Thanks for all the feedback and votes from the last chapter. There's still time if you want to vote (and can do so anonymously). There seem to be two clear favorites: Miles chapters from J&J's POV, and also J&J tell Miles about Jimmy dating Kate. Me thinks you people really like Miles!
February 17, 1990
"Bweeee! Bweeeeeee! Chugga chugga chuggga! Aieeeee! Look out! Look out! Come in, Lando. Lando, come in!"
There's a knock at the door. Dad peers around the edge. He clears his throat. "Can I come in?" he asks.
"Sure, but don't step on. . ."
Dad yelps. "Sonofagun!" he barks, turning over his foot, and picking off some Lego blocks stuck there. He puts the Legos back on the floor. "What's all this?"
Jimmy winces apologetically. Mom's always bugging him to keep Legos away from the door. "That's supposed to be the runway."
"Runway? For what?
"For the aliens."
Dad stares at him for a second. Works his mouth up and down like fish, runs his hand over his face. "What? What did you just say? Why . . . what do you mean?"
"The Mon Calamari are coming to rescue to rebels." He holds up his Admiral Akbar figure in one hand, his Tie Fighter in the other. "Lando and his team are making the runway, but Admiral Akbar can't come if Skeletor keeps shooting lasers at it. Or if you step all over it."
"I see."
Jimmy crawls over to the door, and gathers up Lando, Skeletor, the Legos, the Thundercat guards. "I'll move it over here," he says, moving the runway, the bunkers, the guards, and Skeletor's weapons cache to the floor at the foot of his bed. Dad doesn't seem too upset about all the Legos near the door, but best to just move it anyway.
Dad clears his throat. "Hey, Calvin, you got a minute?"
"Yeah, sure. Wanna be Lando, Dad?"
"First let me talk to ya for a sec."
"OK?"
Dad sits on Jimmy's bed, pats his hand on the mattress next to him. Jimmy sits too. "Now that you're ten, or maybe over the next few years, or . . . or well, you know. . ."
Jimmy stares.
Dad clears his throat. Again. (Is he getting sick?) "So, maybe over the next few years or so, you might start thinking about girls in a different way. Like if they are pretty or smell good or something. You might end up thinking about girls a lot."
Right, sure. Jimmy stares.
Dad says, "Jimmy, do you know where babies come from?"
GROSS!
"Yeah?" Uh oh. This conversation is going in one of two directions, and neither one is good. One, Dad is getting ready to say Mom is going to have a baby. What would he do with a baby brother or sister anyway? He's ten! Ten! Waaaaaaay too old to just randomly get a little brother or sister. The other, more likely, explanation is that Dad is in here to have . . . THE TALK. Jimmy kind of wants to hide or die.
"So, then what you're tellin' me is . . . you know about . . . sex?"
Uhhhhhhhhhhh. Jimmy does NOT want to talk about this. Gross and weird and he's not entirely sure about some things, but does he really have to talk to Dad about it? "Yeah, Dad, I know about it."
"Well!" Dad says, and slaps his thighs. "All right then! Glad to know." He presses his palms to the mattress, like he's going to get up. Thank goodness! Crisis averted!
Mom must be walking by just at that very minute 'cause Jimmy hears her cough out in the hall. Is she getting sick, too? Jimmy decides that tonight he'll actually wash his hands before dinner instead of just turning the water on to fool Mom into thinking he washed his hands.
Dad kind of glares out to the hall. He clears his throat for like the billionth time. Yes, Jimmy will definitely wash his hands before dinner tonight. Dad says, "Can I ask where you learned about it? Sex?"
"Rachel told me some about it, then I wasn't real sure about some things, so I talked with Jason about it."
"So you think Rachel and Jason are some kinda experts?"
"Uhm, not really?" And Jimmy doesn't think Dad is an expert either, so still doesn't really want to have this conversation, but he does think some things are kind of confusing, but was also sort of hoping that he'd never have any reason to need to know about it.
"Here's the thing," Dad says. "If you ever got any questions, or there are things you don't understand, you can always ask me, OK? I know it's weird and embarrassing, but better you hear it from me than some crazy nonsense kids are talkin' on the bus, right?"
"Yeah, I guess."
"And I 'spose there ain't anything I gotta tell you now, if you already know the basics, but just so you know, well, you know . . . you can always come to me if you need to."
"OK, Dad."
"OK."
"Uhm, Dad? Uhm, I guess, I . . . I don't really understand, like, well, Jason said, it's like. . ." Dad just said he could ask anything, and here goes. "You pee inside a girl?" That is the most horrible disgusting awful creepy thing . . . Ev-errrrrrrrrrr . . . and Jimmy is never ever ever gonna do it, even if that's the only way you get to be a dad yourself. GRODY TO THE MAX.
Jimmy swears he hears Mom laughing in the hall. He wonders what she's laughing at, and maybe he can escape out there where something funny is happening instead of being trapped in here talking about Sex Things (barf) with Dad (double barf).
"Now, see," Dad says. "That ain't exactly right. What happens is . . ." Dad clears his throat AGAIN. Then he tells him what really happens, and what Dad tells him? . . . it's somehow less gross and way way more gross at the exact same time.
"Oh," Jimmy whispers when Dad finishes.
"You, uh, got any more questions?"
Jimmy wrinkles his nose. "Yeah. Yeah. Why . . . why would you even do that, Dad? It's disgusting."
Dad chuckles. "Sounds like it, doesn't it?" Jimmy nods big. Dad continues, "But, uhm, I guess why you do it is 'cause it, uhm, well, it feels really nice. And, you know, it's, uhm, well, when ya meet a girl you really like . . . " Yet another throat clearing. "When you're a lot older, I mean . . . 'Member what I was sayin' earlier? About feelin' different around girls, or noticin' them a different way? Well, once that starts happenin', you may not think it's so disgusting. And even then, it ain't the most important thing, or nothin'. Right? Most important thing is just find a girl you like and, you know, be nice to her and stuff. Then all that other stuff, maybe, will happen later. I don't think you gotta worry 'bout any of that stuff just yet. Just, just so you know, you can always talk to me about it if you need. OK?"
"OK. . . Dad?"
Dad winces. "Yeah?"
"You wanna be Lando now?"
Dad breathes out really really really big. "Heck, yeah, I wanna be Lando."
Jimmy wonders if Dad thinks that conversation was as embarrassing as he just did.
October 22, 1994
"B! B squared! Four A C, Two A! B! B squared! Four A C, Two A! B! B squared! Four A C, Two A!" Jimmy's sailing through his algebra homework. Ever since Mr. Trimble taught them the Quadratic Equation Cheer, algebra's been a breeze. " B! B squared! Four A C, Two A!"
There's a knock at the door. Dad peers around the edge. He clears his throat. "Can I come in?" he asks.
"Sure, just let me finish this last problem." Jimmy scratches out his answer, sets down his pencil, and looks up to Dad. Dad's carrying a volleyball-sized wad of crumpled paper. Jimmy, staring at the trash in Dad's hands, catches a glimpse of shiny red metal, and gets a sick feeling in his stomach. He looks at the back of his door. How? How did he not notice? It's the red Porsche with the hot chick on the hood.
He leaps out of his chair. "That's my poster! That's mine! I bought that! How could. . ."
Dad puts the wadded up poster on Jimmy's desk, then holds out his hands in appeasement. "Chill out, Jimbo. Chill. Your mom saw . . ."
"Mom?" Jimmy wails. "Mom did this? This is mine. This is my stuff. Mine! I bought that poster with my lawn mowing money. Mom can't just come in here and take whatever she likes! It's mine!"
Dad's still holding out his hands, palms down, fingers up, trying to calm Jimmy down. "I get it, son. Trust me. I get it. Why do you think I fished this outta the garbage for you?"
Jimmy clenches his jaw. He looks at Dad. Dad's unfolding the poster, smoothing out the wrinkles as best he can. Dad whistles low when he smoothes out the wrinkles over the babe on the car. "Wow, she's a looker, huh?" he asks.
Jimmy thinks Dad may be trying to trick him or something, but when he looks at Dad, it seems like he's being serious. "Yeah," he says, agreeing.
"What's her name?" Dad asks.
How the heck should I know? Jimmy thinks. He shrugs.
"She like hockey? Allergic to anything? She get cold when it's breezy out? What's her birthday? She ever been to New York City?"
These are the weirdest questions ever. "How should I know?" Jimmy asks.
"Exactly." Dad nods. Uhm, OK, Dad, whatever. Dad says, "First off, her name's probably somethin' like Tiffani or Candi or somethin'. I'm guessin' whatever it is, it ends in an 'i.' Second, why the hell you got a poster on the back of your door of a chick you don't know nothin' about?"
Is he even serious? Does he really want an answer? Uhm, duh, Dad, 'cause she's got big boobs, and see those little jean shorts? See how leaning over the car like that you can see the bottom of her ass hanging out? And those high heels, see how they make her calves look? Who the hell cares if she likes hockey? She's like Super Hot, and if you don't get that, well, I feel sorry for you.
Jimmy can't figure out exactly what to say, so it's good when Dad says, "Don't answer that. I know exactly why you got her picture on your door. And, you know what? I don't got a huge problem with that. I totally, totally get it. Thing is, whaddaya think your mom and your sister would think about you havin' a picture like that? Only point is how hot that babe is? And given as how your mom waved this around in my face this mornin', I don't even gotta guess what she thinks."
"Yeah, OK."
Dad says, "She thinks it's really impractical to work on a car with shoes like that."
Jimmy laughs, and realizes he's glad it's Dad in here talking to him. If Mom was mad? Mom like almost never gets mad. The only thing is, when she does? Get mad? YIKES. So, OK. Plus, Dad rescued the poster.
Dad looks down at the poster again. "Look, Gretzky, I don't care what you think about Candi here. Hell, I know what you think, and I also know that's completely normal, right?" Dad looks at her again, shakes his head, whistles. "I mean, she's pretty hot. So, think what you want about Candi. But you gotta have enough respect for your mom and sister at least not to just have stuff like this where they can see it."
(Is this where he mentions the poster of Marky Mark in his underwear he knows Rachel has ferreted away somewhere?) Jimmy just nods.
Dad says, "In fact, if your mother catches you with that poster again, she's gonna have my ass. Then I'm gonna have yours, understand?" Jimmy gulps. Dad continues, "Shit rolls downhill." He picks the poster off Jimmy's desk, hands it to him. "Find a place for that."
"OK, Dad. Thanks."
Dad reaches out and riffles Jimmy's hair. They look down at the poster together. "Don't worry 'bout it. I was fourteen once, too. Know all about hot girls and cars and all that stuff."
"Uhm, OK." Whatever that's supposed to mean. Candi (or whatever her name is) is like SUPER SUPER HOT. What in the world Dad thinks he knows about super-hot women, Jimmy has no clue, but he'll play along.
January 17, 1998
Jimmy's kicked back in his bed, about halfway through The Two Towers. He flips ahead a few pages. Almost done with this chapter. Maybe when he finishes he'll call Abby. He reads a little more. Turns the page.
There's a knock at the door. Dad peers around the edge. He clears his throat. "Can I come in?" he asks.
"Sure," Jimmy says. Dad walks in. Jimmy says, "Let me finish my chapter." He reads two more paragraphs, picks his bookmark off his bedspread, and marks his place. "What's up, Pop?"
Dad holds out a closed fist, then drops a square piece of shiny blue foil on Jimmy's bedspread. "What's that?" Dad asks.
You mean you don't know? "Looks like a broken shoelace," Jimmy says.
"You don't hafta be a wiseass. I'm just tryin' to get some answers from you, and I don't need this back talk, got it?" He has that mad look on his face, with the crease in the top of his nose.
Jimmy just stares at him. He says, "OK, Dad," really quietly. He'll never get why Rachel couldn't figure this out. When they were little kids, any time Dad would get mad at either one of them, Rachel just never figured out the secret. She'd get her hackles up, throw his words back in his face, fight back or whatever. And, without fail, that always made Dad even angrier. When really, it's so very very simple. If Dad is mad, just stare at him real calm, and if you need to, say "Dad," real soft. Easy as pie. Jimmy feels like he was born knowing how to do that, and it's a secret that's come in real handy.
In fact, Dad slumps his shoulders, and Jimmy can see the anger leak out. Dad says, "OK, all right. I know exactly what that is. What I wanna know is why that was in the back seat of my car."
It's a condom wrapper. Three guesses, Dad, first two don't count. That's the sort of thing Rachel would say. Jimmy just keeps staring. Easier than coming up with some kind of answer.
Dad crosses his arms. "I ain't angry about you usin' that thing, buddy. In fact, good. Good for you, bein' careful and whatnot. I wouldn't wanna hafta have some conversation with you 'bout unintended consequences."
Right, Dad. I've done the math on Rachel's birthday, so you can keep your 'unintended consequences' parables to yourself. Again, the sort of thing Rachel would say. Jimmy just stares.
"That's just the way it is, buddy, and, hey, if you think you're prepared to deal with unintended consequences, then more power to ya."
"I'm not." Hence, the condom wrapper.
"This, uh . . .this girl, uh . . . Abby, right? You like her? You serious about her?"
Well, yeah, Dad, I like her a lot, but we're seventeen. Not like we're naming our kids or planning to get married or anything. "Yes."
"All right, then. Good. You ever bring her flowers?"
"Yeah."
"Cause you wanted to make her happy or 'cause you wanted to get laid?"
"A little bit of both, I guess."
Dad considers that, then nods. "Thanks for bein' honest, at least." He stands there for a second or two, and Jimmy says a little prayer that this conversation is over. Dad dashes his hopes with, "I hope you ain't been makin' promises to her you can't keep."
"Uh . . . no." Jeez, Dad, we're high school seniors, not like oversexed DAs from a primetime soap opera. What the hell kind of promises would I be making? I promise I'll share my calculus notes? I promise I'll sit with you in the next assembly?
"Good. Good." Is Dad talking to himself? Or to Jimmy? "Listen to me, son. That's very, very important. OK?"
"OK."
"Look, you're a good-looking kid. And you got money, and play on all them sports teams. So, girls? Women? What you got to look forward to? I say, good for you. But, listen to this, and listen good. All them girls? Have a blast, but you do it for real. Honest. Don't you ever tell some girl you love her or are gonna get her tickets, or . . . or . . . or . . . hell, whatever it is you gotta tell a girl these days to get her to have sex with you. If you can't manage it without the lies, then it ain't worth gettin'. Understand me?"
"Yeah."
"I'm serious, Jimmy. For one thing, it's so much better when you're honest about it. OK? When it's just you and her, and you ain't tryin' to be any damn thing you're not. And for another, it's just plain rude. It ain't somethin' a good kid such as yourself does."
"OK, Dad."
"OK. So, flowers? Good for you. But listen, while we're on the subject? Make sure you don't forget her birthday, got it? Anniversary, too, if high school kids got that. And then, if you ever really wanna impress a girl, make her dinner. All that's honest, and there you go: three sure-fire ways to impress a lady."
Jimmy chuckles. How the heck did Dad learn all this stuff? More like find some chick that'll put up with your BS, then deal with a little bit of those unintended consequences you always try to scare me with, then go live in the suburbs and get her to make you a ton of money.
"Are you laughin' at me, boy?" Dad asks. Jimmy shakes his head. "All right. All right, but you do know I was bein' serious before? About all that . . . never make a promise you can't keep. Never."
"OK." Jimmy wonders where this is all coming from. Once upon a time, Dad told him if he ever had any questions, he could always ask. "Dad? How come . . . I mean, why . . . what . . . did you ever make a promise to Mom you couldn't keep?"
Dad laughs. "Remember how early your hockey practices used to be?" Jimmy nods. Dad says, "I once told her that I'd take you in the morning, even though it was her turn, if she . . . if we . . ."
"Yeah, got it, Dad."
"Anyway, I didn't never intend to wake up and take you. Hoped she'd forget. I'd just pretend to sleep through the alarm."
"And?"
"And, I ended up taking you in the next morning. She did that whole scary eye thing. Trust me, never volunteered that again."
Jimmy laughs. That's a kind of funny story, but early morning hockey practice carpool seems too mundane. He wonders what else Dad might have ever promised anyone.
"All right," Dad says, He points at the condom wrapper on the bed. "Smart boy, but I better never find another one of them in my car. Be nice to this girl, Jimmy, and all the ones who come after, hear me?"
"Yes, Dad." Thing is, Jimmy already totally planned to. He'd like to be like his dad, after all.
The NEXT chapter is the one I was wah wahing about a few chapters back. And I've decided it will be from multiple POVs. That solves that. Now to actually figure out what happens. In other words . . . patience, please. Thanks, you guys are the best!
