Prayer

By Eve Black

“You know, you do favor your mom some.”

Jason knew that look. It meant Malcolm was considering on something. What that did was make Jason want to run off from just like his mom had¾only he didn’t. Somebody had to look after his kid sister.

Lots of boys run away at sixteen, Jason had reasoned. But Prissy was only ten and there was no way of telling what their stepfather might do with no witness about.

“Thank you, sir.” Jason said, then softly to his sister, “Eat your greens, Prissy.”

“Prettier,” Malcolm chucked. “And a hell of a lot better mom than your mom too.”

Malcolm didn’t say anything more for the brief spell it took him to wolf down his chow. When he was done he leaned back, his chair balanced on its hind legs and poked a toothpick through the gap between his front teeth–quite pleased with himself.

“Scrawny boy like you—it just might work. You know what I saying?”

“No, sir,” Jason said, clearing away the dirty dishes.

“Course not. That’s because you’re an empty headed thing¾just like your Jezebel of a mother. Noggin full of Good Book nonsense and not much else.”

Malcolm leaned forward and pounded on the tabletop¾rattling the kitchen.

“Money! Food in your mouths! That’s what I’m talking about. Those jerks at the bank wouldn’t let me cash my check.”

“From our dad’s life insurance?” Jason asked.

“Shut the fuck up. I’m your daddy now.”

Jason placed the worn and faded plates and flatware in the sink and started scrubbing them, making sure not to drop or clatter a thing.

“It’s your faults I can’t get a job in this stupid excuse for a town. I’m stuck here out of the Christian goodness of my heart looking after two brats not even my own kin. So it just seems proper that one of you fix it.”

“Yes, sir,” Jason agreed. The trembling of his hands was hidden beneath the sudsy water.

“A little make up— A frilly dress— You’ll pass for your mom no problem.”

“But I don’t—“

“Shut up—“

“I’ll help him daddy,” Prissy smiled. “I watched momma millions of times. I’ll learn him how.”

“That’s my little girl. And pretty soon your daddy’s going to have two girls. Jason you start practicing tomorrow. This Friday you cash that check.”

That said Malcolm shoved the dinning table away from him, heaved his bulk up and headed out the front door down to the Dew Drop Inn.

Late next morning, after Malcolm was gone to wherever it was he went to during daylight hours, Prissy and Jason went up into the attic. Jason sat on a ratty trunk in front of the dusty dressing mirror thinking about nothing in particular. Prissy pulled their mom’s stuff from out of the boxes where Malcolm had stuffed them.

“We’ll do your make up first,” Prissy smiled, holding a brush purposefully in her hand.

Neither of them was much pleased with the outcome when she was done. What Jason looked like was what some ten-year old girl thought a pretty mom should look like.

“Let me try,” Jason smiled. He wiped away what Prissy had done. Then he painted a portrait of his mother as he remembered her at her pretties—overlaying her eyes, lips, and mouth on his own in paints and powders.

“There,” he said, turning to his sister.

Prissy looked at him real funny for a space, her eyes all misty. Then she said, “I sure miss momma.”

“Me too.” Jason hugged her real close. “Now, her cloths.”

He pulled on his mother’s favorite sundress, still sweet with the smell of her. Everything fit pretty much okay, if a bit loose he figured, excepting her shoes which were a little tight.

He walked around the attic—getting the feel of them¾not used to wearing heels.

“What about you’re hair?” Prissy said all serious. “Momma had beautiful hair.”

“Well, maybe she cut it,” Jason laughed. “You know the latest style from France.”

Lucky his hair was bushy enough that he could do something with it. Playing with the comb and pomade he got something like he’d once seen on a pretty girl at school.

He stayed that way the rest of the afternoon and every day after that getting the hang of it—sitting, walking even talking like the way he remembered his mom had. He always made sure he was Jason before Malcolm got home though. He certainly didn’t want to put any notions into the man’s head.

“Let’s go, Prissy,” Jason said when Friday morning rolled round cold and gray.

They walked hand and hand the five miles to town the insurance chit pushed into his mother’s purse at his side. They both hoped they’d get home before it rained.

“Morning,” Jason smiled when he got up to the pretty teller. “I’d like to cash this check here if you please.”

“I’ll need to see some identification,” the lady said through the thick glass. Jason slid his mom’s driver’s license and library card through the slot under it.

The woman squinted at the picture then at Jason and back again. Finally, she said, “I love what you’ve done with your hair. Makes you look much younger. You’re a very pretty young lady, Emma.”

Seeing his mother’s name on that stranger's lips scared Jason more than anything else so far.

“Thanks.” He smiled and pushed the cash into what must now be his purse. “Have a good day.”

Jason should have known their luck wouldn’t hold. It started pouring right away. It plastered their hair and clothes to them. Jason’s pretty face turned to running goo.

Prissy started shivering so Jason gave her his sweater, holding her to him, trying as best he could to keep the rain off her. By the time they got home they were both shuddering so hard Jason could hardly get Prissy undressed and into bed.

He put the money on the table where Malcolm couldn’t help but see it when he stumbled in. Then he put himself to bed. He shivered there for hours¾not able to get warm¾ feeling death near.

By morning Jason was feverish and faint his bedding drenched and clammy.

Malcolm stuck his head in once and glared. “Pussy. Don’t think I’m going to waste my hard earned money calling some fool doctor either. You got yourself sick. You can just get yourself unsick.”

For three days Jason lay in bed his little sister sponging him with a damp wash rag liked she’d seen someone do one time. Once, he thought he heard his mother calling to him. He wanted to go to her but Prissy wouldn’t let him.

Jason was never the same after that bout of fever. Where he’d been scrawny before¾now he looked like some spook. His skin seemed pale and clear, his voice all whispery like the murmur of pond reeds in the wind. The littlest things tuckered him out. He was barely able to finish his chores.

Even though at the end of each and every month Jason would go out as Emma and trudge down to the bank with her check and back with her money.

Malcolm was in heaven. He had his drinking money¾even some left over so they could eat. And Jason did all the cooking and cleaning.

Jason and Prissy were happy too. Malcolm pretty much let them alone.

By springtime Jason got back some of his spunk, playing with his sister and such. He even put on some inches.

Each night he’d prayed, “God, please let me grow up like my real dad. I’ve got to be strong and big so Prissy and I can run away.”

God didn’t say no. But he didn’t exactly say yes either. What happened was a miracle. Each day Jason grew less like his dad and more like his mom.

He got tall and willowy. His arms and legs growing long and soft¾his face gentle and delicate with a smile that could thaw winter snow like spring sunshine.

Now Jason didn’t know much about growing up this being his first occasion. But from observation and hearsay he knew that this was not what a young man should count on. He was afraid. But all he could think to do was what he had done all along¾be patience and pray.

It was summer when Prissy found out.

“Jason?” she said, swinging open the bathroom door and looking in.

“Prissy,” he shrieked, wrapping his bath towel about him as quick as he could.

His sister stood in the doorway her mouth hanging open a long time. “Let me see.”

“No.”

“It’s okay, Jason.”

Slowly Jason dropped his towel to his waist. “It’s the cancer, right?”

“No silly. All girls get them. Like yours if they’re lucky.”

They were beautiful but Jason didn’t think he was lucky. The nipples were pink and fat in round pools the color of sweet chocolate milk. They clung to him like ripe peaches¾looking firm, juicy and tasty.

“What’s wrong with me?” Jason whispered, afraid to show his fear to his sister.

“I don’t know,” Prissy said, shaking her head. “But I do know that Malcolm can’t find out.”

“What’ll I do?”

Prissy hugged her big brother round his tiny waist, gazed up into his pretty face and smiled. “You’ll do something.”

But Jason didn’t. God did.

Jason picked up the telephone on the sixth ring. He had learned with his father to always fear calls that came late at night.

”Hello?”

“Is this Emma?” The man at the other end sounded friendly enough if a bit uneasy.

“Yes?”

“This is Police Officer Franklin. It’s about your Malcolm.”

“Yes.”

“It’s not good. He finally picked a fight with the wrong redneck. The guy shot him coming out of the Dew Drop.”

“Oh my,” Jason said. “He will be all right won’t he?”

“I’m afraid not. He was killed instantly.”

Jason froze, the fear in his heart fluttering like a sparrow caught in a room. Was it possible that God could so misunderstand a prayer? Somehow he doubted it.

“Are you there?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m sorry about your husband.”

“He wasn’t my husband.”

“He wasn’t?”

“No, sir. He just roomed here is all. I hardly knew the man.”

“In that case,” the officer said, making it sound like whatever it was that was wrong was Jason’s fault somehow. “I’ll send someone round to pick up his stuff.”

“Certainly, you’re welcome to everything. I’ll pack them for you.”

“Thank you, Ma'am”

“Thank you, Officer.”

Jason waited for the click and then the dial tone before he believed it was true.

By week’s end Malcolm and every sign of him was gone for good. All Emma had to do was sign a few papers, stuff a few cardboard boxes and that was that.

No one asked any questions. And why should they? Emma was legal age. Prissy was her darling daughter. And Jason? Well, Jason like all smart teenage boys stuck in a one-horse town had run off. He still sent a postcard though quite regularly from New York City.

And in no time at all Emma and Prissy were there too.

- End -

Number of words: 1874