Chapter 15

“But, honestly, did it ever hold any pleasure?”
—Amanda Carlson, Danger’s Cure

BY THE END OF THE WEEKEND, I was exhausted, angry, and I hated math. I had a double degree in math and engineering and I was sweating out finishing a freshman high school Algebra course. I didn’t dare rush it and make a mistake. I couldn’t risk it.

“Is it really worth what you are putting yourself through?” Mom asked at dinner Saturday night. I guess everyone was feeling the tension. Mom and Dad hadn’t really had much to say about my problem except Dad’s one wry comment.

“Were the instructions written in English? There’s so damn much stuff coming in from China these days that you can never understand what the directions say.”

“If I have to sit through one more of that woman’s classes, I’ll kill myself,” I muttered.

“J! Please!” Em cried. I was almost knocked out of my chair when she tackled me. Pey hitting me from the other side is all that kept me upright. Both girls were crying.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean it. Please don’t cry, Em. I would never do that to you again. Never. Please believe me.”

“Don’t. Please don’t even joke about it. We almost lost you,” she sobbed.

“I won’t. I promise, Em. I promise, Pey. Nothing will ever get me like that again. I promise. I just have a buttload of work to do. I’m wearing a bit thin.”

“Well, I’ve tried to be sure you were no stranger to hard work,” Dad said. “Let’s get the table cleared so you have your workspace again.”

“Do you need anything else, Jakey?” Mom asked. I almost answered that I could use a double scotch but I was pretty sure they didn’t have any Cardhu in the house. Single malt Highlands were my favorite. A cigar would help, too.

“I could use another pencil if anyone has one. Dinner was really good, Mom. Thank you.”

“Don’t work too late, dear. Fatigue will cause senseless mistakes.”

Pey brought me a whole pencil box along with her sharpener. And a kiss on the cheek. I hugged her and she padded off to bed.

About midnight, I’d done all I could do without some sleep. I’d finished the unit on quadratic equations, which I didn’t find difficult. But I still had all the exercises for exponential equations and functions, radical expressions and equations, and rational expressions and equations to go. I scooped my half-dozen Coke cans off the table and took them to the recycling bin. Then I dragged myself into bed.

Em was in my bed. I think she was asleep when I walked into the room but when I slipped beneath the sheet, she put her arm around me and kissed my shoulder. She was naked and I tried to feel a stirring below but I was just too tired.

“I’m here for you, J. Whatever you need. I’ll just hold you if you want.”

“Why are you so good to me, Em? I know I was a lousy brother the past few years. But you are still here. Still loving me.”

“You’re so tired, I thought you might have a bad dream tonight. I wanted to be here with you. To make sure you knew I’d never let go.”

I found her lips and kissed her goodnight. Then I promptly fell asleep in her arms.

When I woke up in the morning, Em kissed me again before she worked her way down to take my cock in her mouth. I pulled and tugged at her until she finally relented and planted her pussy on my lips. I’ve always been that way. I couldn’t fully enjoy just lying back and letting a girl do me without reciprocating. It just didn’t seem right to me. And I got so much more pleasure out of it when both my cock and tongue were being stimulated.

And Em’s pussy was incredible. I’d touched it and frigged her to orgasms but I’d never tasted her before. It was beautiful. I thought that I could die happy with my face between her legs. This was my idea of paradise.

She must have thought it was pretty good, too, because she drenched my face with her come a few seconds before I filled her stomach.

“Why don’t you grab a shower and I’ll get some breakfast on before you start working again.”

“I love you, Em.”

“Of course. I love you, too.”

Of course, I didn’t go to church with the family. They didn’t come back for lunch. Instead, the bell rang and when I answered it, a delivery boy handed me a pizza. Scrawled on the box were the words, ‘From Mom and Dad.’ I was careful not to spill any tomato sauce on my workbook.

That evening, I worked through the first practical exercises in the entire book. I guess they figured they should answer the age-old question, ‘When am I ever going to use Algebra?’ I figured at the rate the class was going, no one else would get that far before the end of the year. They’d still have the question as they dropped their last worksheet in the basket by the door and filed out.

There were four problems in this unit and they really did test your knowledge. The first was to draw the property lines in a neighborhood and figure the square footage of each lot. The second problem dealt with scales and profits for a small business. Third, I had to figure the area and volume of an architecture project. And finally, I was asked what factors were necessary for a small business to expand into an enterprise. I finally finished before the TV show the rest of the family was watching was over and went to bed.

I had a sense that Em crawled in bed next to me late at night but I was too far gone to respond. She wasn’t in bed with me when I woke up.

I was standing outside Mr. Gieseke’s office when he got there at seven-thirty. He actually smiled at me and took the workbook. I don’t know if I expected him to sit down and grade it on the spot or what, but I didn’t expect him to send me to the library.

“Miss Lustig will proctor the first semester final exam this morning,” he said. Oh, shit. I forgot all about the tests. “You can take the second semester final this afternoon.” I nodded.

“Then I can move up?”

“Well ... I’m still working on it. I have to find someone who’s willing to take you in his class that doesn’t interfere with any of the others. It will at least get you out of Algebra.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Go. Ace the final, please.”

I went. I was pretty sure I aced it.

One of the things I liked about math and engineering was that the answers never changed. I started with a slide rule and it was easy to get the answers once you learned the function. And as I grew older, I learned more applications for what I knew but what I knew didn’t change. You’d think other subjects would be like that, too, but few were. We didn’t even have a Human Geography class when I went to school. And Health was ... bizarre. In 1952, nine out of ten doctors recommended smoking Camels. As to English, well, there were rules, sure, but the twelve tenses weren’t even taught in composition class now. Present, past, and future were all that were needed and we were being taught to use active voice instead of passive. Everything else was about how well you could manipulate the language and when to ignore the rules completely. “I before e except after c or when your foreign neighbor Keith leisurely receives eight counterfeit beige sleighs from feisty caffeinated atheist weightlifters. Weird.” All the subjects but math were filled with exceptions.

I finished the exam in time to get to Health and Wellness and the day turned almost normal. At lunch I spotted a worried-looking Rebeca at ‘our’ table, looking around. The fact that her face lit up when I hobbled across the cafeteria made my day.

“Where were you?” she demanded when I dropped my crutches under the table. “I was worried. Were you sick?”

“Sick of school,” I said. “Sorry I missed you.” I explained everything that had happened and she sat with her mouth open getting almost as angry as I’d been.

“That is so unfair!” she shouted. A few people turned to look at her and she hushed her tone. “We should start a student walkout to protest. She should be made to take the finals the same way you are.”

“Come on, now, Doodlebug. Who in the whole school would care if I get out of a class that they all had to endure?”

“Doodlebug? Are you making up more pet names for me? What was wrong with Beca? Or my damned name, Rebeca, for that matter.” She seemed steamed that I used a little nickname. I hadn’t thought a thing about it. We always called the kids cute nicknames. Doodlebug. Snickerdoodle. Munchkin. Kitten. I could scarcely tell her that.

I decided the truth was best—or at least a version of it that wouldn’t get me thrown in a looney bin.

“Rebeca is a really hard name for me,” I said.

“You pronounced it okay.”

“Beca...”

“I’m sorry. I’ll shut my smart mouth and listen.”

“I knew a Rebecca who was very special to me.”

“Two-c or not two-c?”

“Two-c. I lost her and never really recovered from it.”

“Was she your first?”

I looked at my ... friend. It was almost like she was reading something deeper into my story than I was trying to expose. Yes, Rebecca had been my first. My first wife. The mother of my children. And my first real loss.