Generation of Juice
by
Owlcroft
A/N: It might be helpful to read "Crabes avec Jus" first, but it's not necessary. Also, "Eheu fugaces labuntur anni" – "alas, the fleeting years slip away", from an ode by Horace
Beetlejuice, now that his son was six, decided it was time for a lengthier talk with him about juice. When Chazz was five, his father had explained to him that he had juice but that it wasn't a good idea for him to use it just yet. "When you're a little older it'll be okay, but juice can be tricky stuff. Do you think you can wait for another year or two, chick?"
Chazz had nodded and continued to draw a portrait of his mother in crayon. "Don't need it," he'd said.
But now Beetlejuice had noticed his son's juice was growing a bit stronger, a bit more intense, so he thought a picnic with Chazz, just the two of them, would be a good idea. Lydia had decided that would give her the perfect opportunity for a talk about puberty with eleven-year-old Beatie.
"It works out really well, Beej." Lydia sighed faintly. "They're growing up. What is that thing you say that sounds like a sneeze and a cough?"
"Eheu fugaces," he replied. "Another blink of the eye and they'll be married with kids of their own."
A long hug was shared at that thought, then the male half of the household left for the picnic on the cliffs of the Sandworm desert. When Beetlejuice had asked Chazz where he wanted to go, he'd said, "The desert, Papa," and no more. Chazz had never been chatty, but his quick smile filled in any conversational gaps just fine.
Mama had packed baloney and cheese sandwiches, knowing that Chazz liked cheese and that his father would pick out the baloney and eat that. There was a small bag of potato chips as well, and two cans of cold Spooky Pop ("It's scary-licious!").
"How about we sit and talk for a bit, then eat?" Beetlejuice set their lunch down and then followed Chazz to the cliffside. When Chazz nodded agreement, BJ lowered himself to the edge and leaned back on his hands. His son followed suit and the two sat in silence for a few moments. Beetlejuice was wondering how to start the conversation about juice when Chazz spoke.
"When I'm bigger, I'll fix all this," and he waved at the desert.
Beetlejuice pursed his lips and considered that statement, then asked, "Fix it how?"
"Like this." Chazz held his clenched fist over the desert then opened his hand to allow a pale blue mist to float down into the sand far below. Almost immediately a green patch appeared – grass and tiny shrubs covered an area slightly bigger than a door.
"Okay." His father considered that too, then said, "But what I meant was . . . what do you mean 'fix it'?"
"Make it all like that." Chazz was nonchalant. "The Sandworms will be happier and maybe not eat people."
"Hmm. Was that the first time you used your juice?"
"Uh-huh. But it was okay 'cause you're here. And I already knew it was blue. I can see it." Chazz turned to look at his father. "Yours isn't."
"Yeah, mine's kind of white or it can be gold, specially when I use it. It's more like . . . not fire; maybe . . . air? And I guess yours is like water."
"Uh-huh." Chazz thought for a moment, then added, "Yours is kind of like a star. It's . . . fizzy."
Beetlejuice grinned at that. "You know, a star is basically burning gas." He paused for a moment. "So that's actually pretty accurate. It's kind of fire and air. A star, huh?" He gazed at his son, head cocked to one side. "Your juice is different, though. It's kind of . . . quieter than mine. Like a pool of blue water with easy waves. Your Grammy's is pale yellow; she doesn't have very much and it kind of just . . . sits there. Grampy's mama had a little bit too, but I don't know how much or what color it was."
"Huh." Chazz nodded, picked up a small stone and dropped it to the desert floor.
Beetlejuice knocked his feet rhythmically against the wall of the cliff and thought for a bit. "So do you want to start using your juice? Reason I'm asking is because when I was little, younger than you, I had . . . a really bad experience because I didn't know I had juice. It just sort of . . . came out of nowhere and a bad thing happened." He grimaced at that, then told his son, "But that won't happen to you. And if you want to use your juice – "
Chazz shook his head. "Don't need to. I'll keep it for later. When I'm bigger."
"Okay. If you change your mind, let me know." Beetlejuice shifted to lie on his stomach, looking down at the odd patch of verdure his son had created. "Or if you have any questions, you know."
"Why do I have juice?"
"Well, you have it because I do. You get things from your folks, like Trix having black hair like Mama and your hair is more like mine and your grandpapa's." Beetlejuice dropped a stone of his own to the desert floor. "And I have more than you do, but then I've got more than anybody. But," he shrugged, "nobody knows why we have juice or why we have the amount we do."
Chazz changed his position to copy his father's, his feet kicking into the air. "Beatie's got juice, too. Just a little bit."
Beetlejuice was astounded. "She does? Chick, I mean, Chazz, are you sure? 'Cause I checked when she was three and she didn't."
"She didn't have it until I gave it to her. When I was little, maybe last year. I didn't think you'd mind. And I thought about if it's wrong or not but I don't think it is."
"So you can feel what's wrong to do," Beetlejuice tapped his head, "in here, right?"
"Yeah." Chazz rested his chin in his hands. "That felt . . . like I had to be sure about it but it's not wrong. She doesn't know she has it. I kinda . . . put it away. If she needs it sometime, like if there's bullies at school, then she'll know she has it. But not 'til then." He pondered the green patch down below. "It's just so she's safe."
Beetlejuice looked at his small son. "You're a good brother, you know."
Chazz hunched his shoulders casually. "So, what happens if we use up all our juice?"
"We regenerate it. That's too big a word, isn't it?"
"No. I like re-jen-ate. What does it mean?"
Beetlejuice grinned at his son. "We make it, the juice. We 'generate' it, which means we make it. So when we need more, we make it again – regenerate it. If you use it all up, though, it takes a while to come back so try to never use all of it at one time."
Chazz nodded.
"I suppose . . ." Beetlejuice sighed quietly, then went on, "I suppose you're too old now for me to call you 'chick'."
Chazz considered that. "Doesn't it mean kid? I'm still your kid." He looked at his father, his expression one of puzzlement. "Won't I always be your kid?"
Beetlejuice ruffled his son's wheatsheaf hair. "Yes, you will. But chick is a really old word for baby and you're not a baby any more. So maybe I should just call you Chazz from now on."
"Okay." Chazz looked once more at the patch of greenery then turned to Beetlejuice. "But if you want to you can still call me chick once in a while." He smiled at his father. "Papa, this chick is hungry."
