Any Joe (eBook)

Maura Lin (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2022 | 1. Auflage
338 Seiten
Bookbaby (Verlag)
978-1-6678-3231-9 (ISBN)

Infos

This is a novel about Joe and Cherie, two young people who must negotiate their environment, and family and peer influences in the morally ambiguous, sexually-infused culture of the 1990's and early 2000's. Can they stay true to themselves, or will they succumb to the worst effects of adversity? Their story is one we can all relate to on some level: How do any of us navigate the effects of environment and culture when their messages conflict with our values and our own autonomy?

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They knew each other growing up and they're full-fledged adults in 2013, but their lives are aimed in vastly different directions. Joe is arrested and charged with felony sex offenses, while Cherie is in graduate school, on the path to a promising career. Joe and Cherie grew up in the same neighborhood, shared a mutual adolescent crush, and came from loving, if imperfect homes. As adolescents, both experienced life-changing trauma. This is the story of how two young people negotiate the influences of their environment, and family and peer relationships, amidst societal and cultural change in the mid 1990's and early 2000's, a time flooded with sexual explicitness and morally ambiguous messages. These phenomena complicate Joe and Cherie's lives by playing on their individual vulnerabilities, especially in the face of corruption and cruelty. Once Joe and Cherie reconnect as adults, their past experiences and human frailties come back into play, rendering untenable prospects for their future.

Textauszug

Chapter Four

“Hey, Joey-boy, where’d you get those pants”?

Bounding down the sidewalk towards home, eight-year old Joe slows his pace and turns his eyes towards the voice. Several yards ahead of him, a lanky teenager stands upon the doorstep in front of his house, which lies just across from Joe’s own. It’s Carl – Joe knows his name, but has never met or spoken to him. He has a shaved head. Joe knows for certain that he’s a teenager, because he has a cigarette in one hand, and he is wearing blue jeans with the knees split through, and they are falling down so Joe can see his underwear.

Joe doesn’t reply to the question, but he looks down at his green corduroy pants, a little worn at the knees, but not falling down. They’re regular pants, as far as he can tell. He crosses the street towards his own house, and barely grazes the yard’s brief expanse of brown grass, before climbing the three steps to the front stoop. His mother is standing before the storm door with his six month old baby sister, Meredith, in her arms. She uses one foot to push the door open as Joe approaches.

“Hi. Hope you had a good day,” she says, closing the storm door firmly, pulling it tight until she hears the snap of the latch. She peers for a moment through the glass, shading her eyes with her hand as she rearranges Meredith into the crook of her elbow. “Was that boy over there speaking to you? I heard him yell something.”

Joe lets his back pack drop to the floor. “Can I have a snack?”

“Gotta wash your hands first, Joe. Did you eat your lunch today?”

“Yes,” says Joe as he climbs the stairs to the bathroom.

He reappears in the kitchen moments later, where his mother, still holding Meredith, is unpacking the remnants of his lunch. She pulls a half-eaten sandwich and a bag of baby carrots from the lunchbox. The mini package of chocolate cookies is gone, though. “No surprise,” she considers. “How about these carrots for a snack? They’re good for your eyes, you know.”

“Maybe I can have those for dinner, Mom.”

Laura returns the package of carrots stick to the refrigerator, locates a container of raspberry yogurt on the bottom shelf, and hands it to Joe. “So, what did that teenager across the street say to you?”

“He asked me where I got my pants. Where’d you get me my pants, Mom?”

Laura rolls her eyes. “He wanted to know where you got your pants? Why does he care? Silly teenagers – they’re slaves to fashion.” Laura jostles Meredith, smiling and cooing, “Don’t you do that too, now. Don’t you be a slave to fashion. Don’t you be a silly teenager.” Her voice rises to a squeak, eliciting a gurgle from Meredith. She turns to Joe. “If you speak to him again, tell him that I bought your pants at J.C. Penney, and I’d be happy to get him a pair too. Looks like he could use them. Or better yet, just ignore him.”

“OK. Can I go outside when I get done, Mom?”

“Once you change into your jeans. But please stay in the back yard, and keep your distance from that smart-aleck teenager. Why don’t you change now? In the meantime, I’ll pour you some apple juice and set it next to your yogurt.”

After finishing his snack, Joe scrambles out of the chair, tossing the spoon and empty container into the sink, then pulls the sliding glass door open with effort. He steps on to the back patio, retrieving his basketball from a nearby wrought iron chair. He bounces it a few times and then crosses to the driveway in the side yard, keeping his hand on the ball.

The ball meets the concrete in steady time, and with a resonant rhythm, and a pleasing bop-bop-bop. Joe’s dad had told him that he should cup his palm slightly over the surface of the ball to keep a hold on it. He is capable of this for a while, but his hand is too small and the ball too large to sustain this for more than a minute or two. The ball soon escapes Joe’s palm and rolls to the side yard fence. Joe runs after it, stopping when he hears a voice call, “Hey, Rick!” He lets the ball roll on and watches it come to a stop in the corner of the yard where the fences meet.

Joe peers through the fence and beyond, past his front yard and he sees Carl, still sitting on his doorstep, the teenager who asked about his pants. Just then, a yellow school bus rolls down the street, and releases a few teenagers before disappearing around the corner with a squeak, and a quick expulsion of air. Joe smiles because the sound reminds Joe of a fart. Something to mention to his friend Steve.

Carl’s voice calls again, “Hey Rick!”

Joe had pretended not to know Carl’s name when his mom asked earlier. He knows Rick too, when he went to Robinson Elementary last year, where Joe goes now. As usual, Rick is hurrying down Walnut on his walk home from middle school, shouting back, “Hey, Carl. How ya doin?”

Joe remembers Rick from last fall, when he also attended Robinson Elementary. He was racing down the sidewalk behind Joe and had clipped Joe’s arm as he passed by him. Rick had said “Sorry!” and turned back to look at Joe, gesturing a second apology with a raised hand. Joe recalls this clearly because he wouldn’t have expected Rick to apologize. It made him feel special. Joe decided at that time that he liked Rick, although he continues to be wary of him, and of Carl and the other older boys in the neighborhood. Joe often sees them standing in a circle together on the corner, laughing and talking and smoking cigarettes. Sometimes he sees a blond-haired teenage girl among them, standing next to a tall, skinny guy with shaggy black hair, who keeps one arm stretched across the girl’s shoulders.

Joe has observed these boys for months and is familiar with their routines. As on other days, Rick is heading down Walnut from middle school, at the same time the school bus drops off the big kids, the ones who go to high school. Why isn’t Carl getting off that bus too? He looks old enough to be in high school. Why is he already home from school?

As Joe gazes through the metal links, he wonders what Carl and Rick are talking about. He sees Carl is lighting a cigarette for Rick. Rick bends over to meet the flame, then straightens, inhaling deeply. He blows a plume of gray smoke into the air while tipping his head back to view the sky. Joe finds this pleasant to watch, and he imagines himself doing the same when he becomes a teenager, although he has heard many times from adults and on television that cigarettes are bad for you.

His interest piqued, Joe unlatches the fence gate and ambles down the driveway, turning onto the cement walk that leads to the front stoop. He sits on the first step, crossing his legs Indian-style, and watches the two. He imagines they are joking about his pants because they are laughing and raising their voices so Joe can hear them. It is the cuss words he can make out easily – some are the same that his father says on occasion, and that his mother has warned him against repeating. “Don’t you copy what your dad is saying. Those words are disgraceful.”

Neither of the boys seems to realize or to care that the words are disgraceful. As Joe continues to observe them, he sees that Rick turns his head, noticing Joe, then locks eyes with him. Joe leans over, pretending he doesn’t see Rick, and picks up a brown pebble off the step. When he straightens, he tries to look away, but Rick is still gazing tenaciously in his direction. Joe cannot help but look back.

“Hey, what are you staring at us for?” Rick yells, then turns to say something to Carl. Rick calls to Joe again. “Hey - come on over and talk to us. Didn’t your mother tell you it’s rude to stare at people?”

Carl chimes in, “Yeah, come on over. We won’t hurt you.” Joe uncrosses his legs and dangles them over the step, considering the offer. He glances at his front door and is reassured to see that it’s closed now, inside of the latched storm door.

Joe throws the pebble into the bushes before rising. He folds his arms across his chest and hugs himself, stalling, while pressing and twisting the toe of one sneaker against the sidewalk.

“Come on,” Rick says again, beckoning to him.

Joe takes slow, hesitant steps across the grass until he reaches the curb. He pauses, then again turns to check the front door. Yes, still closed. His mother is probably getting dinner started. Maybe she won’t notice that he’s gone from the backyard.

“Come on, little man.” It’s Carl who is speaking now. “We just want to talk to you.” Carl’s voice is gentler now, almost friendly.

Joe looks both ways then bolts across the street, leaping onto the sidewalk. He lingers, then steps gingerly onto the sparse grass, crosses the sloping lawn, and heads up the concrete path towards the boys. The two are grinding their sneakers over their spent cigarettes, just tossed on to the front walk, strewn with old butts, many of them stuck in the cracks, or littering the grass.

Carl grins. He is not as scary up close. He is not quite bald, either, but his blond hair is shaved close to his scalp. Joe notices that his scalp is pink, like the skin of a pig. Carl has large gray eyes, a thin face, and a delicate, pale complexion. “Hey, Joe, my little man,” he says. “Gimme five!” and he stretches out his long thin arm, hand raised with palm up, in Joe’s direction. As he reaches the front porch, Joe slaps it meekly with his own smaller hand.

“Now what kind of high five is that?” Carl retorts, frowning. “Gimme a good manly high five.”

Joe again thrusts his palm forward,...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 25.4.2022
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Romane / Erzählungen
• ISBN-10: 1-6678-3231-X / 166783231X
• ISBN-13: 978-1-6678-3231-9 / 9781667832319