Chapter 3- Jack
Jack lay on top of a crumpled bedsheet staring at the ceiling fan spinning above him. Today was his twelfth birthday and he was up early. There were still two hours before he had to leave for school. One of the fan’s blades was out of balance, so the it spun with a wobble. Some observers might fear that it would, at any moment, come crashing down on them. Jack was imagining the opposite, he was imagining that fan breaking free from the bolts that tethered it to the ceiling and soaring like a helicopter into the air. Away from this place.
bzzt. bzzt. Jack rolled over and looked at his phone.
Dad: Happy birthday, buddy. You’re probably still asleep. It’s already been your big day for 10 hours here in Addis Ababa. Have a great day, son.
No, it wasn’t this place he wanted to escape. It was this loneliness. Jack imagined himself grabbing hold of that wobbly ceiling fan and soaring away. But to where? he thought to himself. His first thought was home, but that made him chuckle aloud. Where is home? Jack had an American passport, but he hadn’t lived there since he was in pre-school. He spent two years in India, a few more in Guyana, a short stint in Italy. They were always following his father’s job.
Jack picked up his phone and read the message again before responding.
Jack: k.
As he pressed send, he slipped on his sandals and started walking. Out of the room, out of the house, out of the gate. He stared at his feet, kicking up the red dust of the road, to avoid the friendly smiles of the shopkeeper and taxi driver who were always sitting at the stand just beyond his gate. He wasn’t in the mood for smiles today.
Jack turned the corner and followed a gravel road that led toward a small stream with a bridge. On his left were the wide leaves of banana plants, drooping with the heavy weight of their fruit. On his right was an apartment building with sleek modern lines and pool on the roof.
At the bridge, the gravel road turned into a narrow foot path that led through a small group of farms. The scent changed as he passed each garden bed— mint, then coriander, then basil. At the edge of the farm, the path turned and led up a small hill. Jack followed the path to the top, then sat down on a smooth stone, taking in the scene before him. In the distance, he could hear the laughter and shouting of a group of boys. They were throwing rocks at a guava tree and squealing at the sour taste of its unripened fruit.
bzzt. bzzt.
Dad: I was really hoping to be there to celebrate with you, but this meeting is very important. You know I’d be there if I could.
Jack shot back his defeated, and now standard, response.
Jack: k.
He gazed at the phone in his hand. It was the newest, best model. He had been so happy when his father gave it to him. Jack was too young to have such an expensive phone, but his father knew what he was doing, knew the cost of Jack’s love.
“You’re going to need it,” his father had said.
“Need it? For what?”
“To keep in touch with your friends. To photograph all the new amazing sights you’re going to see. Son, I’ve been given a great opportunity, but we have to move again…to Africa this time. You’re going to love having this phone.”
And, like all conversations with his father, that was it. End of discussion. Six weeks after receiving the phone, Jack was on a flight bound for Accra.
Jack looked out from his perch on the hill and wondered if his father knew when he bought the phone that it would become the sad substitute for any actual face-to-face conversation between the two of them.
He opened the camera app. Click! Jack knew the photo would need some editing. The right filter would be able to make the greens look as bright and vibrant as they truly were. Despite his loneliness, Jack could still appreciate the beauty of his new “home”. Jack loved Accra for the way that the modern hustle and bustle of a city mingled with the tranquility of the countryside. Where else could you find flatscreen T.V.s for sale on the edge of a banana farm? Where else could goats wander among skyscrapers?
Jack posted the photo to Instagram. It gave him some small comfort to know that it would garner a dozen or more “likes”. His phone had truly become a life-line, and his father was right—Jack was grateful to have it. Even so, he wished he could have shared this view from the hill with someone…in real life.
bzzt. bzzt. Jack rolled over and looked at his phone.
Dad: Happy birthday, buddy. You’re probably still asleep. It’s already been your big day for 10 hours here in Addis Ababa. Have a great day, son.
No, it wasn’t this place he wanted to escape. It was this loneliness. Jack imagined himself grabbing hold of that wobbly ceiling fan and soaring away. But to where? he thought to himself. His first thought was home, but that made him chuckle aloud. Where is home? Jack had an American passport, but he hadn’t lived there since he was in pre-school. He spent two years in India, a few more in Guyana, a short stint in Italy. They were always following his father’s job.
Jack picked up his phone and read the message again before responding.
Jack: k.
As he pressed send, he slipped on his sandals and started walking. Out of the room, out of the house, out of the gate. He stared at his feet, kicking up the red dust of the road, to avoid the friendly smiles of the shopkeeper and taxi driver who were always sitting at the stand just beyond his gate. He wasn’t in the mood for smiles today.
Jack turned the corner and followed a gravel road that led toward a small stream with a bridge. On his left were the wide leaves of banana plants, drooping with the heavy weight of their fruit. On his right was an apartment building with sleek modern lines and pool on the roof.
At the bridge, the gravel road turned into a narrow foot path that led through a small group of farms. The scent changed as he passed each garden bed— mint, then coriander, then basil. At the edge of the farm, the path turned and led up a small hill. Jack followed the path to the top, then sat down on a smooth stone, taking in the scene before him. In the distance, he could hear the laughter and shouting of a group of boys. They were throwing rocks at a guava tree and squealing at the sour taste of its unripened fruit.
bzzt. bzzt.
Dad: I was really hoping to be there to celebrate with you, but this meeting is very important. You know I’d be there if I could.
Jack shot back his defeated, and now standard, response.
Jack: k.
He gazed at the phone in his hand. It was the newest, best model. He had been so happy when his father gave it to him. Jack was too young to have such an expensive phone, but his father knew what he was doing, knew the cost of Jack’s love.
* * *
“You’re going to need it,” his father had said.
“Need it? For what?”
“To keep in touch with your friends. To photograph all the new amazing sights you’re going to see. Son, I’ve been given a great opportunity, but we have to move again…to Africa this time. You’re going to love having this phone.”
And, like all conversations with his father, that was it. End of discussion. Six weeks after receiving the phone, Jack was on a flight bound for Accra.
* * *
Jack looked out from his perch on the hill and wondered if his father knew when he bought the phone that it would become the sad substitute for any actual face-to-face conversation between the two of them.
He opened the camera app. Click! Jack knew the photo would need some editing. The right filter would be able to make the greens look as bright and vibrant as they truly were. Despite his loneliness, Jack could still appreciate the beauty of his new “home”. Jack loved Accra for the way that the modern hustle and bustle of a city mingled with the tranquility of the countryside. Where else could you find flatscreen T.V.s for sale on the edge of a banana farm? Where else could goats wander among skyscrapers?
Jack posted the photo to Instagram. It gave him some small comfort to know that it would garner a dozen or more “likes”. His phone had truly become a life-line, and his father was right—Jack was grateful to have it. Even so, he wished he could have shared this view from the hill with someone…in real life.
Having just read this entry/slice, of course I had to go back and read from the beginning. I love this story and as an international school teacher can picture all of this so well, yet your vivid descriptions mean that any reader can. I think I know how Jack and Akua are connected, but want to know more. I feel for Jack on his birthday.
ReplyDeleteThanks so much for the encouragement. Don't tell anyone how they are connected, just yet ;) I hope it can reveal itself within the next few days...
DeleteThis is such a powerful scene. I love how you used concrete objects like the fan and the phone to reveal aspects of Jack's inner world, his emotions, and his relationship with his father. Fabulous writing!
ReplyDeleteI read a slice about Jack a couple of days ago. Both of the slides made me sad. Jack sounds so, so alone. A phone really is a poor substitute for a real live human being!
ReplyDeleteI'm imagining, too, the other side of the conversation, the decisions one makes or doesn't make that impacts a family.
ReplyDeleteKevin
Micro moment that resonated: I've thought of ceiling fans just this way.
ReplyDeleteThanks for making us see and feel what Jack is going through. The sensory details and contrasts of the settings make the story very vivid.
ReplyDelete