[1] Postal Teen

Postal Teen

*Content Warning: This writing has characters dealing with racism, sexism, homophobia, and transphobia, as well as child abuse and other imagery that may be upsetting to some readers.

Preface:

The glass was cold. Whitey pressed his head against it. The van started to move. He stared at trees as the van drove down the highway. He was hoping to see a raccoon. He never saw a raccoon. The last few months had been good to Whitey. He had been sexually abused by the woman who ran the sanitarium he was living at. He didn’t mind this. They had good food. He also had a clean bed and something to do during the day. But something went wrong that he couldn’t quite understand. Now he was sitting in the middle of an empty van being driven into the city. His head was pressed against the glass window. Whitey knew they were going into the city because the van took the same route it took coming out of the city. He could also see Manhattan. Whitey was thirteen now. His body was changing. He knew this was part of the reason he had gotten into trouble at the sanitarium, but he didn’t know how. He never did anything wrong, he thought. Nobody ever yelled at him. And all the adults that were around always seemed pleased with the things he did. Especially the woman who ran the sanitarium. She would come into his bedroom at night and make him feel tingly. Whitey thought this was a good thing. Whatever it was it didn’t matter now. He was in a van heading back into the city. Somewhere near the George Washington Bridge.

The van pulled over into a gas station. The driver parked and got out of the van. He told Whitey to sit still and went inside. Whitey sat still. When the driver got back into the van, he threw a microwave burrito at Whitey. He said: “Eat it kid, could be a while.” Whitey let the burrito rest on his lap as the man pulled the van back onto the highway. He liked the warmth. He wondered if he should actually eat it. He was so used to having every meal likely be his last that he didn’t trust food anymore. He decided to eat it. It was delicious. As the van crossed the George Washington Bridge, Whitey stopped eating his burrito and looked out the window. He could see all of the west side of Manhattan and the Hudson river. He liked looking at the boats on the water. He wondered what it might be like to ride in a boat. He hoped one day he would find out. As the van slowly lurched through the toll booth line, Whitey finished his burrito. He folded the wrapper and put it in his pocket just in case he needed to smell it later when he got hungry. The van took a left and then a right and then suddenly Whitey had no idea where he was. He was in Harlem. The van pulled over. The driver parked. The driver stood up and told Whitey they were there and come on. Whitey stood up. He walked to the front of the van and got out. He stood staring at a building that looked like a hospital, but it wasn’t a hospital. There wasn’t a sign. There was a door that said "Entrance." That was all. The driver said: “Go on kid.” Whitey looked at him with sad confused eyes. “Sorry kid, I wish you the best, but I gotta stand here until you go in. You gotta go in.” Whitey turned towards the door and made a decision to go in. He pushed the door open. He would regret this for the rest of his life.

[1]

"Oh great, another fucking idiot from the short bus. Sit down. Hey, kid! Do you understand the English? Sit the fuck down!"

The room Whitey walked into was a lobby. There was a desk and two very large women who were very angry. Whitey didn't like them already. The one that was yelling at him was wearing a t-shirt that said: Halfway Housing Harlem. It had three H's in a weird oval over the words. Whitey was mesmerized by the H's. He didn't notice when she pushed his head down and made him sit down. She sighed very loudly and trundled off down the hallway to the left. Whitey stared at her large bottom as she walked away. There were three other chairs next to him that were pushed against the wall. They were empty. Two of them were yellow. One of them was blue. They were made of fiber glass. Whitey sat there waiting.

An hour went by. Whitey counted the seconds. Then the minutes. The other large woman was behind the desk. She was talking on the phone when he came in. She kept talking on the phone for the entire hour he sat there. Her conversation was about drapes. She kept saying:

"No, I don't want those drapes. Why do you keep bringing up those drapes? I want the other drapes, the long ones, with the shimmer."

Then she would listen for a while. Then she would say again:

"No, I don't want those drapes. The other drapes, the ones with the shimmer."

Whitey stared at her. Counting the seconds. Then the minutes. Eventually she yelled at him. She said:

"Hey kid! Yeah, you. Stop staring at me, you retard! Sorry, what were you saying?"

Whitey looked away. He stole glances at the woman every now and again. She scowled at him when he did. Eventually he just stared at the floor. He thought about leaving, but he had nowhere to go. He got hungry and took the burrito wrapper out of his pocket and smelled it. That was a good burrito, he decided. He wished he could eat more of it. But it was in his stomach now. He waited. Looking at the floor.

Eventually the first large woman came back. The one with the t-shirt. Her mood didn't change when she was gone. She said to Whitey:

"Hey, free ride, yeah you, you dumb shit, come with me we got a tax room for you." Whitey put his plastic burrito wrapper back in his pocket and followed the large woman down the hallway. Her butt swished back and forth. Whitey tried not to look at it. But he couldn't help himself. Luckily she didn't notice. She smelled like oranges and coffee. They walked down the hallway until they got to the last door on the right. She used a key and opened the door. She said:

"This is you."

Whitey walked in. There was a cot and window with bars on it. A toilet in the corner. The cot had a blanket folded on top. And a miniature pillow. On top of the pillow was a roll of toilet paper. The light was on. The woman said:

"If you get thirsty you can drink from the toilet. AHAHAHA!" She closed the door. It locked when she did this. The light went off. Whitey stood there in the dark. He was warm and tired. He picked up the toilet paper roll and put it to his mouth. He said:

"Doot-de-doo! Presenting! King Whitey! At attention, serfs!"

He chuckled to himself. He rolled some of the paper down and said the same thing again. Pretending it was a flag. Somebody in the room next door yelled:

"Shut it, butthole!"

Whitey got into bed. He kept his shoes on. He put the roll of toilet paper under his pillow. He took the burrito wrapper out of his pocket and smelled it. He stared at the shadows on the wall until he fell asleep.

He dreamed about pigeons.

In the morning Whitey got up. He sat on the cot listening to sounds. The sounds were all very distant and confusing. He took the burrito wrapper from his pocket and smelled it. It still had some smells left. He wished that he had another burrito to eat. He was thirsty. He looked at the toilet. He wasn't sure if the angry woman that led him to the room was serious or not about him drinking from it. She had laughed. But he didn't know why she laughed. There wasn't any different water to drink. He wasn't thirsty enough to drink from the toilet, so he just looked at it. It was quite gross. Dirty. There were all sorts of stains on it. It didn't have a seat. He looked at the walls after he stopped looking at the toilet. There was graffiti everywhere. Mostly just names. Names and numbers. Juvey J '92. Maneater -1981-. Eata Boner '69. Whitey wished he had something to carve his name in the wall with. The walls were concrete. He tried to write his name with the corner of the burrito wrapper, that seemed pretty stiff. It didn't work. He smelled it. Taking a small sniff so he didn't use up all the smells. He put the wrapper back in his pocket. He looked up at the window. The sun was coming in. The bars made shadows on the floor. He stood up on the cot and tried to look outside. The window was too tall for him to see out of. He got down off of the cot. Then he got back on the cot and reached up. He grabbed the bars and tried to pull himself up. Just then the door to his room opened. A different angry woman came into the room. She yelled at Whitey:

"What the fuck you doing! Trying to escape? Get down from there!" Whitey dropped down to the ground. He didn't know what to do. He tried to hide somehow. But there was nowhere to hid. He just stood there. Certain he was about to get beaten. The angry woman just scowled at him. Walked into the room a little bit and put a tray of food on the cot. Whitey didn't dare look at the tray. He was keeping an eye on the angry woman. He was afraid this was a trick. The angry woman turned around and walked out the door. Locking it behind her. Whitey just stood there. Still convinced it was a trick. After a minute or two he finally allowed himself to look at the tray of food. It was a carton of milk, an apple and a sandwich that looked like it had an egg in it. He walked over to the tray. Picked it up and backed up to the wall under the window. He put the tray on the cot. Then he waited. Still thinking the angry woman would come in a catch him trying to eat the food. Then for sure she would beat him. But that didn't happen. He reached down and grabbed the milk. He opened the container. It was hard to do. The paper spout was stuck to itself. He had to use his teeth to get it to open. When he got it open he had took a small drink. The milk was sweet. He wanted to drink it all in one gulp but he didn't allow himself to. He would eat the apple first. Then he could take another drink. He picked up the apple. Smelled it. It smelled waxy. He licked the skin. There was a hint of salt. Probably from the person's hand that touched the apple before. Whitey wiped the apple on his shirt. Then he took a bite. The apple was very loud. He got nervous for a second. Thinking he was eating too loudly. Nobody said anything and nobody came into the room. He took a second bite. The apple was not good. It was very mealy. It reminded Whitey of eating sawdust. Not that he had ever eaten sawdust, he just imagined that is what it felt like to eat sawdust. It tasted like apples though. He kept eating it. He thought about saving it for later, but as he was eating it the apple was already turning brown. He figured he should eat it as quickly as possible otherwise it would rot. Then it would not be any good to him. He ate it down to the core. Then he broke the core open. He took all the seeds out and put them in his pocket. Then he ate as much of the apple as he could. The only thing left was a little bit of shiny stuff where the seeds were and some bits that were too much like sticks to bother eating. He wondered if he should save those parts just in case. But he didn't. He put them back on the tray. He rewarded himself for eating the apple. He took another drink of milk. The milk was very sweet. Not because it had sugar or chocolate, it just tasted very sweet. Like milk. He wanted to chug it all down, but he didn't. He decided to inspect the sandwich instead.

The sandwich was an egg sandwich with a slice of American cheese on an un-toasted English muffin. Whitey rearranged the sandwich so the egg and cheese part wasn't spilling out from between the English muffin. He took a bite. The sandwich was very tasty. He took his burrito wrapper out of his pocket. Smelled it. A deep smell. He didn't need to save smells anymore. He wrapped the egg sandwich in the wrapper. He put the sandwich in his pocket. He rewarded himself. He took another drink from the milk carton. Then another. Then the carton was empty. He tore the drinking spout open. Making a square open at the top. He held the opening over his mouth. Getting every drop of milk out. Then he ran his finger along the walls of the interior of the milk carton. Licking his finger afterwards. He put the apple leaving inside the empty milk carton. He put the milk carton on the tray. He moved the tray to the floor. He looked at it. This seemed wrong. He picked it up again. He looked around. There was nowhere to put it. He put it back on the cot. He stood there for a while. Not knowing what to do. He had to go to the bathroom but he didn't want to. He decided to ignore the feeling. He wanted to see if he could pull himself up on the window bars and see if he could see outside, but he was afraid to do that. He was afraid he would get caught again. Then this time for sure he would be beaten. He didn't want to get beaten. He hadn't been beaten in quite some time. He had some inside idea that once he started to get beaten again the beatings wouldn't stop. He didn't want to temp fate.

After a while he just stood there. Then he sat down on the cot. He could hear noises outside of his room but they were very distant. He walked to the door and put his ear on it. He could kind of hear things better, but the sounds were meaningless. He walked into the middle of the room and stood in the sun coming in from the barred window. The sun was nice. Warm. He reached into his pocket. Making sure the sandwich was still there. It was. He felt the apple seeds. He wondered if they would scratch a line in the concrete wall. He took one out and tried. To his surprise the apple seed made a little dark mark. He started to write his name. He was going to write Esmerelda, but the "E" took an entire apple seed to make it. He only had four seeds. He stopped writing and stood there thinking. He had three letters left. He had a sudden attack of brilliance. He could use the "E" as the "E" in Whitey. But then he got hung up on what other letters to write. He would have to write a "W" for sure. And an "I" otherwise it wouldn't make any sense. But then what about the year? In the end he decided that an "I" wouldn't clear things up. A "T" would though. And he could use one of the apple seeds to make a number. He decided to write an "T" to the right of the "E" and a "W" to the left of it. Then he wrote the number "9" next to the "T." In the end the wall said "WET 9." Whitey was proud of himself. He decided to reward himself. He took the sandwich out of his pocket. Unwrapped it. Took a bite. Folded the sandwich back up. Carefully. He put it back in his pocket.

Whitey sat down on the cot. Looking at the wall. WET 9. He was once again proud of himself. Now other people would know that he had been here too. And they wouldn't have to be alone. He sat there, looking. He really needed to use the bathroom now. The apple was going through his body at a very fast pace. He couldn't ignore it anymore. He moved the miniature pillow and grabbed the roll of toilet paper. He wanted to toot through it again, like last night, but he was afraid of being called a butthole again. He did it anyway. But softly, and so no one but he could here it:

"Presenting! King Whitey! Kneel down you serfs! The King is arriving!" He chuckled to himself. He stood up. Walked over to the toilet. Looked down at it. It didn't bother him that the toilet was dirty. What bothered him was what would happen afterwards. He was afraid the angry woman would smell the smells and come back and beat him because of it. Like Jonx or Brandy. He still thought those guys would come back at any moment. Even though he knew they were dead. He had seen them both die. He knew they were dead. But he still wasn't sure about it. He figured their spirit was still out there. Waiting for him to do something wrong and then they would come for him. Make his life as miserable as possible. Just for kicks. He didn't like to think about them. But he thought about them all the time. He tried to forget them. But he never could. There was no way to do it. He was about to pull his pants down when he saw a shadow coming from the barred window. He looked down at the floor. Between the bars stood the shadow of a bird. He couldn't believe it. He ran to the door to get a better look. Up at the window, standing on the ledge outside was a pigeon. He didn't recognize it. But it seemed to recognize him. He waved. The pigeon nodded. Waving back. Whitey smiled. He wasn't scared of the toilet anymore. He walked over to it. Pulled his pants down. He went to the bathroom. He wiped. Stood up. Flushed the toilet. The stink was not good. It was not going anywhere either. It just floated there in space. There was no way to get away from it. He didn't know what to do. There was nothing he could do. He just had to smell it. Whitey went back to the door and looked out the window. There was another pigeon there now. Whitey waved. The pigeon nodded. Waving back. He didn't feel so alone anymore. He felt his pocket, making sure the sandwich was still there. It was. He watched the pigeons bobbing around in the window. The lights slowly changing as the sun moved. He wanted to talk to them but there was no way. The glass was too thick. He tried using sign language, but the pigeons didn't understand. He wished that he hadn't written WET 9 on the wall. Otherwise he could write something on the toilet paper for them to read. But it was too late for that. Instead he just entertained them with miming. Telling them all about his adventures. About how he got kicked out of the sanitorium upstate. How there was good food and good people. How he was getting pubic hair and had feeling down below. How this new place was okay, but boring. The food seemed alright. The milk was top notch. The pigeons hung on every mime he did. Laughing at times. Whitey threw in a couple yucks just to keep them guessing. After a while they mimed back to him that they had to go. There was a guy handing out bread down at the park. But they would be back. Whitey mimed that he understood. He would be here waiting for them. The pigeons flew away. Whitey stood there. He noticed the smell was gone. Or at least he was used to it by now. He decided to take another bite of his sandwich. He took it out of his pocket. Took a bite. Wrapped it back up. Carefully. He sat down on the cot. Looking at his writing. WET 9. Anxious for when the pigeons would return. He was feeling okay about everything. Maybe it would all work out just fine. He missed his mom, but there was nothing he could do about that. He decided to just wait and see what happened. There was really nothing else he could do. At least he had some sandwich left. The room was warm enough. He really wasn't that bad off. As far as he could tell. As far as he knew.