The Rest of the World
"That was an absolute shit show!"
My anger and I explode through the front door leaving Jerome lingering undecidedly in the foyer.
"When will you get it, Jer? What's it gonna take before you stop trusting every-fuckin'-body in the world?"
"Stephen Joshua Lowe!"
My mum has impeccable timing for being in the right place at the right time as far as chastisement goes. It could be any other day when Jerome and I come through that door laughing and falling about. Mum would be out shopping, or working in the garden. But, when her youngest son needs a good, swift, metaphorical kick, she's front and center.
"I don't know who you presume to be entering this house with such foul language."
She assumes the position. Arms folded stiffly across her chest, trainers planted firmly on the carpet, eyes shooting darts of fire!
"It's my fault, Mrs. Lowe,"
Jerome's sweet, apologetic voice levels the palpable tension.
"I did something stupid."
"Jerome," Mum's tone softens with the mention of his name. "There is not one thing you could possibly do or say that would allow for that kind of outrageous display."
Mum regards me as if Norman Bates has replaced her son.
"Explain."
"I…I should go."
Jerome's nervous stutter is working on my heart. I'm starting to feel like I don't have one. How could I make this gorgeous boy grieve?
"Jer," I've taken the volume down several notches. "You live here. Where're ya gonna go?"
"I'll g-g-go to the library."
"What am I hearing?"
Enter Zayde clasping a newspaper in his already ink-stained hands.
"Jerome, my boy, it is Shabbat. You must read to me from the weekly Yiddish news. You should go now?"
God bless my Zayde in his faded, orange cardigan and his love for everything Yiddish! This is like a song of the siren to Jerome whose eyes brighten.
"Y…Yes, I would l...love to!"
"Ah!" Zayde folds an arm over Jerome's shoulder. "Come, we go into my room so we should not be disturbed."
"Don't forget to take something to snack on, you two."
Mum's offer is totally for Jer and Zayde. I'm sure if there was a box of rat poison she might volunteer that to her belligerent offspring.
"You and I need to have a wee chat, don't we?"
She takes me by the plaid sleeve and leads me to the couch. As if I really had a choice in the matter!