.
It’s light and conversational until Jesse leaves with the tip of his hat and a kiss on the cheek.
The pen freezes in Jack’s hand and his mouth locks in the shape of its thought. His eyes, full of questions, dart to Jesse who says nothing, does nothing but flash teeth and toss the manila folder on top of the pile on the left side of Jack’s desk before turning on his heels.
Jack doesn’t breathe again until the sound of spurs has long left earshot.