Jones [1]

Have you ever been running, or even just had a dream that you were running, with the wind in your hair and with all the freedom in the world and all of a sudden, something or someone stopped you short, never to finish your grounded flight? That, I’d say, is the story of my life.

My town wasn’t small. Everyone didn’t know everyone else’s names and ask how their mothers were when they past them on the street. My town wasn’t big. One really couldn’t get lost in it, though there was a kind of designated business district. My town didn’t even exist on most Georgia maps. In my town, people knew of people who’d done something remotely interesting, and in my town, people knew of me.

I joined the boys track team in middle school and learned I had a gift. I could run. Really, really fast. You could say I became a kind of star by the time I got to high school, but not a big one. I mean, who was I kidding? It wasn’t like I played football! Now those jocks were heroes.

I was in shape, and I always had lots of girls looking at me. I was always looking at a lot of girls… and trying a lot of them out. None of them ever made me want to be monogamous. There were always too many other choices, right?

One particular day at track practice, when my head was way up in the clouds, I was being kind of sluggish. Coach Stanton told me to sit out for the last 20 minutes. I guess he figured something was on my mind. He told me I better be A-1 on Monday. I promised I would be.

When practice was over, I climbed into my truck and Coach Stanton stopped me, told me I deserved a day off, but I best not expect another one for a long time. It made me kind of angry, but I didn’t show it. Instead, I waited for him to get into his Honda and drive away. I waited for the parking lot to empty and I grabbed my bag and headed back down following the foliated path to the track.

After setting my things down, I paced myself, tensed my leg muscles, imagined them pink and taut, preparing for my run, and began what I still think was the fastest run of my life. Of course, this would happen when no one was around to witness it.

I could hear the air curling around and ripping past my ears. I could feel my body cutting the air in half. I could feel my knees perforating holes into the wall of air that stood, continually, in front of me. Me against the air. I noted that this might make a nice name for some kind of memoir. You know; if I got that famous.

Eventually, everything around me became a blur. The wooded area around the track became as meaningless as the camouflage that Uncle Harvey wore to every family function. I was unstoppable; I was invincible.

I wondered if I ran long enough, could I fly? You know, like if I just kept running for, like, 3 hours, always building momentum, and then just jumped, mid-sprint, from a cliff, would I soar with hawks or eagles or something? Surely!

By the time I was almost worn out (almost to my breaking point), I had been around the track two full times, and this was at the fastest I had ever run. Just as I was closing in on the unshaded area where my bags sat, anticipating, I began to slow a little. I did so rather suddenly and ungracefully, though, and since this was only the practice track, made of dirt, no one had bothered to clear quite a sizeable rock from it.

The tip of my left running shoe caught the rock, and as most of my entire body (head first) was propelled forward by inertia, my feet stayed behind, causing me to land directly on my face. I skidded for 800 feet (it felt like) to land in front of my bags. Luckily, mid-skid, I was able to pick my face up, so it didn’t get half as dirty as my practice suit.

I stood, looking around to see if anyone had seen and was relieved to find no one. I patted some dirt off the front of my uniform and used a clean sock from my bag to wipe over my face. Thank God I could go home and take a shower before anyone had to see me again.

When I got back to my truck, another car was parked in the parking lot. I hurried, before whatever occupant was in there could see me. Too late. A female voice rang out over the blacktop. "Hey! Jones!"

My door was shut, so I cranked the truck, hoping this girl, who I’d figured out was my track buddy’s sister, could get a look at my filthy uniform and put two and two together. "Jones!" She knocked on the truck’s window. God, she was a fast runner. They could use her on the girls’ team… which lacked a valuable asset: talent.

"What?" I rolled down the window and took my keys out of the ignition.

"Remember me? I’m Jackie. I’m Gill’s sister."

"Yeah, I remember." Was she just being a bitch? She knew I’d asked her out three times, only to be rejected thrice.

"Well, uh, Gill said you have my CD. You know, the Gym Class Heroes one? He lent it to you without asking me, and I’m very pissed at him for it."

I wondered how she knew I’d still be at the track. "Oh, yeah. It’s at my house. I’ll bring it to school Monday."

"Actually, I’m going to their show in Atlanta this weekend, and I’m kind of hoping to get it signed. I have backstage passes." She smiled, smug.

She was hesitant; hesitant to follow me home, to come inside my house, to trail me up the stairs to my bedroom, where the CD was. Actually, on the last one, Jackie parked herself butt-first at the bottom of the stairs and waited on me, but that’s not how it happened in my head.

As Jackie left my house, I felt I had one last chance at some kind of revenge, no matter how small. As she approached the door, I commented, rather untruthfully, "I didn’t like it that much. They kind of suck."

"Oh," she said, taunting and feigning disappointment. "And I have an extra backstage pass and ticket. Guess I’ll have to find someone else to tag along with me." I knew she was only attempting to leave behind haunting words, but I couldn’t help but curse my big mouth.

My mind drifted back to the first time I was ever rejected by anyone. The first day of school my sixth grade year, I was riding the bus home, and there was this really hot girl who got on the bus at the high school, probably a freshman or sophomore, and she was looking at me. Damn! I’m a mack daddy! My mind and spirit soared.

As if she could hear my thoughts, the girl said coldly, "I’m not looking at you, middle-schooler. I’m looking out the window. Don’t flatter yourself!"

Just like that, grounded.

"JONES!" My mother always shouted like this when she checked my grades online.

I always came trumping down the stares in rebel fashion upon hearing this. "What?"

"What do you mean having a B in this Ms. Gibson’s class?"

"Mom, she teaches AP Calculus. How could I do any better? There’s a girl in my class with a D, and her mom is proud!"

"Oh, what? You think just because everyone else’s parents expect their children to do horribly in school that I should think it’s okay, too?"

"Mom, I’m just saying that a B’s not so bad."

"Well, I don’t think I’d be so upset if it wasn’t so damn close to an A. I mean, two points away? Promise me you’ll try to do better?"

"Sure."

They say that a mother always expects a lot from her son if she can’t get her husband to do what she wishes, or if he has an absent father. Well, "absent father" was the definition of mine. My father, at that moment, was sleeping on the couch. That was just about all he ever did. He had no job, and I don’t think the man could take a piss without needing to rest. He was a lazy slob, not to mention that I don’t think he ever hugged me once in my entire life. I always hugged him and told him that I loved him. The most I ever received was a wink or a "you- too". The only things I could ever really thank my father for were my feigning interest in anything that couldn’t directly help me and the wonderful bone structure of my face.

They also say that if (a) parent(s) expects too much of their child, keeps them on too short of a leash, they’ll rebel later or vent in dangerous ways, or ways that they know would make their parent(s) so angry they could spit their organs clear across the country, if only they knew. I could agree with that.

I sat down on my bed that night, just after that particular grade incident. My cell phone began projecting my "Viva La White Girl" ringtone from the dresser where it sat. I had to get up and go get it. Shanna calling. I was definitely in the mood to party, and that’s what it meant if I answered Shanna’s calls.

She asked if I wanted to go to some jockstrap’s party with her. Of course I did. She was hot and I needed to let go of some things. I definitely didn’t want to think about Jackie’s sexy smile or nice body or complete rejection (times three) anymore. I didn’t want to think about calculus anymore. NO fucking grades. I needed to get out of my house pretty much as soon as I could, so I told Shanna I’d pick her up before the party, and I split.

On Fridays, the only question I ever got from Mom about going out: "Did you do your homework?"

"Had none!" I answered and exited, free to breathe in early summer. In no time, I’d be in New Zealand, banging foreign girls. Like I needed to learn calculus to be able to do that! Not to mention that Olympic scouts had already come calling. I could feel my future coming, and it had absolutely nothing to do with school… except for what happened after it every day all week. I knew Coach would be angry that I’d be gone for three weeks of the summer, but I had to do what I had to do. We had year-round track practice. I needed time to relax every once in a while, and I hadn’t taken any Jones Time in a very long time.

I headed straight to Gill’s house to make a pit stop before picking up Shanna. I needed to see if he could go to the NZ with me, as he’d been promising he’d find out for three weeks. I could’ve called him, true, but where’s the personal touch in that?

He said he’d love to come along, but his parents wouldn’t let him. "Plus, Jones, do you know what Coach would say? He’s already going to see red when you don’t show up at practices, but if you dragged me with you?"

"Yeah." I was distracted. We were hanging out in his living room, and I could hear Travis McCoy’s vocals pounding down the stairs. Jackie was home. "So, uh, what’s that sound coming from upstairs?"

"Jones, Jackie hates you. Did you come over so you could try to fuck my sister? You’re one horny bastard."

I grinned, not on purpose. "No, Gill. She’s your sister. You think I’m some kind of a perv?" I laughed, giving away what I meant to say: Hell, yeah, bruh!

"You bastard," Gill laughed. "Why don’t you get out of my house before I have to kick your ass!"

I did as Gill demanded, knowing I didn’t have long before I had to go pick up Shanna. She would kill me if I was late, as I knew from experience. I got to her house at 8:30, and the party started at 9:00.

Shanna told me to drive slowly because it looks really stupid to get to a party like this one early. I told her to shut the hell up and let me do the driving in my car. She told me that I was always like this, "You always have to feel like you’re in control." I told her to shut the hell up and let me do the driving in my car. She told me I was immature. I told her to shut the hell up and let me do the driving in my car. She shut the hell up; I did the driving. I found that repetition always did the trick with Shanna. She was kind of like a dog.

Shanna and I were friends with benefits, but when were together and not having sex or drinking, I found that we fought like an old married couple. We kind of were, in a way. I mean, if we both had nothing better to do, we spent time together. What’s more marriage than that?

We got to the party at 9:10. I took detours along the way, just to make sure we wouldn’t be there at nine or before. Shanna still bitched at me, considering, "If you would’ve picked me up a little later, we could’ve gotten here when there were more people here! Why can’t you just-" She followed that with some kind of horrible shrieking moan.

"What the hell, Shanna?!" I took my hands off of the wheel and threw them up in defeat. "I can’t do anything that can please you, can I?" I was still really in the mood for a night with Shanna, but the list of things that I was willing to do for it was shrinking, and the list of things she was expecting was only growing. She was acting like we were actually dating! We agreed after our third encounter that we weren’t going to act like we needed to actually learn anything about each other. Why was she being so irritable?

"Shanna, get out of the car. You can go to this party, and I’m going home." Her faced turned. She was shocked.

"Jones, you can’t leave me here!"

"I’ll come back and get you. Just call me."

"Wait," she said. "Wait. I have something to tell you."

"What, Shanna?" I was getting impatient. She always did shit like this when things weren’t going her way.

"I… I-" Shanna shut her pink lips and batted her dark lashes at me. I had seen Shanna’s eyes so many times, but never had I seen them like they were at that moment. Tears seemed to grow from her bottom eyelids and pour over her cheeks. Something was wrong.

"Shanna, tell me what’s wrong!" I was no longer angry, but I was frustrated and scared. That sense of fear hadn’t crept up with the tears but when I realized that this problem could affect me.

"I’m pregnant."

I’ve heard this story so many times—sex leads to babies—but it wasn’t true for me. I mean, it didn’t seem like it was. I’ve heard this story before. The one about the guy who knocks a girl up and takes responsibility for his actions and takes care of his child, but I didn’t really want to do that. I wanted to finish being 18 years old. I wanted to pretend I hadn’t heard her and just crank my car and drive her home. I wanted to let her out, tears and all, and finish school, get scouted for the Olympics, and never speak to her again. I had to think of something.

"Well, it’s not mine."

Shanna actually stopped crying for the duration of the time that we spent together that night. "Yes, Jones, it is yours. Believe me, there’s no one else it could be."

"But we always play it safe."

"But condoms don’t always work."

"What about abortions? You’re 18. Your parents won’t even have to know." I was squeaking in my desperation.

"What, Jones, you think I’m some kind of murderer?!" She was really upset at my suggestion, and she sounded a lot like my mother. "Jones, I wanna get married."

"Jones, I know we agreed to a no-strings-attached type thing, but I really like you. I really feel like we have a connection, and it’s nothing like anything I’ve ever felt for anyone else. We just have something."

"Well, you’re sadly mistaken, Shanna, because I don’t feel anything but horny when I see you."

I parked my truck in front of Shanna’s house. "I’ll make sure you have everything you need, but Shanna, please, leave me the hell alone otherwise."

I still planned on going to New Zealand. I still planned on staying single for my entire life. I still planned on being everything that I had always felt that Barren Jones Levvy Everette was born to be. I mean, who else had a name like that?

When I parked my exhausted body on my bed that night at 10:00, my cell phone rang, a number I didn’t recognize. I wouldn’t have even answered, but I was afraid that maybe it was someone calling to confirm trip details.

"Hello?" I tried not to hint that I’d been crying.

"Jones, why the hell aren’t you at this party?!"

I held the phone away from my face and sniffled. "What’s up Gill? Whose phone is that?"

"There’s this really hot foreign chick, and she told me to use her phone to call you. She doesn’t even go to our school, and she’s asking for you."

I tried to sound enthused, but I was tired, and I sounded it. "Dude, that sucks. I can’t believe I’m missing it!"

"Why, exactly, aren’t you here?"

"I’m really sick!"

"You must be! ‘Cause the Jones I know would die before he’d miss out on boning a hot foreign chick."

"I’m puking every half hour. My mom’s been bringing me ginger ale every five minutes. I don’t know if I could get out without her calling out Search and Rescue."

"So, basically, you’re giving up dibs? I can have her?"

"Sure." Yesterday, I would have rather lost a pinky than give up a girl to Gill. Now, it seemed like the smallest act of kindness I had ever committed. Perhaps it was the only.

That night, I did puke. A lot. I don’t know if Karma was beating me for lying about it or if I just made myself sick thinking so much. Sure, I had told myself that nothing was going to change, but would I ever be able to live the same way again? Was this the beginning of a new Barren Jones Levvy Everette or just the end of the old one? I mean, what would this really affect? There was no way of knowing.

When, finally, I did catch some rest, the sun’s first sparkling rays were illuminating the floors of my bedroom. I rolled over upon noticing this and closed my eyes, exhausted. I slept for what could only have been 10 minutes, and Mom stormed in and spouted off about sleeping the day away. I heard her say something about how it smelled like roadkill in my room, some words with sudden realization, and something about she would allow me to rest because I had been sick. She must’ve found my not-so-empty trashcan.

"We’ll just have to throw this out and buy you a new one." I heard her say as she left my room; the clicking sound of my door; silence.

"…so fine, goin’ up on the downtown line!" My phone vibrated against my computer desk. I didn’t want to answer, but that was the third time my phone had rung. I wouldn’t be able to keep sleeping anyway, if whoever it was really wanted to talk to me. By the time I got to my desk, the third unsuccessful call had ended, but it wasn’t over yet.

I answered Shanna’s fourth call on the second ring. No greetings or sweet hellos were offered by either of us. She spouted off something about how I needed to be responsible. I wasn’t really listening. I told her I wasn’t prepared to be a father, she told me she wasn’t prepared to be a mother, either, but did she have a choice. I told her of course she had a choice. "Isn’t that what all those pro-choice people are always chanting about?" Shanna shrieked about how I could never think of anyone but myself and hung up the phone.

When I put my phone down, I could hear my father downstairs on his treadmill. Ah, his weekly exercise. I sat down on my bed. I didn’t feel like doing anything. Truth is, I was depressed more than anyone could ever know. I was a hard-ass to Shanna’s face, to everyone’s face, but behind their backs, particularly at this moment, I was scared shitless.

I heard the front door open and shut, but I could still hear Dad on the treadmill. Mom must’ve been needed at work. No surprise there. I called down to my father from the top of the stairs, "Where’s Mom going?"

"Work." I expected to turn around, close my door behind me, and probably not speak to my father again that day. But something went horribly wrong. "Hey, Son, while we’re talking," Dad began as he jumped off the treadmill and ran up the stairs, "why don’t we spend some time together." There’s nothing like the awkward, first father-son chats to get your mind off your problems!

Dad came and sat down on my bed, as though he were a normal father or as though he’d been invited. "Son, I know we don’t talk much, and I know I don’t really know a whole lot about you, but there are just some things a father should talk to his son about, before his son gets information from someone else."

Oh, God. I was 18 years old, and one of the most popular guys at my school. Did he really think I could still be a virgin? I decided to be frank with him. "Dad, been there, done that."

"What?"

"I’m way ahead of you, Dad."

"Really? You’ve, uh, been active?"

"Very active."

"Ah, a chip off the old block!" He pounded my shoulder and grinned, proud. Kind of felt good. "Just be careful," he heeded. "I don’t want no grandbabies for a long time!" He stood and began walking toward the door. "Hey, and P.S., you don’t tell your mom about this little conversation, neither will I. We both know how she worries and nags."

I wanted to tell Gill about Shanna, but why should I? Shanna had half-heartedly agreed to keep this thing secret, so no one would ever have to know about my involvement at all, if everything went according to plan. I needed to tell someone, though; I needed to tell someone close.

That’s one negative about being an only child. There’s no one in your family that you can talk to about anything. I had to tell Gill. He would understand, after all. He was my best friend.

Gill answered almost immediately. He said he was worried that I’d have thrown up my stomach by now. I didn’t tell him that that was impossible, but I figured he knew that. "I didn’t go to that party last night because I was sick, but I was sick for a reason."

"Why do you sound so heavy? Are you pregnant?" Gill busted into laughter.

I didn’t.

"What’s wrong, Jones?"

I was having second thoughts about coming out with my news, but what would I say? He already knew that something was wrong. What could I say? "Uh, Gill…"

"Jones, can you hold on a second? Alva just woke up."

I was so relieved, I didn’t even ask who Alva was.

"Hey, can I call you back? I just realized Mom’s home and I have to get this Swedish girl out of my house without her knowing."

I laughed. This was my life. I lived like some sitcom character, and I had never really noticed how hilarious it was before.

"Wait, Jones, can you come over. I need your help. Just come over, park down the street, and call me."

"Sure." I had nothing better to do, and Gill needed some help. I grabbed an apple on my way out the door. I needed something gentle in my stomach.

When I had parked down the street from Gill’s, I called and asked him what he wanted me to do next. He instructed me to wait three minutes (enough time for him to sneak Alva to the bathroom that was down the hall from his bedroom and sat directly in front of the stairs) and drive up to his house and ring the doorbell. "I don’t care what you say, but make it something that my mother will have to think about, and whatever you do, don’t let her turn around. I’ll be sneaking Alva out the backdoor."

"Gladly," I said, acutely aware that Gill was talking like a secret agent. It was 9:43, so when 9:46 struck, I cranked my car and pulled up in front of Gill’s, already knowing what I would say to his mother.

When she answered, she did look gorgeous, as she always did. I know exactly where Jackie got her looks. "Mrs. Dean, I had a question."

"What is it, Jones, dear?" She smiled. Mrs. Dean was always flirting with me, and it threw off my concentration. The plunging neckline of her blouse didn’t help.

"Uh, well, I was… wondering if Gill could go with me to New Zealand this summer." I blurted out the last part of the question just as Alva, who was probably the most attractive girl I’d ever seen, and Gill rounding the bottom of the stairs and turned to exit through the back door. Of course, maybe she didn’t look as good as I imagined as I didn’t want to stare and draw Mrs. Dean’s curiosity to what I was looking at.

"Oh, Jones, I don’t know about that. I mean, Gill still has a year of high school to go, and won’t you miss some practices?" I had given Gill plenty of time to ditch Alva.

"Yeah, we would miss some practices, but only a few, and we have so many, even during the summer, that-"

"Jones! What are you doing here?" I felt Gill’s hand on my back. It was kind of a strange gesture.

"Hey. I was just trying to convince your lovely mother here to let you come with me to the NZ over the summer."

My flattery had worked. She was beginning to crack. "Oh, how long would you be gone?"

"Just three weeks. I already have hotel reservations for two different rooms. In the same wonderful place, and I could spring for Gill’s trip costs. All he’d need to pay for is food."

Mrs. Dean’s face changed. "Ok, ok. You win."

"Alright!" Gill continued, "Now, I need to go to bed. I hardly got any sleep last night." He turned to look at me as he went inside. He grinned devilishly, no doubt reliving the details of the night before. It wasn’t often that Gill wasn’t stuck with my sloppy seconds.

I began thinking, in that moment, about what might make me feel better. Booze would probably do the trick, but I’d never been drunk when I wasn’t partying. No telling what might happen. Sounds dumb, but I was extremely scared of becoming an alcoholic. After all, it was a family tradition on my Mom’s side. Her father and both of her brothers had been gutter garbage for as long as I had known them. Thank God it had skipped over my mother.

I just needed to clear my head. God, I needed Shanna to not be pregnant. I knew it was true, and honestly, I always knew a day like this was coming, but I didn’t think it was going to be now… I always thought not this time. I knew what would really make me feel good. Running.

I drove straight from Gill’s house to the school. I knew the practice track was always open. In fact, I’d seen old women that ran there every morning, from what I could tell. Luckily, no old ladies were there today.

I left everything I owned in my truck except for my cell phone, which was in my pocket. I needed to forget everything, if possible. I began running, careful of rocks, at the imaginary starting line that Coach had established freshman year. I ran three laps pretty fast, and slowed to a jog for a fourth. Feeling better, I decided to walk my fifth and sixth laps, and then I was free… for the time being.

I sat on a big rock in a clearing of the woods about one-fourth of the way around the track, just to breathe. I had been sitting there for nearly six minutes when I heard more footsteps on the track. No doubt, it’d be an old lady, I figured. Before approaching me, however, the footprints stopped. I could hear the shutter on a nice camera. Someone was here to take shots of the foliage around the track.

I breathed a sigh of relief that I was probably not going to have to share my running time with a granny. I stood from the rock to find Jackie on one knee, focusing the lens of a Nikon to get a picture of an oak tree on the opposite side of the track. "Oh, hey Jackie."

"Holy Sh-" Jackie looked up at me, horrified. "What are you doing here? You scared me!"

"Sorry. I was just running. Well, really, I was resting, but I was running before that."

"What’s the matter?" she asked as though something must be wrong.

"Why would you think something’s wrong?"

"You’re looking in my eyes when you talk to me."

I blushed, truly embarrassed. I didn’t know she ever noticed. "Sorry. I mean, I’ve been a jerk."

"Well, I guess you’re forgiven." Jackie’s perfect but pale complexion was clearly visible, as she was wearing her shiny, clean black hair in a clipped-up mass on her head. It was messy, but cute. Her tone changed. "Okay, listen, the reason I’m here is because I need pictures for the track spread for the yearbook. Is there any way you could run and let me get pictures? I can clarify that they’re at practice."

"Sure." It felt good to be helping Jackie out, and to be getting along with her. "Do you need me to put on my track uniform?"

"Yeah, that’d be great!"

Jackie followed me up to my truck and I fumbled in the back for my gym bag. "Wait. Where am I going to change?"

She’d already turned around. "Don’t worry. I won’t peek."

We were in the middle of the school parking lot. Of course, the school was at the end of an old road, and no one would be around unless they showed up at the school for something. I decided to make it quick. I had never felt so self-conscious about taking off my clothes before.

By the time I had convinced myself to do it, I already had my practice shirt on and was taking off my shorts. I suppose Jackie thought I should be done by then and turned around to see me in my blue and black pinstriped boxers. "Oh, I’m sorry." She turned around, laughing.

I put on my track shorts with a red face. "Okay, let’s go," I said, not even worrying about her thinking I was weak for being embarrassed. As we walked back to the track, I asked Jackie, "Why did you laugh?"

"I don’t know," she said laughing again. "I guess it’s because you have such skinny legs and they look funny in boxers." She wouldn’t look me in eyes as she said this.

"What? I don’t have skinny legs."

"You kind of do. Anyway, doesn’t matter." She puffed a laugh out from under her breath. "Alright, my model," Jackie said as we approached the edge of the track. "I’m going to get in the middle of the track, in the grass, but closer to that edge. I’m hoping to get some shots of you running by, so we’ll try it a couple of times."

After we did that for a few minutes, Jackie told me that she was going to lie down on the track. This was so she could get shots that scaled up my body as I ran by, and that now I should jog or trot, so that she’d have time to set up before I was already past. I had to go by close to ten times for Jackie to get the shot she wanted.

"Alright! I got it!" she said, finally sitting up. She shook her ponytail and wiped off her backside. There was dirt all over her. Jackie’s hair was dirty, her back and butt were still a dusty brown. Even the side of her face had a little dirt on it. She looked so cute. Even more than that, though, she looked comfortable in the dirt. I believe that’s what attracted me to Jackie—you couldn’t make her feel uncomfortable.

I laughed. "You done with me?"

"I guess. What’s so funny?"

"Nothing. You have dirt on your face."

Jackie smiled, proud. "I like to say I’d do anything to get a good shot."

The old Jones, for whatever reason, decided to spoil our civil relationship of new. "Damn. I wish I had known that before I agreed to do these pictures." Jackie’s smile faded into anger. The new Jones grasped the possibility of salvaging what we had accomplished. "I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that."

"I’ll tell you why," Jackie began, capping the lens of her camera and walking toward the path from the track. "Because you are a selfish pig." She didn’t seem mad anymore. She was speaking matter-of-factly.

I followed Jackie. "Listen, I didn’t mean that."

She stopped and turned to me, stopping me short. "Jones, you’re cute, but that’s not enough. For some reason, your whole life, you’ve depended on your looks and your talent to get you girls, but it won’t get you far with me. Try a little personality."

It really pissed me off that Jackie would say something like that. I decided to say what was on my mind. What did I have to lose? "Jackie, I know I don’t have a chance. I kind of accepted that a long time ago, but this is the way I am. If I don’t know what to say to a girl, I say something that I think she’d like to hear, but quite frankly, you’re a bitch. I don’t know what the hell you wanna hear!"

"Well, quite frankly, you’re an asshole. Stop trying and just be!" The intensity of our argument was a strange turn-on, and I knew Jackie felt the same way. I had never been so sure of anything. Especially when she set the camera in the nearby grass and kissed me with passion that burned my core.

Jackie yanked away and picked the camera back up, walking again, like nothing had happened. "What the hell?!" I yelled after her.

"I still don’t like you, Jones. And I swear, if you tell anyone about this, I swear, you’ll regret it." Her bitter words snapped at my memory. No telling what she could find out if she dug long enough… not that I had developed plans to mention this kiss to anyone anyway.

I sank into the couch, wondering what Shanna was doing. Was she crying? Normally, I wouldn’t have cared, but for some reason, imagining her crying alone right now didn’t do anything good for my conscience.

Mom had been home while I was gone, but she’d left again. I was sitting on the left side of the couch, avoiding the right, where a father-shaped hole was permanently sitting. Sinking into (and never being able to get out of) the couch didn’t particularly seem like all that great of an idea at the time. There was a note from my mom and a cold drink with a straw in it on the coffee table before me.

Barren. Yeah, that’s what Mom called me when I wasn’t in trouble. This started when I was younger, so I was stuck with Jones before I turned six years old. Next to the drink was a videotape. Wow! Haven’t seen this in a while!

I popped the tape in, immediately seeing a newscaster flash up on the screen. "-first snowfall of the winter season!" He was reporting from a sidewalk with less than a half-inch of snowfall on the ground around him. It cut back to the studio, and the newsdesk casters thanked him for reporting and the date, December 29^th, 1996, flashed onto the screen.

Everyone in the studio was smiling from ear-to-ear, and suddenly, the tape cut to me playing in the front yard. This was no doubt later that day. There had to be a full half-inch of show in the front yard, but when you live where I do, it’s a miracle. I crunched around making tracks, and I could hear my mother laughing as she watched me.

My breath came clouding out of my mouth as my tiny body run up to face the camera, my red nose shining in the fading sunlight. "Mommy, I wish it could snow all the time!"

"I do, too, Barren."

"Yeah, that’d be cool." I turned and began running around again. "Woo!" I screamed, my childhood shrieks echoing off of neighboring houses. Mom laughed and the tape went to static. I hit the stop button on the VCR remote and laughed. That was interesting.

I looked out the large living room windows. I figured that that grass probably hadn’t seen snow in nearly two years. Wouldn’t matter if it had. I’d never get to sleep in on a school day. Coach would make sure of that.

Three years before, my freshman year, I remember how I thought I was going to get to sleep in. I woke, peaked out the window at the layer of illusive powder, and grinned, knowing I’d get just a few more hours of sleep. School had been in session for only four months, but I found it grueling. Who knew high school teachers actually had expectations?

I sunk back into my waterbed and closed my eyes, drifting off. Before I could back to re-undressing the lovely young lady I had met the night before (in my dreams, of course), my cell phone broke my train of thought. Coach. He was probably just calling to let me know that practice was cancelled or postponed. He’d leave a message.

He did. He left three. I got them at 1:24 p.m., when I woke up. Jones, you better get here by 7:30. That’s when practice starts. See you then. Message Two: Jones... It’s 7:45. Haven’t heard from you. I’m getting pissed. You better be glad that you run like your life depends on it. Message Three: You damn piece of shit. It’s 10:00. You’re such a fucking slob. Practice is over! You better not even show up to the next practice. We don’t need you around!

Needless to say, I begged myself back onto the team; I’ve never run harder than that following week.

I didn’t know why all these random memories were deciding to resurface. I could remember my shining face in the home video. If Shanna had a boy, would his face look like mine did? Would his laugh ring throughout neighborhood and warm lots of hearts? Would he become a womanizer and feel that he needed to prove that his lack of a father wasn’t a one-way ticket to anti-masculinity? There was so much wrong with me that any kid of mine could inherit. The only question: how much of my issues were genetic?

I guess I would never have to know, if all went according to plan. But just thinking about it made me realize... I wasn’t sure if I wanted it to anymore.

"Two weeks from today, we’ll be resting in hotel rooms with hotties."

I laughed and switched the phone to my other ear. "Gill, two weeks from today, we’ll be on a plane, probably snoring next to a hairy woman named Helga."

"Not the way I’m imagining it!" Gill was always so optimistic. It was funny. He knew the truth. We would go to some club, find a couple of beautiful girls, and I would pick which one I wanted, and she would pick me, and I would get her, and Gill would be left with the other one. I didn’t force Gill to take the least attractive girl of the pair, but it always just happened that I got the one I wanted.

It felt like timing was perfect. "Gill, a lot of stuff has happened lately. I don’t know if I can go to New Zealand in two weeks. Truth is, I won’t know until a while from now."

"What’s wrong?"

"Lots of stuff."

"Like what? Dude, something’s gotta be bad wrong. You’ve been looking forward to this since... forever."

"Well, the other night, I was going to be at that party, but Shanna told me that she was pregnant."

"So, what? So, you can never boink Shanna again. Who cares?"

"Gill, it’s my kid."

"Oh, hell no." Gill started laughing. It made me mad, but I didn’t let him know that. I mean, who’s to say I wouldn’t do the same thing to him if he were in my predicament? "So, you’re gonna be a daddy?"

"Don’t tell anyone about this."

"I won’t."

"Yeah, I’m gonna be a dad." It hadn’t felt real until I said it. "I kind of wish she’d just go get an abortion, but it’s my kid; A part of me, you know? I’m really curious about what it would look like, how it would act." Just then, I realized that this was one step over the line. We had never told each other this much about how we were feeling, but Gill didn’t act weird about it.

"I can definitely understand." Gill was so smart and intuitive. He knew when to act like an ass with me, but he definitely knew when to cut it down. Sometimes, it was hard to believe he was only a junior.

"Anyway, Gill, I guess I’ll talk to you in few days and let you know what the plan is, but for now, just count on the trip."

"Okay, dude. Good luck with... everything."

"Thanks." I hung up and noticed that the clock said 4:25 p.m. I was so tired I could barely stand. I assumed that it was better to take a long nap than stay awake miserable. I placed the phone in the cradle on the counter next to me and jumped down to go upstairs to my room.

As I laid my head on my pillow and closed my eyes, I saw Jackie’s eyes, angry and glaring at me. I didn’t like that, so I remembered how carefree she looked with the dirt on her face. How her eyes had sparkled then. To top it off, I remembered how her lips felt on mine—something I had longed to feel for so long. I was asleep before I even had another opportunity to think about Shanna and Jacoby again.

Oh, that’s right. I haven’t told you about Jacoby yet, have I? Actually, I was see-sawing back and forth between Jacoby Gant and Peter Vaughn for if our baby was a boy.

The problem with exhaustion in the middle of the day is the development of irregular sleeping patterns that ensues if you give into that little thing inside that screams NAP!

I woke at four in the morning after having slept for nearly 12 hours straight. What the hell was wrong with me? I felt like I was trapped in some Lois Duncan novel (In fifth grade, I read all of her books. Isn’t that weird? For a boy, anyway?). In nearly every one, the main character feels strange after abnormal occurrences and sleeps at strange times and for queer amounts of time. Am I in a Lois Duncan novel? Lois, if you’re writing this, would you stop being such a cruel bitch and delete the last chapter or kill me off already?

I sat up in bed, noting the clock and heading downstairs for something to drink. The fridge was stocked with four brand new packs of Jones soda (my mom’s favorite little pun and what she named me after), milk, and four two liters of various drinks. Dad’s non-alcoholic beer was off-limits. I’ve always said no-thanks to the taste of piss without the after-effects of forgetting.

I chose Jones. This phrase actually ran through my mind as I gripped the green-labeled bottle. "I choose Jones." How often do I do that? Without even noticing? Without even caring? Do I choose me over Jacoby? Or Peter?

I ran back upstairs and called Shanna, knowing it was late, but not caring. "What do you want, Jones?"

She didn’t sound bitter; she sounded angry to have been awakened. "Shanna, don’t get an abortion."

"I wasn’t planning on it. Remember?!" Shanna had come to her senses. She remembered that she hated me. Great.

"I know. I was just thinking about it. I am kind of excited about becoming a father. I mean, what are we going to name it? I think I’ll go shopping for him tomorrow... I hope we have a boy!"

"Jones, I’m really glad that you’re giving me and this baby another chance to be in your life, but it’s late. Can we chat like girls in the morning?"

"It is the morning." How could I possibly sleep? I had just finished off a 12-hour shift [in DreamLand], and I was going to be a proud father!

"Fine." I could hear Shanna sitting up. "You come and see me, and we can talk. I won’t be able to sleep now that I have all this to think about anyway."

When I got to Shanna’s the living room light was on. She was waiting for me, beaming, as I had expected. Upon entering, I was offered a cup of hot chocolate [I declined], and, strangely, my mind drifted to the soda I had left, unopened, on the counter. Immediately, though, I was brought back into the right mindset. "Mom will wanna kill you."

"Huh?"

"When I tell her. Dad might just do it, too."

"Oh," I said, realizing, but not the least bit scared of Mr. Powell and his less-than-stocky frame. I hadn’t thought about it, but you can’t explain away a pregnant stomach without the truth. She would have to tell her parents. "Well, how are you going to tell them?"

"I don’t know. Suddenly? Drop subtle hints to lead up to the big confession? I haven’t decided. Would you be here when I do it?"

Shanna lay back on my chest. I wasn’t comfortable with this. I didn’t even like Shanna that much. She was a little one-dimensional and kind of an airhead, but I definitely didn’t want to risk being yelled at again without proper cause. So I let her do it. I softened my body to suit her. "I guess so."

"Great. I’ll need some support." She squeezed my hand. DAMN IT! She wanted me to be "there" for her. She was under the impression that I wanted to be with her.

We sat there in silence for a few minutes. I was trying to decide exactly how I was going to tell Shanna that she had the wrong idea completely. "Shanna, I think..."

"What?" She sat up and smiled, drilling my eyes with her own stare. Before I could form words to fit the situation, she leaned in and kissed me. The lustful man in me wanted to let her, and maybe kiss back. Instead, I pushed her from me.

"Shanna, I want this baby, but that doesn’t mean I want you. I mean, we’re friends. That’s all, right?" I said it like this so she wouldn’t feel so badly. It kind of gave her a chance to act like she knew that I wasn’t into her from the beginning and that perhaps she’d just gone out of her mind for a minute.

"What? You called me at four in the morning because you want a baby? You don’t even want me?!" Shanna sounded a little crazed. I was scared; I didn’t quite know how to react. How could I get her to be a little quieter?

"Shanna, your parents are going to hear you."

"Let them hear. The whole world needs to hear this!" She turned her gaze to the ceiling, as though there might be a microphone just above her head. "Jones Everette is nothing but a sex fiend and a fucking asshole!"

"Shanna, you’re 18. You’re acting 12."

She began to blubber. I picked her up, overcoming her resistance. I had to walk through the kitchen to get up the stairs to Shanna’s room and noticed a note on the fridge about her parents’ hotel. They were gone for the weekend. Thank God. "Put me down, Asshole!"

"Shanna, stop!" She was hitting me square in the chest with balled-up fists. I carried her up the stairs and laid her on her bed, her resistance fading with every step I had taken up the stairwell. When I finally did get to lay her down, she wasn’t even fighting anymore. As I was exiting the room, I turned. "Goodnight, Shanna."

"Fuck you, Jones."

I left her like that. I didn’t know what else I could do. When I got back downstairs, I cleaned out the hot chocolate mugs and set them upside down on the dish rack. I repositioned a painting that Shanna’s restless, flailing foot had knocked crooked.

I left knowing that in the near-approaching hours, she would wake up and have come to her senses... at least, I hoped she would.

Four hours is no time at all. Waiting on the couch and watching two back-to-back History Channel specials about (what else) Nazis felt like ten minutes of intense intellectual growth.

Following the marathon, I took and shower and got to the store at 9:00 a.m., ready to buy some stuff for my boy.

As I was browsing the toy aisle, I wasn’t sure what I should grab. I mean, no matter what I got, I could definitely put it away for later, since no cool toys are made for newborns. Do newborns play? I didn’t know. I grabbed a Lego pirate ship set and a Spiderman soccer ball.

I left the toy aisle, and as I was heading for the baby stuff (I didn’t exactly know what I’d find there, but I was going to look), I passed the toddler clothes. I picked up Jacoby a shirt. On the front, it had a cartoon cheetah with its body completely sprawled and suspended in the air and on the back, it said "Catch me if you can!" I thought it was hard-ass, so I pulled it off the rack draped it across my arm.

"I think you’re a bit big for that shirt." I turned to find Jackie. "Oh, but don’t worry. You’re plenty big enough for all of its attitude."

"Oh," I smiled. "Hey." I tried to think of something witty to say. "Could you do me a favor and stop stalking me?"

"Oh. Didn’t know you’d noticed." Jackie laughed. I didn’t think she’d bring up the thing at the track, but something shifted. Something in Jackie was different. I didn’t know if I was just imagining it, but I felt like Jackie was interested in me. "Listen, I’m sorry I freaked out yesterday."

"It’s okay. I deserved it." A joke entered my mind, but I revised it to avoid a replay of the very thing Jackie was apologizing for. "Hey, if that’s how you freak out, how do you act when you’re happy?" We laughed, but I immediately regretted bringing up the kiss.

"I don’t want you to think I’m a bitch. I’m really not. I’ve just dated a lot of jerks, and I thought you were just like them. I was thinking, though, and there’s something different about you. Anyway, I’m not a bitch, so why don’t you let me prove it to you?"

I remembered, suddenly, all the kid stuff I had in my hands. Jackie never even gave my stuff a glance (except for the shirt). "What did you have in mind?"

"Well, that concert was last night; my friend said she needs me tonight; how about Monday after school we go to get something to eat?"

"Sure." If Jackie wondered why I was shopping for a little boy, she never asked, and I wasn’t offering any information. "I’m paying for it, though. I acted worse than you did."

"Okay. Let’s call it a deal." Jackie patted the soccer ball that was resting against my chest. I was still tender from Shanna’s beating.

I tried not to flinch from the pain, but Jackie sensed that something was wrong. "Oh, I’m sorry. What’s wrong?"

"Nothing. Just been working myself ragged on the track these past few weeks."

"Oh, well, you need to rest yourself. Don’t you know it’s our senior year? We should be able to chill a little now."

"You’re right; we should." I smiled and laid the stuff I had in my hands on the floor. "Let’s got get something to eat now."

"Are you sure?" Jackie looked down at the things I had decided to come back and buy later and then back up at me. "Where will we go?"

I ignored her question. "Did you drive here?"

"Yes, with my friend. She’s around here somewhere. I can’t leave her. She’s just been through a lot. She needs me to drive her somewhere."

"Oh," I said, deciding to wait until she left to pick back up my stuff.

"Wait; here she comes."

From there, my worst nightmare played out. Shanna came up behind me to meet up with Jackie. "What the hell are you doing here?" So, she still wasn’t happy to see me. Shanna noted the things at my feet. "Oh, my God. You’re actually shopping for it!"

I didn’t know what I should do, so I turned and said, "Bye Jackie. See you tomorrow."

I prayed all the way around the block that Shanna wouldn’t tell Jackie all about our little dilemma. Why shouldn’t she? What was stopping her? Absolutely nothing.

I pulled back into the store parking lot and went back inside to where I had faced Jackie and Shanna. All of Jacoby’s things were still lying there, untouched, so I scooped them up and took them to the cash register to pay for them.

When I got home, I put them away in the back of my closet, but not before realizing that I would need to tell Mom and Dad about my baby. When would be the right time? I knew I had more time than Shanna before I had to come clean, but when should I spring the news? More importantly, when would Shanna spring the news? Would she still want me around for that?

When I got home, it was 10:15, and Mom was in the kitchen. Thank God her birthday was coming up, because when she tried to rush me at the door and peek into my bags, I said, "Ah, ah, ah! Wouldn’t want you knowing about your birthday surprise until your birthday."

When I got back downstairs from putting the things away, Mom was sitting on the living room couch. "Oh, Barren! What is it?!" I sat down next to her.

"Nothing, Ma. Why don’t you stop trying to be sneaky." I knew, then, that I’d need a better hiding place for the stuff.

"Oh, alright." Mom winked at me, but she quickly changed the subject. "So, I noticed you left that home video in the VCR yesterday. I can’t believe you actually watched it."

"Yeah? Well, it was funny."

"Yeah. You were so adorable."

"Mom, don’t say stuff like that!" We laughed.

"Well, when you have a boy of your own, you’ll understand." She smiled.

"Maybe so," I agreed. I looked to Heaven, asking, Is this the moment? Am I supposed to tell her now? I didn’t tell her. Instead, I said, "I noticed that you restocked the fridge with Jones. I know that that’s where part of my name came from, but what about Barren and Levvy?"

"I don’t know, son. I like to think that when you’re wanting to name a child, you just sit there and the name comes to you. That’s what I did, anyway."

"Hm. Sounds like wise advice."

Mom’s eyebrow furled. "What? You’ve been acting so... grown up lately. What’s gotten into you?"

"I don’t know, Mom."

"Well, I like it. Whatever it is, hold onto it with all of your might."

It’s always been hard for me to go back to school after the weekend, particularly after an eventful one. I stepped into the back doors (the ones you came in through if you were coming from the student parking lot) and I half-expected all heads (not just female ones) to turn in my direction. I was expecting whispers and finger pointing and smirks of you-finally-got-what-has-been-coming-to-you.

I got none of that. Instead I got two smirks. My schoolday was uneventful other than lunch. Shanna and Jackie were sitting at the same table. Seriously, how could I miss it? How long had they really been friends? Could I really have missed something so obvious? Was it obvious?

As I peered at them from across the lunchroom, where I sat with a lot of the track team (Gill not included, as he had a different lunch) I could see both Shanna and Jackie staring me down. It soon became obvious that it was for two different reasons, and this put my soul at ease. Jackie smirked a smirk so revealing, it made me sweat. She wanted me. Badly. I figured she’d look at me in disgust... Shanna smirked at me as though she had me exactly where she wanted me. I pissed my pants a little. Was she toying with me? What did she have in mind?

I picked at my food. Was she waiting for the right time to tell Jackie? What if she waited until right before school was over? What would Jackie say when were in the car, while we were eating? Would she even want to go with me?

Well, she didn’t mention anything out of the ordinary. I was really shocked to see Jackie’s smiling face waiting by the backdoor for me. "I’ve been looking forward to this all day."

"Me too." I dug into my pocket and removed my keys. "Let’s go."

On the way to eat, Jackie and I talked about a lot of stuff, including Gill. I was constantly thinking, though. How could I ask her about her relationship with Shanna? I also had to cover myself, too, though, because my answers to her questions could get me into trouble if I wasn’t careful. "Jones, what has gotten into you? You’re so... different. It’s refreshing."

I smiled. "I don’t know. I guess it’s senior year, and I know that I can’t be immature forever. I have to grow up sometime, right?"

"That’s very true." I turned into my little fast food place of choice. It had a specialty of roast beef sandwiches, but they served other things. Jackie ordered popcorn chicken and twisty fries; I got two plain roast beefs.

We continued talking about various things. We were getting along very well. Turns out, we had a lot in common. Jackie loved running, but when she had tried out for the track team in middle school, some girls that hated her had been choosing who made the team, so they made sure to exclude her. She named the girls. I had fucked three out