Chapter 19 Jamison
Jamison
Having the same nightmares on repeat, you’d think my body would get used to it by now. God knows my mind has. At this point, the dreams play like cartoons on a Saturday morning — expected and familiar — yet without fault, I snap awake almost every time.
Peeling myself from bed, I grab my pack of cigarettes. Is it completely counterproductive to smoke before I exercise? Probably. Do I care? Absolutely fucking not. Plus, it’d be worse if I smoked and didn’t lift, right? So it’s kind of like the two cancel each other out.
Besides, after that nightmare, I could use a smoke or three.
I’m playing marbles on the floor, and Jackson is reading out loud on the bed above me.
The lack of light from my window tells me it’s late.
Normally, I would be nervous. When I'm alone, the darkness scares me like it’s supposed to when you’re young.
There are creepy sounds and spooky shadows, but unlike most kids who are afraid of what is hidden, I'm afraid of what is in plain sight.
Not when Jackson is here though. When he's home, I feel safe.
It could be the ten-year age gap, but as long as he's around, which isn’t as often as I would like, I'm not worried about what comes home — Jackson will protect me.
If there is fighting or yelling, he will sit with me in the closet, both of us scrunched up to fit against the back wall.
Sometimes we sit in silence, sometimes we talk.
Sometimes he shows me how to hold a cigarette, me pretending with a broken crayon or rolled up piece of paper, him with the real thing.
Either way, he almost always ends up reading to me until Mom comes to get us.
The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn is my favorite.
We must have read that book a hundred times already. It's the one he's reading now.
“Well, it made me sick to see it; and I was sorry for them poor pitiful rascals, it seemed like I couldn’t ever feel any hardness against them any more in the world. It was a dreadful thing to see. Human beings can be awful cruel to one another.” Jackson stops reading.
“It’s true, Jay,” he says, still lying at the bottom of the bed so he can see me on the floor. “People in this world can be real dickheads. These losers Mom brings home, can all go to Hell. But you know, not everyone out there sucks so bad. We just have to get out of this fucking place.”
I shoot my head up to him, rolling marbles in my palm. “You mean, like leave?” Looking down, I watch the colorful beads move freely in my hand. “I don’t know, Jack. I don’t think Mom would ever leave this place.”
“Not Mom, Jay — you. Mom’s made her mess, but you have to promise me you’ll leave one day. Get out of his house, and make a life for yourself. Just run, Jay, like Huck did. When you’re big enough, okay?”
The idea of leaving scares me. The idea of running away and being on my own. And does he mean I should leave Mom behind? “Big like you, Jack?” I ask.
“Yeah, buddy.” He hides his face behind the book, but I hear the way his voice changes. “Big like me.”
Jackson stayed up all night finishing the book one last time for me. When I woke up in the morning, still on the floor below his bed, he was gone.
Claire showed up at Monroe’s. I still can’t believe it. I know she said she was there as a thank you from her dad, but I’m hoping at least a small part of her was happy for the chance to see me. I know I was really fucking happy that I got to see her.
Not only did she come to work with the best goddamn dessert I’ve ever had, but she also agreed to go to Maddie’s party with me.
At least I think she meant with me. I panicked a little when she said she’d love to go, so I’m not sure where we landed in terms of plans.
That’s what I’m trying to find out now. If I would just stop being such a pussy and text her already.
I finally asked Claire for her number before she left the garage.
By some twisted turn of events, Zeke wingmanned for me by throwing this stupid party and gave me an excuse to need it.
At that point, I was running a little on autopilot from all of the surprises, so thankfully, I didn’t have enough brain power to worry about how it looked.
“I’ll text you about the party then I guess?” She let out an adorable giggle, and I caught myself noticing things like fucking adorable giggles. Writing her number on the back of a Monroe's business card, she handed it to me.
“I guess we’ll see.”
Now I am sitting at Enzo’s, with my phone and the card with a little heart next to the last number, contemplating life and my first text to her.
“Holy shit, dude, just send it already.” Ronan and I are at an empty table as he folds pizza boxes after closing, and I completely lose my dignity. A new message screen is pulled up with Claire’s name at the top. My finger hovers over the little blue arrow that will send the text and seal my fate.
After going back and forth about what to say way too many times, I landed on the facts.
ME: Hey, it’s Jay. Party is at Neon Nights on Friday at 9. Cool?
As I hesitate a minute longer, Ronan stops midfold. “What is with you, man? I have never seen you give a single fuck about what you text someone.”
It’s true. I rarely text at all and when I do, they’re almost always to Ro, Mikey, or Sean and usually consist of one-word responses or the middle finger emoji.
Never in my life have I mulled over whether or not to say “Hey.” or “What’s up?
” or to add a smiley face or exclamation point to the end of a message.
“I don’t know, Ro. I thought I was messed up before.” I drop my head in my hands, elbows on the table. “But my head is so fucked right now.”
“You actually like this girl, don’t you?”
I lift my head and look at him. The question is rhetorical.
My actions say it all, but I know what Ronan means.
If anyone knows that I don’t form true connections, it’s him.
His big personality is the reason we even became real friends.
Yeah, we had the quiet bond of two foster kids living in the same hell hole, but he’s the one who reached out after he left the house. And he never quit.
No matter where I went, he somehow got a hold of me.
He was relentless and intentional, and I have him and him alone to thank for our friendship.
Eventually, it balanced out, once I knew he was sticking around, but he took on most of the load in the beginning.
He would never say it outright but that’s what he means now.
He knows that the fact that I’m even making the first move is huge. Even if it is over some dumb party.
Taking one final deep breath, I hit send on my phone and flip it over. Is this what it feels like to care what someone thinks? I knew there was a reason I never did this type of thing.
Ronan laughs and puts a finished box to the side. With a smile on his face, he folds one more. I’m not sure if he’s talking about the text I’m sending or the risk he knows I’m taking, but flipping the lid he says, “Bout fucking time.”