The end did not come quick. It was many years of savage debauchery and danger. During which Jackie completely lost his mind and suffered terribly. He began to realize he was too ill. Everything became hopeless to him. Life was no longer in him. He would put himself down and say he was no good. He started to hate himself. He talked about death a lot.
One autumn evening, Jackie chased people around the neighborhood with an ax. He left marks in trees and wood fences. No one knows why he did it or what set him off. All that was certain, he was becoming a danger to other people and not just himself. This was a definite change in Jackie’s character. The police came and Jackie was gone a little longer this time.
Not soon after Jackie returned, he was at the corner store. He convinced a young girl to go for a ride with him on his bike. He took her back home. Around 11 pm, he asked her if she wanted to stay over. He told her she better call her parents and let them know. The girl did. The parents called the police and they broke down the door and took the girl out. Jackie must have realized what was going to happen, because when the cops showed up he was gone.
It was reported around the neighborhood that the girl was fine. Rumors spread among us kids that she had horrible nightmares that would last for years. I imagined Jackie just sitting with her. They talked and had a good time. Maybe they had a tea party?
Jackie left the door off its hinges. When I asked why he’s didn’t fix the door, he told me, “so next time, it’s easier for the cops.”
Mrs. Quinn passed away and Jackie was without a home. I would see him sometimes up on Seneca Street walking by himself. I would talk to him, but he didn’t seem to recognize me. It was more like he knew he should know me. He would talk pretty incoherent, changing subjects like flipping through pages of a book. He was dirty and most likely homeless.
Often, he would go back to his mother’s house and scare the new owners. Once, he walked inside and sat down like he still lived there. The cops would come and take him out. He would spend some time in the system and then be back on the streets, lost and confused.
Then, he was gone. I didn’t see him any more. I thought he was dead. I assumed he was dead. But he wasn’t. I thought the wind just carried him away. But it didn’t. I have to hand it to him, he never gave up. He never stopped living. As tortured as I knew he was, he stayed with a life trying and terrible and lonely, with a head full of ideas and a heart full of gasoline.
Who knows where he was? But he wasn’t dead. He died a few years later. He froze to death behind a dumpster.
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