I Think They’ll Like Each Other

“When’s the last time you saw Mr. Jackson?” 

“Probably last week, I dropped some meals off at the door and he waved through the window.” Mom says while gesturing wildly with her hands. The fork she is holding flings spaghetti sauce onto the table right in front of me. The sauce isn't red like it supposed to be. It's brown, she put too much Italian seasoning again; it tastes kind of like eating a leaf.

“I took him to get vaccinated last month,” dad says with a chuckle. “I think at this point he's just hoping that you don't leave food at the door anymore.'' I laugh too. It's funny because mom is a horrible cook.  Dad says she's good at too many other things to also be good at cooking. Mom always replies ‘you aren't good at anything.’ I think it hurts dad's feelings but he's too tough to say. Tomorrow he’ll leave a bag of frozen meals at Mr. Jackson's back door, where mom can't see. Tonight we’ll have pizza, after mom leaves, of course. We have pizza twice a week: Wednesday and Friday (mom has overnight shifts those nights). I choke down one last bite of spaghetti before asking to be excused.   

“Are you sure?” Mom questions, “you haven't even touched your garlic bread.” The garlic bread is a charred brick on the corner of my plate.  I think it would crumble if I picked it up. I nod yes and peek over at dad's plate to see if he's eaten his at all, and it's gone. So is his entire glass of milk.

“I had a big snack at Jimmy’s today. His mom made pizza bagels since it’s Friday.”

“Have you finished your homework?” I nod again. Mom sighs. “You're excused but no video games. Mr. Abernathy messaged me about your behavior today at school.” I sigh this time.  

There isn't much to my room except for video games. I have two consoles and one large tv smack dab in the center of the wall opposite my bed. I can't touch any of those tonight. I learned the hard way that no video games also means no tv. Mom can tell when I turn on the tv, but the app she uses can't tell the difference. I spin in a circle in the middle of my room until everything goes blurry. When I stop I'm facing the window.  I have a telescope pointing out at the sky. I got it for my birthday last year so that I could see the stars. Turns out they aren't that interesting. Maybe tonight I'll see aliens or something cool. I only see clouds. 

Even though mom said I shouldn't, I point the telescope at Mr Jackson's house.  From my room I can see a sliver of the kitchen and the entire reading room.  Mr. Jackson is in there the most.  Usually he's sitting in his giant, old, yellow chair with a book in his hands. Since his feet are always up I can see that he's typically wearing the big fuzzy pizza slippers that I got him two years for christmas.  I think this year I'll get him a new pair and some more books. He's always reading the same one. It sits on the table next to his chair. A lot of the time he has to shoo his ugly orange cat off the table so he can pick up the book.  I don't like that cat. Last time we went to visit, he invited me and dad in for cookies. I tried to pet them and it scratched me. 

Just like yesterday there is no sign of Mr. Jackson. The book sits on the side table, face down, just like yesterday. I wonder if his feet are hurting him like grandpas used to. Grandpa said it's something that just happens to old people. His fat cat isn't on the table this time. It's on the chair with a dead mouse hanging from its mouth. I wonder if Mr. Jackson knows. It had a mouse last week too and he screamed when he saw it. I hope it doesn't leave it on the chair or he'll have a heart attack like grandpa did. Mom comes into my room. I quickly push the telescope to look at the sky again.  

“I'm leaving for work. Be good for dad, okay?” She holds my head and kisses me on the forehead. The kiss feels sticky because of her lipstick. “I'm trusting you not to play video games tonight, not even with dad downstairs.” I nod my head in understanding. 

“I love you mommy,” I say. “Be safe.” 

“I'll see you tomorrow sweetheart. Don't stay up all night.” After she leaves I wait a few minutes before running downstairs. I'm just in time to see dad kissing mom at the door. Yuck. I gag and dad turns around and smiles at me. Mom waves before closing the door as she leaves.  Dad and I wait in our same spots until we hear her go down the driveway.  

“I ordered the pizza already. Half pepperoni, half cheese.” I smile big. I hate pepperoni but mom always puts in on her homemade pizza. Dad says it’s more like crackers with ketchup than real pizza. I agree. “It’ll be here in 15 minutes. Games or movies?”

“Movies please!” Dad always lets me watch scary movies. Something mom never lets me do. She doesn’t think I can handle them. She may be right. Last time we watched a scary movie I had nightmares for three whole days.

“We can watch that new animated movie.”

-

After the movie I go back upstairs. I wonder if Mr. Jackson has made it back to his reading room yet. I’m tempted to look through the telescope but instead I go to sleep. 

“Wake up, Chicken Butt! It’s go-time,” Dad always wakes me up the same way. He’s been calling me Chicken Butt since I was baby. I don’t know if I like it. Mr. Jackson calls me Chicken Butt, too. Sometimes in the grumpy voice that all old people seem to have. “Get dressed. We’re going to the store for Mr. Jackson while mom is asleep.”

“Can we get mom breakfast too?” 

“Of course Chicky.” I smile. Mom is not a good cook but she’s a great mom. She always smiles so big when we bring her flowers and bagels on Saturdays. “What kind of dinners do you think Mr. Jackson will like?”

“Are there foods that help with your bones like carrots help with your eyes?” Dad looks confused. I’m sure Mr. Jackson hasn’t been in his reading room because his feet are hurting, but I’m not supposed to look through his windows so I don’t say. “Grandpa used to say old people's bones hurt all the time. I don’t want Mr. Jackson to be in pain.” 

“Mr. Jackson’s really healthy, bud. I don't think it’s a big issue for him but I have to pick up the Tupperware for mom today, so we’ll ask him.” Dad smiles big at me and ruffles my crazy bedhead. I’ll wear a hat today. “You’re very sweet. Just like mom.” I smile.

We get Mr. Jackson two weeks worth of dinners. Most of them are pasta meals. Dad says pasta will help him a lot because he doesn’t weigh as much as he should. I say we should get him a pizza as well because he likes my pizza slippers. Dad agrees. For mom we get a big bumble of flowers. It was the only one that had the white and yellow flowers that she likes so much. She says that it’s my birth flower — whatever that means. 

We have to go to Mr. Jackson’s first, so we park in the garage and sneak in through the back gate. None of the lights are on in the kitchen which isn’t normal for him. Dad knocks loudly on the door. Once. Twice. Three times with no answer. “That’s weird,” Dad mumbles to himself. He takes out his phone and calls someone. I can hear Mr. Jackson’s phone ring inside the house. I walk along the side of the house, peaking in windows. 

“Dad! He’s sitting at the kitchen table,” I try waving to get Mr. Jackson’s attention. It looks like he’s sleeping. His head is tilted backwards and there is spaghetti and meatballs on a plate in front of him. I knock on the window. Dad jogs over to me.

“What have I told you about looking through people's windows?” He crouched down in front of me. He has the ‘you’re in trouble’ look on his face.

“I think he fell asleep while eating.” I say, “he’s sleeping at the kitchen table. His eyes are open though.” I didn’t know that people could sleep with their eyes open. That’s pretty cool. Dad pops up from where he was crouched and looks through the window. He swears quietly and grabs his phone again. 

“Go wake mom up and tell her to come meet me. Tell her it’s important. You stay in your room until we come to get you.” I want to ask him why I’m in trouble but instead I do as he says — he’s got his scary face on.  

Mom isn’t easy to wake up. It takes me almost ten minutes. At first she doesn’t want to get out of bed even though I tell her that dad says it’s important. Then she calls him and immediately hops out of bed. 

“Go to your room,” she says over her shoulder as she heads towards the back door. I think they’re both overreacting. All I did was peek through his window and he didn’t even see me. I stomp to my room even though there’s no one around to hear. I spin around in a circle until my vision gets blurry. When I stop I’m looking at the window. I turn to go towards my bed until I hear sirens. I wonder what they’re for. I look out the window. An ambulance is coming down the street. It stops at Mr. Jackson’s house. Mom and dad are waiting in front of the house for them. Mom has her head down and I think she may be sad. I grab the telescope so I can see her face better. She’s crying. Dad pats her back the same way he does when I cry and talks to the paramedics. There are four adults down there including mom and dad — they all look sad. Maybe Mr. Jackson fell like grandpa used to. 

The cops come next, no sirens, just lights. They stop and talk to dad and the paramedics before going to the door and opening it. The paramedics rush in with a bed on wheels and an empty black bag. They leave five minutes later; the black bag they had is full and laying on top of the bed. When mom sees she cries even harder. I feel bad watching mom cry. I don’t like it when people watch me cry. I fix the telescope in the window and go sit down on the bed. I wonder if I can play video games yet.  

An hour later dad comes into my room and sits down on my bed. He looks really tired and sad. He says Mr. Jackson has gone to heaven. 

“Like grandpa?” I ask. Dad sighs and nods. I get why mom was crying and dad looks sad now. When someone goes to heaven you don’t get to see them anymore and that sucks. “I wonder if Mr. Jackson and grandpa will meet in heaven. I think they’d like each other.”