Part 15 (1/2)
I offered directions and we were there within ten minutes. Walking through the mall, with Noah between us and holding our hands, I felt like any other family on an outing to the mall. We got looks, of course. Looks of curiosity, of disapproval, of disgust. The love that dares not speak its name ought not to dare to walk through the mall with a child in hand like a couple of hussies with their love child in tow, is what the looks said. Don't want no sodomy-based marriage here, thank you!
At the Italian place, we ordered hot sandwiches, a plate of meatb.a.l.l.s, and pizza. Jackson insisted on paying. We claimed a table and had ourselves a good eating.
”It's good,” Jackson said.
”You're just saying that,” I replied.
”No, really, it's good. A little greasy....”
”The grease is part of the charm,” I pointed out.
”Said the heart attack to the clogged arteries.”
”You're in the South now, boy. Grease is one of the four main food groups.”
”Ain't that the truth!”
”You've got to say it like you mean it,” I said. ”Obesity doesn't just happen. You've got to work at it.”
Noah stuffed himself with pizza and got sauce on his face, which I wiped at with a napkin.
”You seem upset today,” Jackson said. ”What's going on?”
I glanced at him and bit at my lip, not wanting to answer.
”What?” he pressed.
”You're way out of my league,” I admitted. ”I already knew that, but l.u.s.t can make you overlook pesky little facts.”
”What are you talking about?”
”Have you looked at yourself lately? Could you be more handsome? What could you possibly want with someone like me?”
”You're not handsome?”
”Maybe in a white trash p.e.c.k.e.rwood sort of way.”
”What's a p.e.c.k.e.rwood?”
”It's like the N-word for white people,” I explained.
He laughed out loud.
”You see?” he said, holding out both hands and talking like an Italian, ”that's why I like you. Right there. You make me laugh. Not to mention you have the whole Kurt Cobain thing going on.”
”I thought you said I looked like that p.e.c.k.e.rwood on The Walking Dead The Walking Dead,” I pointed out.
”Him too,” he said. ”In a scruffy sort of way. I can picture you with a crossbow.”
”Thanks,” I said.
”I mean that in the nicest way.”
”Next thing I know you'll be asking me to wear camo.”
”What's that?”
”You've obviously never watched Duck Dynasty.”
He smiled.
I regarded him for a long moment.
”What?” he said.
”I'm just kidding myself,” I said. ”I have a child to take care of. I can't go out on dates with you. I can't take you to nice places. I can't be the sort of person you need.”
”I'm glad you know exactly what it takes to make me happy,” he said. ”You might want to consult me on that, though.”
I said nothing.
”Man, what is going on with you?” he asked. ”I feel like I'm getting the brush-off.”
”I'm just trying to be honest. I'm no good at relations.h.i.+ps. It's not you, don't worry. I'm good at having s.e.x, but that's about all.”
”Why do you say that?”
”That seems to be the general consensus about me. Not much good for anything but a quick suck and a f.u.c.k.”
”I find that hard to believe.”
”Believe it,” I said. ”The last time I had s.e.x in the bathroom at Sears, the guy gave me twenty bucks afterward.”
”Why?”
”He thought I was a hooker. Why do you think?”
”Did you give it back?”
”Of course not. I needed the money. You can buy a lot of Ramen noodles with twenty dollars.”
He laughed again.
”I'm intrinsically disordered,” I said.
”What's that got to do with anything?”
”Sometimes I think it's true.”
”What the h.e.l.l does that mean?”