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The Ease of Living
- University of Georgia Press
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the ease of living It was barely the summer—just the end of June—and already two teenaged boys had been killed. Jason was turning sixteen in another month, and his mother worried that he might not make it. A week after the double funeral, she cashed in all of the Series ee bonds she’d been saving since his birth and bought him a plane ticket to spend the summer with his grandfather. Distance, she believed, would keep him safe. She waited until the day of his flight and told him over breakfast. “It’s not forever,” she said, polishing off her coffee. “Besides, it’s a done deal.” The ticket was paid for, and they both knew she couldn’t afford it. He had no choice. She was taking off the afternoon to ride with him to the airport. She set the mug down and hurried out the door. She had neither finished her breakfast nor cleared the table. On the table she left a small plate holding the crusts from her toast, crumbs, and dollops of jelly clinging to chipped china. She had ruined his morning. Usually, he couldn’t wait for his mother to leave so that he could 2 | The Ease of Living go outside and chill. His boys would appear a half hour after she’d gone, and they would have the day all to themselves. This was the time of day Jason loved. The short yellow bus had already come and taken the retarded people who lived in the middle of the block out for a day trip. The adults with jobs were at work; the others were in their homes watching talk shows and soaps. A few girls were scattered on the stoops up and down the block, braiding hair and giggling at nothing. All the boys dumb enough or lucky enough to get summer jobs were out somewhere, supervising kids running through sprays of water, price checking the produce and bagging the eggs separately, or flipping burgers and asking if you wanted fries with that. But not him. Not him and his boys. They had the whole summer to themselves. They could ride down to Coney Island if they wanted. They could go downtown to the movies and sit in the Metropolitan or the Duffield all day to make up for the lack of airconditioning in their homes. They could each buy one ticket then sneak into as many different shows as they could manage until the evening brought cooler breezes and they could go home once more. Or they could go to the park and watch the girls run around the track in those tiny blue shorts with the white trim. Or they could go to the pool and jump in the deep end with their shorts and sneakers on, dunking all the girls who had slighted them and messing up their hair. They could do anything they wanted. They could even just sit out there on the stoop all day long smoking blunts and saying whatever came to mind. He liked that best of all, but now he had to leave it. He would miss it, the times that couldn’t be pinpointed to a specific action, the times that were as numerous as the days of summer vacation, when he didn’t have to think about school or listen to the things his mother said or accept that the deaths of his two friends meant that nothing would ever be the same again. “Hey yo!” a voice called up to his window. He pulled out his duffel bag and threw it on the bed. Then he [44.221.43.208] Project MUSE (2024-03-19 11:41 GMT) The Ease of Living | 3 went to the window. He stuck his head out and called, “Be down in a minute!” He didn’t know anything about the South or its weather, so he didn’t know what to take and what to leave. His Timberlands, of course, would go. He didn’t need to pack them; they were already on his feet. His favorite baseball cap with the brim broken in half to shade his eyes. His basketball jerseys—Jordan, Ewing, and Starks. His Walkman. His favorite mixed tapes. His clippers so that he could stay smooth. His wave cap and brush. His underwear, socks, and toiletries. The overalls he had gotten his name spray-painted on at the Albee Square Mall. A stack of T-shirts, another stack...