Jason

If there was one thing Jason hated in his life, it was suffering and poverty. Most of the time he was tempted to go to his parents’ grave to dig them out; he had only one question in his mind for them: why give birth to children you knew fully well you could not take of? It burned in his mind, ate him up in his dreams, this question. His waking moments were filled with worry. Living in Daltom, a town that seemed to be in a perpetual cycle of poverty and the dreams of breaking out of it was hell. It was like there was a blanket pulled over his head, a blanket that kept him static in life, and for good reason: he had three brothers he had to take care of and they all looked up to him as if he was the one that had sex with their mother. Once he had told Harry, his friend and partner at the eatery where he worked, “how can people not think before they have sex? What exactly is on their mind?” But his friend would not buy into his ideology. “Would you be here if they did not have sex?”

Today, the sun beat down like a man furious on the eatery, baking human bodies along with it. Jason was on day shift and that meant he would be going home soon to see his brothers. Home was one room in their uncle’s house in Daltom where they were allowed to stay for the time and reminded constantly of how useless they were. Once Jason had thought of fighting his uncle and saying ‘fuck off’ to him, but his life savings advised him otherwise. There was no way he was going to survive outside there with three of his brothers without help from anybody. They would have nowhere to stay, that was for sure. Duke was still 11 and very stubborn; Jack was 8 with Tim—they were twins.

“Guy, hurry up, dammit,” Grant said, impatiently waiting for Jason to fill an order, so he could deliver to the customer. It was Jason’s turn in the kitchen, but he was finding it hard to focus. Today, the helplessness of his situation with his brothers bore down heavily on him. At his father’s death bed, his uncle had promised to take care of them, but he knew the man was only waiting for him to get provoked so he would have enough reason to send them out into the street. It was painful, really.

“Come on! Get moving, man. Are you sleeping?”

A nudge from Grant almost sent the tray rolling from his hand.

“Are you crazy?” Jason asked, flaring up.

“You are the crazy one. You are weird. Has nobody ever told you that?”

“You could have spilled this coffee and seen what would have happened.”

“Shut the hell up. You can’t do nothing, weirdo.”

The confrontation died down quickly when the manager, a rotund, bald-headed man, came around. Grant left with the order, mumbling about Jason staring at the wall like a weirdo. Jason was still fuming but he managed to keep working like a robot until the sun was completely swallowed by the horizon.

Around the back, when Jason went to the restroom, he met Grant standing with a girl he had seen sneaking around the eatery before. They were shocked to see him and were trying to hide something. Jason walked past them into the restroom and got down to business. He unzipped his fly and felt the comfort that came with release. As he stood there, listening to the splattering on the urinal, he heard the two whispering to themselves, just outside the restroom. He was done and was walking away when Grant called out to him.

“Hey Jason.”

Jason ignored him. He had nothing to say to this particular guy. Grant was built like a bull with a reclining hairline and looked like he was in his mid-20s, one of the oldest in the eatery. As a result, he used his position to bully other people who were working there. Always, he was in the midst of a scuffle or confrontation.

“Come on, man, wait. You are not still mad, are you?”

By now Grant had caught up with him and held his arm loosely.

“Hey, leave me alone,” Jason said, bristling.

“Are you still angry that I called you a weirdo? Come on, we are guys, right? We should be cool, eh?” Grant chuckled nervously.

Jason shook him off and turned to walk away.

“Please, don’t tell the manager, okay?” Grant said to his retreating back.

It was after Jason had walked into the street that he understood what it was Grant was doing with the girl in the eatery; they were smuggling supplies from inside the eatery. He wondered if they were going to sell it or use it. If he could steal from the eatery, it meant he and his brothers would not be eating too much stale food and staying hungry most of the day. His uncle had once told him, “I gave you people a roof over your head, don’t expect me give you food too. You are 17, your mates are making money for their family. You gotta be responsible.” He ended it with a curse channeled towards ungrateful people. Maybe, Jason thought, he should have gotten to Grant and blackmailed him to get some of the supplies off him. His brothers were hungry, pay day was far away and the little change he still had from his past salary would soon be exhausted.

When he finally got to their house, bearing two big packs of noodles he had picked up at a grocery store, he found the twins sitting down forlornly in front of their room. The room opened unto a yard surrounded by other apartments; it was a tenement building. These were the tenants in his uncle’s house and they lived with them. His uncle lived at the farthest block, well removed from the boys. From there he would observe them, ready to disapprove of whatever play they dared indulge in to pass the time. Other children ran about in front of the house, the carefree sound of their voices a contrast to the twins’ countenance.

“Hey, are you guys okay?” he asked as he sat on the doorstep.

The boy merely nodded. Jack sniffed.

“Uncle hit us again,” he said.

“Why?”

“We were playing football with the other kids on the lawn."

“What about the others? Did he beat them too?”

“No, just us.” It was Tim that spoke this time. Jason could clearly see that his brothers were pained and he began to seriously consider a life away from their uncle. A thousand dollars was probably nothing, not enough for the three of them to live on, but it could keep them alive, for a while at least. He suddenly noticed that Duke was missing.

“Where is Duke?”

“He’s in uncle’s house, getting punished,” Tim said. For a little boy, what Jason heard in his voice was bitterness and it was frightening. He was too small to start feeling that way.

“Why?”

“He tried to stop uncle.”

Jason got up angrily; he was done with this nonsense. Breathing like a bull dog getting ready for an assault, he marched towards his uncle’s apartment. He had thrown caution to the wind and would be damned if he continued letting his uncle treat them like they were nobodies. He burst through the door and found Duke in the first room.

“Get up,” he said, dragging Duke up by the collar of the blue shirt he bought for him, months ago. The collar was frayed at the edges and appeared to be protesting Jason’s actions.

“What are you doing?” a deep baritone voice asked.

Jason turned to see his uncle, Mr. Walton walking into the sitting room from the hallway. He was blocking the entrance through which Jason would need to pass. Without a word, Jason walked toward the entrance, towards his uncle. He was taller than his uncle now and could see the grey hair taking up living space on the man’s head.

“Excuse me,” Jason said when he met the man at the door.

In response, a thundering slap was let loose on his left cheek. The little restraint Jason had been exercising flew with the wind. He pounced on the older man with little thought for the repercussion, battering him against the wall. His slaps landed on his uncle’s face with pent up fury that had endured for long. Tawaii! They sounded, speaking of things that had lurked in the silence. The man found himself on the ground under Jason’s assault, his unpreparedness telling in the way he was swept aside. He was still on the ground when Jason walked out of the room with his younger brother behind him.