The Unthinkable Thoughts of Jacob Green (16 page)

Thank you so much for the dartboard and for the darts. Asher likes to hang pictures of people he despises on it. He then hurls the darts from very close range with a running start. He completely ruined my Hall and Oates album cover. The record just sits in its paper sleeve now. Thanks again. See you at the
Annie
party.

Sincerely,

Jacob

Dear Abe and Judith Frazenberg,

I told Megan about Rhode Island the other night and how
nice it would be if she’d visit. She says it’s not really an island but to call when I get there. We were spooning at the time. This means that I lay behind her with my body against hers and we curl our knees up and watch sitcoms. For the first few times we did it I wore my jeans under her sheets but when she changed into sweatpants I decided to do the same. Each time since then I’ve felt a little worried that she’d feel my erect skin-flute (slang for “penis”) against her body. The way I lay behind her leaves nowhere for it to go except pressed up against the crack of her butt. I don’t really know the words to describe how good this feels. I’ve never felt anything like it before. The more we do this together, the more I realize that she probably does feel me against her. But she doesn’t say anything or seem to mind. She just watches TV and lets her whole body jiggle when she laughs at the jokes. It feels good when she laughs. At times our feet touch or her hair gets in my mouth or I feel her fingernails against my forearm and I pretend that’s she’s my girlfriend. But I don’t think she likes me like that. I just think she sees me as someone who’s alone a lot. And she is too. Ever since she heard my father in my room she’s been telling me I’m handsome and smart and that the girls will always like me because I know how to listen. She also says she loves my blond hair and that I’m funnier than my dad will ever be. I think she only says these things because she thinks I need to hear them. But she’s wrong. I don’t like sympathy. I want her to like me for me and not because she thinks no one else does. I want her to wake up in the morning like I do and think of her face and her mouth and the way her arm sometimes drapes over me during sitcoms. I’d also like to press my penis against her without any clothes on.

Thank you so much for the Johnny Bench Pitch-Back. Asher threw a bowling ball at it yesterday and it crumbled into
a heap of orange aluminum and tangled netting. He says he can fix it. My father told me to ask if you have any extra folding chairs you could bring to the
Annie Hall/Annie Get Your Gun
party on the fifth. If not, do you have any large floor pillows? See you then.

Sincerely,

Jacob

Dear Aunt Gert,

Last night with Megan was different. We got into the spoon thing again during
M*A*S*H
but this time I started to move my hips in a different way than I have before. I wasn’t sure if she felt me doing this but soon I was sort of grinding without thinking and began to feel a dizzying and sexual flutter in my testicles and ribs. It was like a risky and swirling dream, Aunt Gert. A rush that rose from my stomach to my shoulders and on through the nerves in my face. I noticed that if I raised my pelvis in tiny increments, higher and higher up her back I began to lose control of the nerves in my eye sockets. And just as Megan let out a laugh at the TV my eyes squeezed closed as if light was pouring in on them, and I felt a great and flowing squirt from the tip of my Johnson (slang for “penis”). My whole body stiffened and shivered and my toes and fingers clenched up tight with spasm. And when I opened my eyes I saw something I’d never seen in my life. Sperm, Aunt Gert. About a liter I’d guess. White and sticky and all over the back of Megan’s gray sweatpants. It must have come out of my penis when my eyes were shut. She sat up at just that moment. I didn’t move, still unsure of what I’d done, so shocked at how much came shooting out of me. I watched her reach her hand around and slowly put her fingertips in it. When she turned to look at her hand, her fingers were webbed. She didn’t look at
me at first when she got off of the bed. But when she stood up she gave me sort of a half smile and said, “Whoops. I think I’ll take a shower.” I went down to my room after she went into the bathroom. I curled up into my own spoon and wished to God it hadn’t happened. I wish to God I was already in Rhode Island. Humiliation, Aunt Gert. I had no idea. How am I going to look at her?

Thank you so much for the stationery with my name in bubble letters, and for the book
Jews Say the Funniest Things.
My father suggests you take a cab to the party tomorrow. He’s very tense right now about the parking issue, the dance number, the projector, the food supply, the amount of chairs, the number of people coming, what we’re all wearing, cleaning the house, my mother’s “attitude,” Gabriel’s speech, and whether people will enjoy themselves enough to call and thank him the day after. It’s gonna be great. See you tomorrow.

Love,

J

My father’s been wearing his makeup and costume for two and a half hours. His oversized overalls are a worn-down denim and have a polka-dot patch sewn into the seat. There’s also a blue and white bandanna around his neck and a piece of fake straw behind his right ear. As some very early guests begin to arrive he asks me to gather the family into the kitchen. I can’t find Gabe or Asher and I’m way too embarrassed to knock on Megan’s door. I decide to just get Dara to do it but then I can’t find her either. My mom says she’s in the backyard cleaning off the lawn furniture for my dad. When I look out the kitchen window I see her on Asher’s shoulders, laughing her ass off as he races around the patio. She bear-hugs his head for dear life as he jumps up on the lawn furniture and
starts pogo jumping with his arms out like a plummeting airplane. I can hear her scream through the window as Asher tumbles onto the lawn and begins tickling her armpits like a madman. My sister’s going to pee any second—I’ve seen this before. “Jacob!” my father says behind me. “Where is everyone? It’s
five
twenty.”

“Out there,” I say, and knock on the glass. They both look up at me and I wave them inside. My father lifts his glasses to his forehead and begins to read from the back of one of the invitations. “Ushers, chairs, popcorn, and lights,” he says, and lowers the paper. “There’s tons to do. Megan. Where’s Megan?”

Rule Number 7 of the Green House Rules

Any member of the family that proceeds to ejaculate on Megan should feel a torturous and unrelenting sense of mortal shame, coupled with a near psychotic desire to disappear from this God’s earth.

a. But I wasn’t trying to. (It doesn’t matter.)

b. I couldn’t hold it. (No shit.)

c. I felt it rising and . . . (Yuck, who cares?)

“Jacob?”

“Yes.”

“Did you knock on her door or not?”

Asher walks in the room in torn red pants and bare feet. Dara’s right behind him with lawn grass on her poodle sweater. “Murray Blatt needs some help,” says Asher, tying his hair up off his neck. “He says the toilet in the den won’t flush.”

“Again?” my mother says.

“Why are people here already? The invitation said six.” My dad takes a deep breath and exhales in spurts through his nose. “What did he put in the toilet?”

Asher looks at me with a smile and shrugs his shoulders. “A doody? I don’t know, Dad . . . uh . . . the seat’s down.”

Dara and I
have
to laugh. The word “doody” is too much for us. My father’s eyes leap to Asher knees. “What the hell is this? Change now. You’re
not
wearing those. Go. Go.”

Asher leans over to look at them and swipes at the holes. “I’ve been cleaning up all day. They’re old.”

“They’re rude. Get out of my sight.”

Asher looks at me and then back at my dad. “Since noon I’ve been . . . runnin’ around for this bash of yours and you—”

“This bash is for
you.
It represents
you.
People are arriving and you’re in clown pants. Torn clown pants.”

“Okay, I heard you. I heard you the first time. You can relax now.”

“And you can kill the condescension while you’re at it. Got it?”

Asher shakes his head. “Got it . . .
Dad.
”

“Look at these pants he’s got on, Claire. In tatters. Are you homeless? Seventy-five people coming and—”

“He’ll change them, Abram. He’s been cleaning and moving furniture all day.”

“So has Gabriel. So has Dara. I don’t see
their
knees.”

My brother walks past my father toward the fridge. “It’s happening, right? The fun? This is it?”

“I’d like
all
of you to dress nicely tonight. It should go without saying. Nothing crinkled or . . .
torn,
for Christ sake.”

Asher pops a grape in his mouth and faces my dad. “What’s on your face?” he says, squinting.

“Freckles,” says Dara. “I helped him draw ’em on.”

“Why freckles?”

“Freckles for the show,” my mother says. “He plays a country bumpkin.”

“There as big as Raisinettes. Are they moles?”

“They’re freckles,” says Dara.

“Freckles are tiny.”

“Enough!” my father says, waving the list above his head. “Just stop. Listen to me. People are arriving. People are here already. It’s buckle-down time.
Focus
now, eyes here. Please. I’m going to list your tasks. Asher will be on lights and the projector, which means—”

“I know what it means, Dad.”

“Humor me will ya,
please?
Just clam it for ten seconds. Don’t tell me what you know . . . all right? Why would I need that?” He reaches in his pocket and pulls out a black Magic Marker. “Claire. For Gabe. I almost forgot. It’s nontoxic.” He flips it to her. “Now, lights and projector.”

“What is this stuff?” My mother pulls the cap off and smells the tip. “I’m not putting this on his face, Abram.”

“It’s fine. I asked the guy at the store.”

“It smells too chemical-ly.”

“I just told you. I talked to the man who sold it to me. It
can’t
harm skin. Now can I continue? Do not underestimate our time constraint. Listen to me. Lights and movie projector involves the lights for the dance number
and
the film, so . . . due to the fact that Asher’ll be working the projector as well, I need Megan . . . where the hell’s Megan?”

d. and then I guess I gyrated a little and—

e. What do you mean you gyrated?

f. Maybe that’s the wrong word.

g. Did you thrust into her?

h. Not into her.

i. Against her? Did you press your boner against her over and over?

j. Yeah.

k. Well, there ya go.

l. Right. I feel so stupid.

m. Ya should.

n. Pressed it against her too much, huh?

“She’s in her room,” Dara says.

“Go get her, please.”

Dara runs out the door.

“I told her five thirty, did I not say five thirty?” He checks his watch but he’s not wearing it. “
She,
Megan, will turn the lights down when the film starts. Asher, you just handle the lights for the performance. Now, quickly, do you have the colored filters I gave you?”

“I have them,” Asher says. “For two days now.”

“Okay,” he says, reading the list. “Jacob, you will usher people in and make sure they have a place to sit. Now . . . we’re limited, so, we’ll be using the lawn furniture. Have you cleaned it off yet?”

“Me?” I say.

“No, the
wall.
Yes, you. I told you to do it yesterday.”

“You told Dara to do it.”

“Did she do it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Find out. Next. Claire,” he says, lifting the list. “You’re on coffee, popcorn, and food in general. Fine. That’s . . . all great and needed. But I want to emphasize how much I need you . . . out there, with me, to show your face and to mingle and greet and . . . play hostess like you’re so very capable of doing. Right? They’re your friends too so . . . I’ll thank you for helping me with your . . . with your presence.”

She seems to freeze at the sink, her back to us. She slowly lifts her head from the chore.

“Tell me you’ll be out there.”

“Of course I’ll be out there,” she says without turning. “Where else would I be?”

He lifts the list but lowers it again. “They’re here to see you. To share this time with you so—”

“They’re
here,
Abram because you invited them.”

Megan and Dara walk in the room. “Sorry. I didn’t realize how late it got,” Megan says.

She’s wearing
the
sweatpants and a Moraga College T-shirt with a cougar on the front. When she looks at me I drop my eyes to a patch of bubbled linoleum under the stove.

“How dressed up are we getting?” she says.

Hi, Meg. Sorry. I’d take it back. It snuck up on me when I was doing that thrusting thing. It wasn’t on purpose. I’ve only seen the stuff once before and it didn’t come out of me. It was on the chin of a Chinese girl in one of Asher’s magazines. She was winking at the guy who did it and I wondered if it smelled like glue.

“A nurse with a punctuality problem,” my father says.

“I said I was sorry.”

“I know, I heard.”

Megan stops and faces him. “Good,” she says. “Then I won’t say it again.”

Silence. He tracks her as she walks farther in the room. She leans against the stove with her elbows. “So . . . are we all wearin’
Dukes of Hazzard
?”

Asher laughs. “Just a good ol’ boy.”

“What’s that mean?” my father says. “
Dukes of Hazzard
?”

“She’s kiddin’ you,” Asher says. “It’s a TV show.”

“Huck Finn with a beard,” she says. “Howdy, Rabbi Finn.”

“What’s that? That’s not funny,” says my dad. “Rabbi Finn? Is that funny?”

“Oh, come on,” she says. “Look how tense you are. It’s a party. Have some fun.”

“What does that mean?” he says, looking at Asher. “Rabbi Finn, what is that? Is it anti-Semitism? I’m lost.”

“
No,
Dad,” he says. “Joking, she’s joking.”