Jonathan

Jonathan, an ordinary guy with magical powers, manages to find meaning in his ordinary life. He fights the oligarchy.

B is for Bisexual - short stories by Laura P. Valtorta

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                                    JONATHAN (4.3)

                             by Laura Puccia Valtorta

         AGE 7; COLUMBIA, SOUTH CAROLINA.

            Nine p.m. at night. Jonathan was laid out in bed, listening to the rain. His face was mashed into the pillow, trying not to laugh. His older brother, Wombat, was sleeping next to him because his grandparents were using Wombat's room. Jonathan's parents were language and math professors. They hugged their sons. They believed in fairness. But they were still grownups. The enemy.

            Wombat had said, "Did you hear Dad fart at the dinner table?"

            "Yes," said Jonathan, "and so did the neighbors."

            "Dad's farts are the worst," said Wombat.

            "Every time Mom farts," added Jonathan, "She says 'Petunia.'" They dissolved in laughter. Their parents were so weird.

            Wombat's name was really "William," but Jonathan wanted to keep him in his place. William looked like a wombat, but he had a kind heart.

            School, the third grade with Mrs. Rudink, was another matter. His classmates were stupid, and Mrs. Rudink was even worse. Jonathan, with his magic, could make the younger kids do stuff, like drop on their knees and woof like a dog, but at that time he was powerless against kids his own age. He wanted to punish the loud third graders, like Ryan Schwartz, who was thick and couldn't do his times tables, but nothing worked.  Mrs. Rudink, who had crooked teeth and wore dull dresses, would not bend to his Jonathan's will, either.

            "What are you?" Ryan would ask, "with that spongy hair and yellow skin? Are you like Sponge Bob?" Mrs. Rudink would smirk and tell Ryan to be quiet and sit down, but she never chastised him or told him, "That kind of talk is rude," or "Jonathan is a third grader, same as you." It was left up to Tory, his sweet friend, Tory, to say, "Shut up Ryan. You're as dumb as the president." Then Tory would add - "Your mom is really great. And you look like her."

            Jonathan could see into the future. Ryan might be laffy-taffy now, but he would end up addicted to heroin for a few years and driving a garbage truck before retiring. Mrs. Rudink's future was just boring and involved cats sleeping on couches. Tory, instead, was going to be a semi-famous writer with an apartment in the city and a house in the country.

            Wombat was snoring loudly. Wombat could be annoying sometimes, when they were fighting for the last piece of cake, or their parents' attention, but out in the neighborhood, like skating in the big park next door, they stood up for one another. "This is my baby brother," he said to the other kids, which was annoying, because he used the word "baby," but Wombat was big and strong, and the stupid-ass kids stayed away from him. 

            Wombat believed that Jonathan had special powers. He didn't tell on him either or call Jonathan "weird," except when it might allow him to grab the last piece of cake and bite into it. He didn't rat on him to their parents.

            Jonathan wondered why Wombat did not also have special powers, since they were brothers. In the park one day, while his parents and grandparents were talking, Jonathan said, "I'm going to stare at that dog and make it jump into the fountain." Wombat put his arms akimbo. "Okay. Let's see you do it."

            In his mind, Jonathan imagined the dog - which was a big blond fluffy thing with floppy ears and a stupid look on its face that reminded him of the school principal Mr. Ramirez - hopping into the fountain and splashing around. Then the dog stopped for a moment - and jumped into the fountain. Wombat slapped his thighs and clapped his hands. Jonathan jumped up and down in celebration. "I told you so." 

            "You did tell me," said Wombat. "Can you teach me how to do that? Control dogs?"

            "I don't know how I do it," said Jonathan. "I picture the thing in my head, and it happens. Not just to dogs."

            Jonathan went to sleep imagining what he would do to Ryan.

            The following night, he had something to ponder before falling asleep. Something scary. Ryan had been pushing Tory around on the swing. Then he ran under her, and Tory screamed. In his brain, Jonathan had a strong picture of Ryan falling off the monkey bars. Suddenly Ryan, jerked around, climbed the bars and hung upside down. "Help, help," he yelled. "I don't want to do this. A witch is controlling my brain."

            Then he fell off the bars right on top of his head. He was silent for a few minutes, which was such a relief that nobody paid much attention. Tory went on swinging. After a few minutes, Ryan sat up holding his head. Jonathan, who was sitting on top of the picnic table, watched. Ryan walked into the school, zigging and zagging. He went home for the rest of the day.

            Jonathan was not one hundred percent happy. He could see, he could feel inside of him, that the head injury was what caused Ryan to use drugs later on when he was a teenager. Nobody took Ryan for an MRI of his brain. Ryan's parents had too many other oversized kids to control. They preferred the new Ryan, who was sleepy all the time. He transferred schools.

            Jonathan was just glad that Ryan became sluggish and left him alone. But the heroin part was scary. Jonathan felt guilty.

            AGE 25; COLUMBIA, SOUTH CAROLINA

            While in medical school, Jonathan did not have enough time to sleep. This was why he decided to become an internal medicine doctor with a 9-to-5 schedule. That and he could always intuit what was wrong with a patient. Their descriptions helped, but he could also read their minds. Women with shaved heads were easier to read than women with long braids piled on top of their heads.

            When he did sleep it was heaven. He lay down and dreamed. Wombat had become a lawyer and married Tory. This was fine with Jonathan, because he could use their house in the country to get away to when he was sick of school. He was there one day, sleeping, during spring break.

            The guest room had flowered wallpaper and an old fireplace that didn't work anymore. There was a small bathroom attached. Jonathan went to bed at 8 p.m.

            He thought about life. After getting his medical degree, he planned to work during the week and spend his weekends in coffee shops reading people's minds. It was a fascinating occupation. Sometimes, Jaden, who was Wombat and Tory's seven-year-old daughter, went to the coffee shops with him. Jaden was also a seer. She concentrated on the kids. They liked a place called "Rocky's," where the food was okay but the people-watching was 20 out of ten.

            "That boy is angry," she told Jonathan, "because his parents don't believe in candy, and they won't take him trick-or-treating."

            "His parents are punks," said Jonathan. "Let's do something about it."

            They walked over to the boy's table, where the boy had laid his head down and was pushing a small toy car around. The father was reading his phone. The mother, who was very skinny, was sipping her coffee and frowning.

            "Happy Halloween," said Jonathan. "This is my niece. Do you like her witch's costume?"

            Jaden was wearing a black dress with a cat painted on it and a black knit pointed hat. They boy looked at her and nodded. "I want to be a robot," he said.

            "We don't believe in Halloween," said the mother.

            "We don't, either," said Jonathan. "I mean - who believes in ghosts and goblins? But I'm a family doctor, and the latest research says that trick-or-treating, and the joy of eating candy, is good for kids. Have a nice day."

            Jaden and Jonathan walked back to their table.

            The boy's parents started arguing. "Don't stare at them," said Jonathan. "Find some other kid to help." He finished his cappuccino and they went back to the city apartment to play games.

            "You can tell your father about our adventures," said Jonathan as they rode the elevator. "He believes in our powers."

            "So does my mother," said Jaden. "Tory is a cool mom."

            Jonathan felt better about himself. He knew that the boy would never forget this day. He would forgive his parents. He would always take his own three children trick-or-treating, and he would dress up himself. 

            AGE 42; AUSTIN, TEXAS. By the time Jonathan was 42, he was worried that Jaden was misusing her powers. She was working in the financial sector and raising two young children. Her husband, Bob, was boring. Jaden got into trouble a lot with the SEC because she was using her powers to predict the market. Jonathan wanted to tell her that getting rich wasn't the point. But what was the point? More free time at the coffee house?  Making art? Loving your job? Plus, he was only the uncle, and Wombat and Tory were proud of their daughter's success. He thought that if he had a child of his own, he would have more control. More influence. His own father was living in Florida; his mother was dead.

            Planning how to get a child made it difficult to sleep.

            He was gay and living in Austin, Texas, his favorite city. The men he dated were unreliable. He thought about adopting. But kids take a lot of work. Was parenthood worth the effort?

            On his day off from the clinic, he went to visit an adoption agency.

            "Why do you want to raise a child?" the Social Worker asked.

            "So I can teach her stuff."

            "What kind of stuff?" asked the Social Worker, frowning.

            Jonathan could not answer that. "I really don't know." He thanked the Social Worker and left.

            At the clinic, it was easier to find a kid who needed adopting. One tired and frustrated woman had six children and a new baby with big eyes and dark curly hair. The mother was trained as a registered nurse, and her name was "Peggy."

            "Peggy, I need a new nurse at this clinic," said Jonathan. "Do you want a part-time job?"

            "Yes," said Peggy, immediately, "but I just had a kid."

            "Angela is beautiful," said Jonathan. "She could stay here at the clinic with you."

            "Oh, thank you," said Peggy.

            "Also, I want to adopt Angela."

            Peggy stared at him. "You want to adopt her?"

            "Yes, I want to raise a daughter. And she has beautiful eyes."

            "Angela is my daughter."

            "I know.  But you have six other children."

            "I love them all."

            "I'm sure you do, but I have more money. And a better lifestyle. You can see Angela every day. I plan to bring her to the clinic."

            Peggy was skeptical. "Let me think about this."

            "By the way, who's Angela's father?"

            "I don't know," said Peggy. "Could be the Amazon delivery guy."

            "Angela would be better off having a doctor as a father."

                                                            *****

            Angela seemed happy having Jonathan as her father. They vacationed in Mexico and Europe. They had an apartment in New York and a bungalow in Austin. She often spent time with Peggy and the other children, but she preferred living with Jonathan and having a room full of toys and books.

            "It's quieter here," she told Jonathan. "Dad, I love you."

            Jonathan wondered if money was the answer to everything. Maybe money was the reason Angela loved him.

            One of Angela's sisters, June, was two years older. Jonathan caused June to stay at his house for a sleepover one weekend. The next morning, Sunday morning, Jonathan's influence had worn off, and June was ready to go home. "I'm bored," she told Angela. "My brothers are building a band in the garage. Want to come over?"

            "No, thanks," said Angela. "Jonathan and I are making cupcakes today."

            They made three dozen cupcakes and decorated the tops with frosting and sprinkles. They ate six each, but Angela took most of them to school.

            Angela never had any kids bullying her, because Jonathan punished them on the playground. Kept Angela safe. Jonathan knew that in the future she would become a psychiatrist, devastated by what she heard from her clients. Her own childhood had been so good, raised by Peggy and Jonathan. The world needed more of that love.

            Angela would marry a janitor, Pamela, and have two children -- two boys using friendly donor sperm. And one of the boys, named Cyrus, would for some reason have secret powers. Cyrus was a good kid, and he enjoyed listening to Jonathan's stories. He used his secret powers to help the environment by building cheaper stand-alone solar panels. Jonathan took some credit for that.

            AGE 68, NEW YORK CITY.

            By this time, Angela had left home and was living in Oakland with her partner, Pamela, who was a tan woman, the same color as him. Plenty of cupcakes and Scrabble in their house. Jonathan visited them twice a year, and it was one of the highlights of his life. He taught grandson Cyrus how to fine tune his powers, and keep them under control. Cyrus always wanted to smash things up.

            The other highlight was Thanksgiving with Wombat and Tory. Jaden usually showed up. Then she was there all the time because she had come back to New York City to live with her parents after her wipe-ass husband left her. Jonathan wanted to congratulate her, but he knew Jaden was sad about it all. He was sleeping in the guest room - more like a library with a sofa bed and private shower.

            "Uncle Jon, let's go to Rocky's and find some people to help," said Jaden, knocking on the door. Wombat and Tory had gone to the soup kitchen where they escaped to volunteer. It was really a one-hour volunteer shift on a Sunday followed by two hours at Myna's Bookstore Cafe for brunch.

            Jonathan put on his "Keep Austin Weird" sweater and some black jeans. He remained cool-looking even in his 60s. Jaden was wearing yellow pants and a purple jacket.

            The vibe at Rocky's was older than Jonathan remembered it. The kids and strollers were gone, replaced by silver-haired ladies who lunched. There was also a long-haired hippy in torn jeans who looked familiar.

            "Ryan?" said Jonathan as they passed the table.

            "That was my former name. I go by 'Poet' now. Are you from St. Carol Elementary?"

            "I'm Jonathan Houseman. We did grades one thru four together."

            "I remember you, Man. That was before I fell off the playground equipment and they put me in a retard school."

            Jonathan could feel his face turning red. "I watched you take that fall."

            "Sit down, Man. Is this your daughter?" Ryan was smiling as though he knew nothing about Jonathan's secret powers, which of course he didn't. Jaden and Jonathan sat down.

            "No, this is my niece, Jaden. I became a doctor," said Jonathan. "What about you?" He was expecting Ryan to say fast-food worker, or pesticide sprayer.

            "For years I was a garbage man," said Ryan. "It was because I spent so many years wearing a helmet and going to retard school. But guess what - I'm a poet now. And I'm pretty famous. I wrote some poetry about garbage collecting. Seems that the poetry nuts love it. Got a reading this afternoon at Myna's."

            "Wow," said Jaden. "My mother and father are headed there now."

            "You should come and listen," said Ryan.

            They drank some strong coffees and ate some croissants.  Jonathan was happy to hear that Ryan was so upbeat. A wave of guilt lifted from his shoulders. His magic had caused a bully to reform.

            "Do you live on the proceeds from your poetry?" Jaden asked. She wanted to quit the financial industry, take up painting, and make portraits of her friends and family.

            "Heck, no," said Ryan. "I have a pension from garbage collecting. You know - a city job. It pays pretty well."

                                                *****

            Myna's was crowded. Everyone in Harlem wanted to hear Ryan's poetry about garbage collecting. Jonathan and Jaden found Wombat and Tory and sat near them. Ryan stood up. He adopted that reverent universal poetry voice that every poet used while reading in front of an audience.

                        "This one is called 'Rotten Vegetables.'"

            "The stink of squashed tomatoes filled the air.

            I slipped on a pile of lettuce.

            Apples-turned-cider over there.

            Potato vodka fills the air.

            Next stop the Meat District." Ryan looked up and smiled. 

            Jonathan glanced around the room. The applause was tremendous. He was surprised, because modern literati did not usually like poetry that rhymed. And this piece was about garbage. Ryan believed in himself, evidently.

            "You know," said Jonathan to his family, "I need to find a better use for my powers. Maybe smash things up."

                                                ***       END   ***

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