As eager as Jesus is to be useful, to get to work, he's brand new. He's still figuring out how to even get home by curfew--a thing he's never had in his life. (Well, he did, but he never observed it).
He sees Malcolm the first time at a glimpse, passing in a hallway. He glances but by then Malcolm has turned a corner and he thinks he just imagined it.
But then he sees the man again in a coffee shop where he'd ducked in to get warm, to get his bearings, and again he has the surreal sense that he's hallucinating. He's seen his own face only in reflections in dirty windows and a tiny shaving mirror for the past twelve years, and Malcolm is younger--seems younger.
But it is him. A clean-cut, more civilized version of himself.
And he doesn't seem like he's doing well, so Jesus buys his coffee and then makes his way over to Malcolm's table. "Hey," he says, brow furrowed, like he's not sure the man is even really there. "You okay?"
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He sees Malcolm the first time at a glimpse, passing in a hallway. He glances but by then Malcolm has turned a corner and he thinks he just imagined it.
But then he sees the man again in a coffee shop where he'd ducked in to get warm, to get his bearings, and again he has the surreal sense that he's hallucinating. He's seen his own face only in reflections in dirty windows and a tiny shaving mirror for the past twelve years, and Malcolm is younger--seems younger.
But it is him. A clean-cut, more civilized version of himself.
And he doesn't seem like he's doing well, so Jesus buys his coffee and then makes his way over to Malcolm's table. "Hey," he says, brow furrowed, like he's not sure the man is even really there. "You okay?"