Jason had stood at the front of the class with his nose stuck to the whiteboard, listening to Ms. Martinez tell the class how stupid he was and how he would never amount to anything if he didn’t stop drawing in class and learn to listen better.
Jason wondered why she thought he could listen better with his nose stuck to the whiteboard like that.
He got good marks in everything but attentiveness and attitude. How could he get good marks without paying attention? How could he get good marks with a bad attitude?
He never caused any trouble, not like Jimmy and some of the other kids. They were always cracking off and shooting spit wads at each other.
Mom never discouraged his artwork but she made sure his school work came first. That was most important.
When Mom looked at his third page of printed notes, her eyes shot up and looked all the way through him, scolding from inside his brain.
How does she do that?
“Jason, there are no letters i in Sacramento. Check the textbook spelling, make your correction and print out the third page again.”
“Okay.” He took the binder from his mom and pulled the social studies book out of his backpack.
“What about your math?”
“Oh, yeah.” He pulled his math workbook from his backpack and handed it to her. While she checked his algebra, he found and corrected his spelling of Sacramento, saved the work, hit the print command and printed the new sheet on three-hole paper. He clipped the sheet into his binder and put the binder into his backpack next to his secret sketching pad, ready for another day of drawing in class.
“You’re very good at math, just like your father.” She handed back his workbook. “Supper’s on the table.”
Knowing what the words meant, that Jason was going into another room, Barnabas bounded off the bed and followed Jason’s mom.
Jason put his math workbook away, turned off his computer and followed his dog into the dining room, delighted by the aroma of Chinese food. “Oh boy, sweet and sour’s my favorite.”
“Go wash your hands first.” His mom sat down to open cartons and Jason turned into the kitchen. His footstool had been set in front of the sink, a habit his mom couldn’t break.
Being almost nine, Jason didn’t need a stool anymore. He pushed the stool aside with his foot and leaned into the sink to wash up. He returned to the dining room where his mom had already dished up some beef with broccoli and fried rice for both of them. An empty plate had been set at the head of the table, the chair nearest the kitchen. This was for Grandma.
Jason sat opposite his mom and both bowed their heads. “Thank you, Lord . . .” he said, "for Thy wonderful blessings and amazing grace. Bless this house and all who are in it, bless this food that it might nourish us, and bless us that we might better serve Thee.”
They said, “Amen,” and Jason waited for his mom to take the first bite. That was one of the things he remembered about his father. After saying grace, he'd always waited for her and Jason to start.
She bit into a piece of broccoli and smiled.
Jason didn’t mind broccoli so much, only he liked the beef better. He didn’t care for broccoli the way his grandmother cooked it, but when it came in Chinese food, it tasted good.
“Umm.” He sucked the juices off a chunk of beef before choking it down.
“Chew your food, honey. Remember what your father said. You can choke to death if you don’t chew your food properly.”
Barnabas bolted from under the table and charged into the living room where he nosed the curtain aside to look out the window. Headlights flashed on the curtain and Jason’s mood slumped. His grandma’s car had turned into the driveway. His appetite vanished, pushing food around with his fork. Grandma always changed people’s moods.
His mom forced a smile, winked and pointed with her fork. He needed to eat while the eating was good.
Too late.
His grandmother marched in and closed the front door.
Barnabas grumbled, wagging and pressing sideways into her legs, saying hello.
Grandma glared down at his dog. “Get this mutt away from me.”
Barnabas stepped back and moaned his complaint, demanding her affection. He sat patiently and watched her pull out a pack of Winston cigarettes, her butane lighter, and then deposit her purse on a side table. She took out a cigarette and lit it.
After blowing smoke in his face, she patted Barnabas on the head. She liked the dog, but she hated showing it. She took a couple of puffs, marched into the dining room and stopped to inspect the food on the table. She glared at Mom, daring her to say something.
Mom didn’t say a word. She and Jason both knew what was coming.
“Carolyn, if you insist on poisoning yourself, there’s nothing to be done about it. You’re thirty-two years old. But, why you insist on poisoning my grandson is beyond all reasoning.”
Mom always sounded like she was whining, afraid she and Jason might be asked to leave. She stared at her plate and wouldn't look at Grandma. “Why do we always have to go through this? You know John and I wanted Jason to eat a balanced diet.” Mom’s eyes lifted enough to focus on Jason, showing him all that love in there.
Grandma deliberately blew smoke into Mom’s face.
Mom wasn’t afraid of anybody except Grandma. Everything with Grandma was a struggle. Pasting on a smile and forcing her happy voice, Mom said, “Look, Mom, I got you some Chinese veggies.”
Momentarily frustrated but never defeated, Grandma set her pack of cigarettes and lighter on the table and snatched a clean ashtray from the breakfast counter. She set the ashtray on the table, dragged out her chair, plopped into it and took a long pull from her cigarette. After blowing smoke over the top of Jason’s head, she
