Free Box Nine by Jack O'Connell Page A

She’s sure there’s no meaning to this, but she can’t shake loose from the fact that it happened, that somehow this strange and silent man, the brunt of the locker room’s collective stupidity, invaded her subconscious and came to her dream-mind, trudged up her front walk with a bursting-full mailbag, every letter in it addressed to Eva Barnes, her name in an ornate, calligraphied script. And he spent all night pushing the letters into her mailbox, like some circus trick, like some magic act. The letters kept fitting in, dozens, thousands, there seemed to be boundless room inside.
    She blocks out the memory, fine-tunes her hearing, waits for the first voice to come. As always, her timing is perfect. They start filing in, in the same order, every day: old Jacobi first with his ancient grey metal lunchbox that looks like it could house an entire breadloaf, then the new girl, Bromberg, in her fluorescent-red, oversized glasses and too-short skirt, then Ike Thomas, quiet, hunched over a little, his eyes on his own feet. Five minutes will go by, until the late-bell is just about to ring, and in will come Rourke and Wilson, both a mess, shirts untucked, hair sticking out everywhere, just about announcing to the whole post office that once again they’ve slept together. Eva thinks she should have bounced Wilson when she had the chance.
    The first voice comes from the new girl, Bromberg:
    BROMBERG: Hey, Thomas, I hear Stephenson is out today. Why don’t you take two routes and really kiss the bitch’s ass?
    JACOBI: Leave the boy alone, Lisa. He just loves a woman in uniform. Isn’t that right, Ike? And all this time I thought you were gay …
    BROMBERG: I think they’re both gay. The bitch and the schmuck. You should really ask her out, Thomas, you could be like fakes for each other.
    JACOBI: Fakes? What, fakes?
    THOMAS: Beards. Okay. The word is beards, Bromberg. Jees.
    JACOBI: What does she mean, fakes?
[ 7 a.m. bell ]
    THOMAS: She’s saying it wrong. You never heard of a beard? It’s like when someone pretends to be, you know, involved with someone else.
    ROURKE: We got donuts. Lisa, you owe two bucks to the kitty.
    BROMBERG: I paid this week. Ask Thomas, he saw me pay. I paid.
    WILSON: Is Stephenson really out again? What an asshole, I swear, that guy never works …
    BROMBERG: Stephenson and Ogden are both out. You two just made it. The bitch would’ve been on you …
    JACOBI: Billy, you ever hear of a beard, the word beard , okay, but not, like, on your face? Like another meaning.
    ROURKE: What are you fucking babbling about? Jesus, it’s early.
    WILSON: Who had the cruller? Jacobi, was the cruller—
    ROURKE: Shit! Goddammit, I spilled the—
    THOMAS: I’m sorry, you should’ve—
    ROURKE: You goddamn asshole, Thomas, you’re such a shithead—
    WILSON: Here, Billy, let me …
    BROMBERG: You know, for two people in the sack so much, you two still bitch a lot.
    ROURKE: That’s gonna be five bucks to get the shirt dry-cleaned, shit-for-brains.
    THOMAS: What cleaner’s do you go to? Five bucks?
    ROURKE: Five bucks.
    THOMAS: It’s like three bucks, Billy. Three-fifty, tops.
    ROURKE: Aw, Christ, look at this, I’m a mess here. Jacobi, you got an extra shirt in your locker?
    THOMAS: I’ve got a shirt, Billy.
    JACOBI: Can’t help you.
    ROURKE: I don’t want your freakin’ shirt, you doink.
    WILSON: Here, honey, let me wipe it. It’ll be fine.
    BROMBERG: Jacobi, you got the school today?
    JACOBI: Haven’t seen the schedule. I think Stephenson was due.
    BROMBERG: You ever notice how Thomas never gets the school? Never.
    THOMAS: I’ve taken that route plenty of times. I used to get the school and the library. And the elderly towers on Sapir.
    JACOBI: I hate those towers. You ever notice how every one of those old people gets TV Guide? Every goddamn one.
    BROMBERG: What I’m saying is, Thomas never gets