Chapter Nine

Jason’s sister Amber, a second-year college student in upstate New York, hadn’t come home for Thanksgiving. She had spent it at friend’s house in the country, kicking around in the snow. And instead of turkey, with pork tamales on the side, she had to eat a vegan casserole in a dining room lit by the wavering flames of homemade candles. This is what she gushed to Jason on the phone before he could go beyond, “Hey, it’s me.” She summed up the casserole as mainly soggy leaves, corn kernels, and yellow stuff that wasn’t cheese, because vegans sneered at dairy products, hamburger, chicken, pork, fish sticks, or anything else that tasted good.

“More grub for us, huh?” he managed before she announced giddily that her new boyfriend was vegan. She told Jason that his guy didn’t even touch the yellow stuff in the casserole, just the green parts. He also ate tons of walnuts, she divulged, and gobbled almonds by the fistfuls. He drank water instead of quenching his thirst with soda, like Jason did.

“Is he a squirrel?” Jason inquired and chuckled to himself. “He clearly likes nuts!”

“No, he’s a Drysdale. He comes from a respectable family.” She informed her little brother that his family had voyaged over on the Mayflower and founded cities after they had moved the Native Americans out of the way.

For a moment, Jason wondered if the Rodriguez clan was a respectable family. True, his uncle was in jail and, true, Aunt Marta was marrying a retired barber who wore suspenders. And Dad? He liked to water the lawn shirtless, a sight that scared little kids because of his beer belly. But he didn’t dwell long on the thought of their respectability because Amber went on to hint that she might be getting married.

“Married!” Jason screamed. “You’re only twenty!”

“But mom got married when she was nineteen,” she countered.

“But that was in olden times,” Jason argued. “I mean, in the 90s, people did lots of stupid things.” He began to consider his own generation, not a promising bunch when you tallied the high school dropout rate. But he dismissed the thought; he had called his sister to ask what to get Aunt Marta as a wedding gift. “Guess what? Aunt Marta is getting married. What should I get her?”

“She’s WHAT?’” Amber screamed. “Oh, my God!”

“She’s getting married tomorrow,” Jason informed his sister. “Isn’t it weird?”

“Weird? It might be against human nature, don’t you think?” She said she had taken biology—a respectable B—and learned that people got together not out of love but in order to have kids to holler at.

This bit of information wasn’t news to Jason. Though he had yet to take biology, he had heard rumors that the purpose of marriage was to make babies and collect home mortgages. If so, why would Aunt Marta want to spend her last twenty or so years embracing an old man’s dirty clothes and taking them out to the washing machine in the garage? It had to be love! She was in her forties, certainly no spring chicken clucking for attention. Again, he asked, “What should I get her?”

“Hold on,” Amber begged. “Who’s she marrying?”

“Some guy.”

“Like, duh. I mean, how old is he and is something wrong with him?” She begged Jason to fill in the picture for her.

Jason could see why Amber was requesting the information. Aunt Marta was not super attractive, or even good to look at—she wore no lipstick, perfume, or fancy bling. Her shoes? She wore the kind Frankenstein’s bride might wear while scaring little kids. Their auntie was a plain cookie, and the guy she was marrying—he was no beauty either—must be desperate. But he was rich, too. Jason told Amber that he had won the lottery, and the amount.

“Holy vegan casserole! He won nearly a million tamales!” Amber was beside herself with excitement. Jason could hear her jumping up and down in her socks. He assumed she was in her dorm room.

“Yeah, so I guess Aunt Marta came out ahead,” Jason remarked. “She doesn’t have to worry about money or where to get her hair cut.”

“Huh?”

“He’s a retired barber,” Jason explained. “He wears suspenders. His name is Bill.” He breathed in the stale air in his bedroom and reported more news: “I also won the lottery.”

“What the heck!”

Jason realized that his sister hadn’t been updated on their family life. He knew that when he got to the point of having to explain where Uncle Mike was bedding down, she might have a real fit. Amber was a cheerleader type and liked to see everyone happy. The news of Uncle Mike being in jail might bring her to tears and ruin her makeup. So he held back this information. He pushed ahead. “Yeah, I won $3,700, but only got $2,700. Taxes, you know.”

“Send me five hundred!” she pleaded, with a roar in her voice.

Jason could feel his sister’s finger poking him in his ribs, like the snout of a handgun. She was sticking him up.

“Then I can go on a ski trip with Robbie.”

“Who’s Robbie?” Jason asked.

“My boyfriend, Robbie Drysdale,” she answered. “Aren’t you listening? The one I might marry.”

He told his sister directly, “My lottery money is already spent!”

“Already spent!” she hollered. “What, did you and your stupid friend Blake buy a zillion skateboards? Jason, you’re so thoughtless!”

“Sorry, Amber, but it’s gone,” he explained. He dreaded breaking the news that his winnings had gone to springing Uncle Mike from the county jail.

“How can it be gone? You’re a cheapskate—that’s it. You don’t care if I have to eat soggy vegan casseroles!”

“Yes, I do care about you. You were on my list to help out.”

“Then what happened to the money?”

“I had to bail Uncle Mike out of jail.” He wandered over to the window and heaved it up. His mom was right. The bedroom still stunk of old smelly clothes, though all his clothes were washed and put away. The smell lingered, like cheese.

“WHAT?”

Jason explained that their uncle had been in jail for two days. “But it’s not that bad. Uncle says the grub’s really good.”

“And Mom wonders why I don’t want to come home!”

Jason had to agree with his sister. Unexpected drama had invaded their lives. To change the topic, he said, “Hey, there’s this woman who has an alligator in her yard.”

“Huh? What do you mean ‘alligator’?”

Several times that afternoon, his mind had returned to the nice old woman with the overgrown backyard. She needed help. She needed that backyard of hers taken care of. Since his sister, a college student, was on the phone, he had the opportunity to ask whether an alligator could live in Bermuda grass.

“It’s like a really tall lawn,” Jason described.

“You’re such a little liar! An alligator ain’t in there unless it’s a stuffed one.”

“Stuffed with what—people?” Jason had to tease his sister, the girl who, at first, intended to major in medicine but didn’t like the idea of cutting into bodies, dead or alive. She was now majoring in English, which confused Jason. Didn’t she already speak English?

Amber mumbled threats and then asked, “OK, what’s really up? Why are you calling?”

“Like I said, Amber. I need to get something for Aunt Marta.”

“How much money do you have?”

If Jason had plunged his hands into his pockets, he would have pulled out a comb, a pencil, cracked breath mints, a coupon for dollar burritos, and possibly a few pennies and a nickel, certainly not a dime or a quarter. He answered truthfully, “Nada.” What money he possessed he had spent on hamburgers and fries just before Uncle Mike was arrested.

“You don’t have any money?”

“Nothing that I would brag about,” he answered. Jason had returned to the window and lowered it slightly because the breeze had stirred up the stink of his bedroom and thrown it directly into his face.

“Get her a plant,” Amber suggested. “Go to the backyard and dig one up that looks pretty. Put it in a pot. We got a bunch behind the garage.”

That’s why he had turned to his sister. She was smart. He would have never thought of a potted plant.

“Where’s the wedding?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I’m just going to get in the car and go with Mom and Dad.”

“Jason, you’re too weird for your age. I’ve got to go. Tell mom ‘Hi’.” She hung up before Jason could ask if there should be a bow on the plant. Immediately, his cell phone began to ring: Blake.

“Hey,” Jason greeted.

“Hey, back,” Blake answered. His voice was pumped. “I got it, dude!”

“Got what?”

“A Sony video camera, old-school technology. We can make a music video or something.” He told Jason that his mother had given him his birthday money early—fifty dollars—and with what he had stashed away he was able to buy a video camera for seventy-five dollars on Craigslist.

“Cool,” Jason responded. He didn’t wish to dampen his friend’s enthusiasm, but he blurted out, “But we don’t know how to play an instrument, or sing, or even dance.”

“No problem,” Blake fired back. “Most rockers don’t either.” He mentioned a couple of groups that knew only three chords on their expensive guitars. Still, they were record-smashing groups that toured and got to sleep until noon, sometimes later. And if they were hungry, they just picked up the telephone and said, “Feed me.”

The conversation moved in another direction as Jason thought of his decision to give up sports. He asked Blake, “Hey, did I tell you I quit the basketball team?”

“Man, you didn’t quit,” Blake argued. “You’re a lying sack of pinto beans—all farty.”

“I did—really! Coach Bacon and I had a heart-to-heart, and he said, more or less, that I stink.” Jason wasn’t hurt by the admission.

“But that doesn’t mean you had to quit.” Blake warned his friend that people would think that he quit mid-season because the team was already burnt toast. They would think he was acting like he was too good for the team.

“I had to, and I don’t care what people think. I’m going to become a rocker. Like you said, most rockers can’t sing or play guitar real good. And as for dancing, most of them just move around like they got to go to the bathroom and someone’s in there.”

Jason reached for a half-eaten Baby Ruth on his chest of drawers. With his front teeth, he pulled back the wrapping and took a bite. He chomped and assessed that the candy wasn’t too old.

“If you really want to know, yeah, you weren’t very good,” Blake answered truthfully. “I’m sorry to say that, but it’s true.”

“That settles it,” Jason said sternly. “I’m going learn guitar.”

“If you do, I’m taking up drums,” Blake announced.

Jason could hear Blake pounding something hard—his table, his bedpost, the side of the refrigerator? When he asked what that sound was, Blake answered, “I’m drumming on the top of my head.”

In that instant, Jason doubted that he and Blake would ever make it to college. Were they really dumb boys after all? No doubt Blake got better grades, but his grades, Jason felt, were given because he was well-mannered in class. Teachers liked that sort of polite student who, if he chewed gum, at least kept his mouth closed.

Jason suggested another angle to break into the film world: “Hey, why don’t you videotape the wedding?”

“Cool idea,” he responded. “Where’s it happening?”

“I don’t know,” Jason answered. He told him that he would get back to him. He hung up, but not before telling his friend that he should wear a clean shirt, or at least his father’s cologne.

Jason trudged down the back steps and into the backyard. His sister was smart. He would search for a plant, stuff it into one of the pots behind the garage and wrap it with aluminum foil—he liked the look of shiny metal and he assumed the bride and groom would too.

But he discovered all the plants in the yard were sagging, colorless, leafless, or plain dead. The tomato plants were haggard from frost. The roses along the garage were spiky as spurs. Jason sighed. He couldn’t possibly stick a couple of dry, humpbacked sticks in a pot and call it a wedding gift.

Then an idea ballooned in his head, and got bigger to the point of exploding. The nice old lady with the overgrown yard! She had to have something growing. He would bargain with her. He would cut her lawn or maybe rake the leaves off her roof—he liked climbing roofs—or wash her front windows so that she could better see her neighbors getting robbed. He would provide her with a couple hours of work.

He left the backyard along the side of the house and was walking to the front when his mom clip-clopped down the steps.

“Where are you going?” she asked. In the approaching dusk, her mouth was red as a flower. Her hair was done up and the bangs cascaded like a black, crashing wave.

“I was going to get Aunt Marta and her squeeze a present.”

“Bill,” she corrected. “He’s not ‘her squeeze.’ His name is Bill.”

“OK, Bill and Aunt Marta,” he said. He then added, “Mom, Blake wants to videotape the wedding.” He figured that his mother would love the memory of the couple, old as they were, smooching after they said, “I do.”

“Blake?” she asked, confused. She was searching her purse for her car keys.

“Blake bought this neat video camera,” Jason explained. He didn’t know if it was “neat” or not. He asked: “Can he come? He won’t eat anything and if he does he’ll eat from my plate. He’ll just do the taping.”

“Not a bad idea,” his mother said. She agreed that the moment should be captured, and that kids knew a lot about things like video cameras, text messaging, iPods and such. Her generation was out of the loop, and there was no arguing this. Indeed, her generation was still struggling with the directions for how to set up the message machine. She told him that the wedding was going to be held at a room in the Rodeo Bar & Grill on Tulare Street.

“The one with a wagon wheel outside?” he asked.

“Used to be,” she answered. “Some fool stole it. But, yeah, that’s the place.” His mother then started toward the car in the driveway.

Jason followed on her footsteps.

Jason’s mother swung open the car door and got in. She rolled down the window. “But I want you home for dinner.”

“What’s for dinner?” he asked.

“You know that carcass of a turkey?” she asked, a smile spreading across her face and revealing teeth splotched with lipstick. “It’s bones. We’re going to suck those things until they look like toothpicks.”

* * *

“You’ll mow my lawn?” the nice old lady asked cheerfully from her driveway. “That’s so sweet. But how much will it cost?”

Jason saw how old she really was. Her eyes were cloudy and dim, the skin on her face papery thin. Her legs were heavily veined and bruised. She had a hearing aid in one ear.

“Hardly anything,” Jason answered.

“Oh, good, because that’s all I have—‘hardly anything’.”

The two started toward the backyard when Jason spotted a flowering plant. He stopped, and she stopped. He asked, “I’ll help you for free if I can have that plant.” He pointed.

“You mean the chrysanthemum?”

Jason nodded his head. He had heard the name chrysanthemum before, and now he knew what they looked like. “Yes, ma’am, that plant. You see…” He explained that his aunt was getting married and that he had no money for a proper gift. He would work for that plant, she told him, and would bring along his uncle. His uncle would be the main muscle for the overgrown lawn.

“That skinny fellow with the beard?” she asked.

“That’s him.”

“Is he well enough? I think he was coughing.”

“He’s strong as an ox.”

“How ‘bout if I throw in one of my late husband’s suits? Your uncle’s clothes…” she began, then hesitated.

“They suck, huh?” Jason completed for her. “He would love anything you gave him. He likes retro. And he likes you.” He told the nice old lady that it was a done deal—the suit and the plant.

Dang, Jason thought when the lawn came into view. It was tall and scraggly, and roots that looked like chow mein grew over the cement path.

“It is a little overgrown,” the woman murmured.

“Yeah, but me and uncle,” Jason said, “we can do it! We like exercise.” He reminded the nice old lady that he was twelve and that he was strong, and that his uncle was in his thirties and was even stronger, especially if you fed him a bologna sandwich before he got to work.

“Sure, I’ll make sandwiches,” she suggested. “It will be like a work party!”

“Throw in chips and soda, and we’ll work like mules.”

The nice old lady giggled. She said that she would be right back with the suit, turned, and ventured into the garage.

While she was there, Jason decided to take the hoe leaning against the back fence and whack away at the growth. He figured that he could build up an appetite for that ladder of turkey bones his mother was concocting into a soup. And while he was whacking away, he found a deflated beach ball, barbecue tongs, water bottles in which spiders were making a nest, a sprinkler, and a Gremlin toy stripped of its color.

“Dang,” Jason muttered to himself. “This place is a junkyard.”

When the woman appeared from the garage with a rust-colored suit, she was all smiles. “Do you think it’ll fit your uncle?”

Uncle Mike was a skeleton, all stained teeth and bones, and the suit was huge. Still, Jason answered, “Yeah, ma’am, my mom can make it fit. And don’t worry. I’ll be back in a couple of days with my uncle. We’ll take care of that lawn.”

They shook hands, and Jason left with the suit and the chrysanthemum. He walked slowly, as he didn’t want a single flower to fall.