Letter 7

October 23, 2014

Dear Jesse,

When I was 22, I was woken up in the middle of the night by your phone call.

“Jenee, you’ve gotta come down here, my apartment building is on fire.”

I lived on 19th and Bainbridge at the time. You were just 12 blocks down on 7th. I quickly got myself together and drove over. The streets were filled with fire engines and people standing around. I found you in the crowd. Your building was 3 stories with two units on each floor. You were on the third floor with one other tenant across the hall. I don’t remember him but I remember his dog. It was a yappy little thing and he let me know he was at the door every time I came over to visit you. You didn’t have much interaction with your neighbor either. I don’t think you actually saw much of him.

When I was finally able to get some information from you about what was happening you said,

“The firefighters just busted in and dragged Vida and I out. When they got me to the hallway all I could see was his apartment in a complete blaze. The flames were literally spinning around engulfing his place. It was so fucking crazy.”

Your neighbor fell asleep with his lit cigarette. He was 40 something, bartender, that didn’t have much in the way of companionship besides his dog.

“Jen, his dog made it out when they broke down his door. No ones been able to get it. It ran out the front door and is down that alley right there.”

I spent about an hour trying to get this dog out from behind a bunch of stuff at the end of the alley. I finally was able to get it and all I knew was that I was responsible for it. I couldn’t imagine what he just experienced. I asked Jesse where his neighbor was.

“He didn’t make it.”

I went with mom and yourself down to the apartment the next day to see if anything from your place was salvageable. Not much was. While you two rummaged through what was left I couldn’t help but feel pulled toward your neighbors apartment. There was two ladies taking charred things out but for the most part, there wasn’t anything left. My heart was so heavy and I ended up walking out to front.

I leaned on the brick building watching the two ladies put the remaining burnt 2×4’s in a pile in front of me on the sidewalk. I couldn’t help but feel so grateful you had somehow made it out alive. And just like that, I saw something under the burnt rubble. I pulled it out. It was your neighbors license and a card.

I couldn’t fucking believe it.

EVERYTHING was charred, nothing left, but somehow his license and this card wasn’t touched.

I opened the card.

It was from his sister. She lived over the bridge in South Jersey. I gathered they only had each other since both of their parents had passed. I couldn’t help but put myself in her shoes. If this was my brother and the only things left from his life was a license, a card from me and his dog, I knew I’d want it.

When we all arrived back to moms I decided to call the number she left in the card.

It rang.

A woman answered.

When I told her that I was so, so deeply sorry about what had happened there was silence.

She had no idea what I was talking about.

In real time, I had to muster the composure to tell a stranger her only brother had died the night before. I’ll never forget that moment for the rest of my life. Although in immense pain, she was beyond grateful to be able to have those three remaining things that were left from his physical life.

After you died, Aimee had mentioned to me how you brought up that guy. You were scared that you were going to end up like him. I’m still not sure if it was his aloneness or his death you were actually speaking about. A few weeks before you ended your life you had a friend video tape you talking about something you needed to say. You told him that if anything ever happened to you to somehow show this.

I believe you have a message.