DEZ

It’s times like this that I wish I was more like Jonah. He actually has a purpose and makes a difference and all that feel-good shit.

He gives, and all I do is take.

Trying to kill time before my night with Riley, I decide to help Jonah with his Saturday Meals on Wheels delivery. Though Jonah insists that his parents make him deliver food to the elderly every weekend, it’s obvious he likes it. Since he’s eighteen now, he can do it on his own. Before that, it was a family affair.

Jonah’s been doing the Meals on Wheels gig for as long as I can remember. And then there’s me, who can’t even commit to a job I get paid for. Luckily, I’m a master at landscaping, and the cut from my summer job is easily enough to cover my expenses through the year.

I ride shotgun in Jonah’s old truck for his last five stops of the day. The smell of chicken and gravy drifts up from the back.

“So, what was going on with you and Riley last night?” Jonah asks, keeping his eyes on the road.

“I told you, she needed a ride home.”

“Mmm hmmm.” He sighs. “Do I look like a moron?”

I don’t answer.

“Dez, don’t be an ass,” he says with a laugh. “Seriously, what’s going on? Didn’t we already talk about this? I mean, you know she’s gay, or bi, whatever, right?”

“Oh, you didn’t know? I’m so hot, I make gay girls go straight.”

“Yeah, right. So what’s the deal then? Is she bi?”

“She’s Riley, and she can be into whoever she wants.”

“As long as it’s you.”

“Haven’t you ever heard of Angelina Jolie or Anna Paquin or Lindsay Lohan?”

They were all into girls at one time and now two of them are married. To. Men.

“Are you sure you want to bring Lindsay Lohan into your argument?”

“It’s not an argument. The point is, people change.”

“And you’re sure she has?”

“Well, I’ll find out tonight,” I say, staring out the window.

Jonah pulls up to a small brick house.

“Dude, I just don’t want to see you get whipped over a girl that you have no chance with. Especially when I know a real live straight girl who’s interested.”

I tune Jonah out. It’s pointless to continue with this conversation. He’ll never understand, and for once he’s looking at me like I’m the pathetic one. I don’t like it.

“Are you getting out or what?” I ask.

“Why don’t you come in for this one?” Jonah says. “Clara is really sweet and she likes to visit.”

“You didn’t tell me this was going to be a Tuesdays with Morrie afternoon.”

“Oh, shut up,” he says, taking out a tray of wrapped food. “Come on.”

I get out of the truck and the stench of garbage and dog shit smacks me in the face. It’s from the house across the street. The house with a bright yellow paper taped to the door, the telltale sign: housing foreclosure. From the looks of it, the people who lived there neglected to pay the garbage man as well. Bags of trash are piled around the garbage bin at the top of the driveway and dog crap covers the yard.

I pinch my nose and turn away. That’s when I notice Marcus standing outside of Emma’s house, a few doors down. I hadn’t even realized we were in her neighborhood. I hold up a hand, but Marcus doesn’t notice. He’s too busy yelling at Emma. She tries to go back into the house, but Marcus grabs her arm and jerks her forward.

“Stop!” Emma yells at him.

I watch them and know this is wrong. It’s not just a typical high-school-relationship tiff.

“Listen to me.” Marcus grabs her other arm and holds her in place.

“What the hell?” Jonah stops, noticing the fight.

I don’t really care for Emma, but I can’t let this go on. “Marcus,” I call out, starting to run toward her house. Jonah’s on my heels.

Marcus doesn’t hear me. He’s shaking Emma now. “I mean it,” he growls.

“Hey!” I yell. I go up the steps. “What’s going on?”

Marcus doesn’t take his eyes off Emma.

“Hey.” I slap his arms.

He finally notices me and turns his head. He looks dazed.

“Are you okay?” I ask Emma.

She doesn’t answer. Marcus releases her arms and she rubs them.

“Oh, hey, boss,” Marcus says. “Lovers’ quarrel.” He flips his hand in Emma’s direction. “You know how it is.”

“Not really,” I tell him. “This is not cool.”

“I’m going inside.” Emma backs in and quickly slams the door.

Marcus laughs. “It’s not how it looks.”

The click of the lock on Emma’s front door interrupts him, telling us it’s exactly how it looks.

“Dude, I mean it.” I point to his chest. “If I ever see or hear any shit like this again, I’ll turn you in to my stepdad myself. After I kick your ass.”

“Sorry, man.” His body slumps and he walks down the steps. “It won’t happen again. I’m not sure what came over me, but I’d never do anything to hurt a girl. Never.”

He hangs his head, slowly walks across the street, and gets into his car. Then he proceeds to beat the hell out of the steering wheel.

“That dude has serious issues,” Jonah says, peering over my shoulder. “Let’s go.”

“He’s not all there, but I don’t think he’ll do it again. He seems pretty shaken up. Sometimes these guys just need to get a dose of their own medicine. Like the bullies on the playground. Remember them?”

“Don’t remind me.”

We start walking back to Miss Clara’s.

“I don’t know what I would’ve done without you back then,” Jonah says.

“What do you mean, back then?”

He punches my arm. “Come on, we’re running late.”

He knocks on the door once, and then opens it. “Miss Clara, it’s Jonah Herron from Meals on Wheels,” he calls out.

From the kitchen, a little gray-haired woman with a walker comes out. “Oh, Jonah. Come in. Come in.”

“You know, Miss Clara, you should really keep that front door locked.”

“Oh, pitter patter.” She slides her walker—with bright orange tennis balls on the ends—into the living room. “It’s daytime, Jonah, and this neighborhood is just as safe as on the day I moved in fifty years ago.”

“I doubt that,” Jonah says.

“So, what do you have for me today, and who is this handsome young man?”

“Chicken and gravy, and this is my friend Desmond.” He gestures to me.

“Oh, how nice.” She laughs and winks in my direction. “Two gentlemen callers. Well, now we have enough players for Parcheesi.”

I raise my eyebrows at Jonah but he ignores me and says, “Sure, we have time before our next stop.”

We spend the rest of the afternoon playing board games with Miss Clara, fixing a piece of wood flooring for Mrs. Rose, sitting for a hand of blackjack with Denny, and eating cookies with the Klingles.

It’s a good day.

Yet I can’t fool myself. I’ll never be like Jonah.

To quote Fight Club, “Sticking feathers up your butt does not make you a chicken.”

Who can argue with that? One good deed will not erase what I’ve done.