Read Online Blazed by Jason Myers - Free Book Online

out. He says something, and I take my headphones off.
    â€œWhat was that?” I ask him.
    â€œI said, it’s just something I do from time to time. Not a lot. Just when I’m stressed. But I don’t do it all the time.”
    â€œIt’s just pot,” I say.
    â€œWhat do you mean?” he asks.
    â€œI mean that it’s just pot, dude. Who cares? Most of the kids in my class do the same thing during lunch.”
    â€œReally?”
    I make a face. “Yeah, man. Really. You get stoned. So what? There’s a ton of shit you’ve done that you need to answer for, but smoking joints ain’t one of them.”

21.
    WE FLY FIRST CLASS. IT’S a direct flight from O’Hare to San Francisco. The two of us, we both pull out our laptops the second we get in the air.
    I’ve rejected all my father’s attempts at conversation so far. He looks stressed out anyway. And not just because of me and my sudden reappearance in his life.
    Right before takeoff, he bit a Xanax bar in half and washed it down with a glass of white wine. He’s on his fourth glass now.
    He pounds the keyboard with his fingers. He shakes his head and rolls his eyes and rubs his face in obvious frustration.
    Finally, I take my headphones off and go, “What’s got you so creased?”
    He looks almost shocked that I’ve addressed him. “Excuse me?”
    â€œWhat’s got you so creased?” I repeat.
    â€œNothing,” he says.
    â€œDoesn’t look like nothing.”
    â€œI had a number of meetings that I couldn’t push back, and I’m trying to decipher exactly what happened in my absence.”
    â€œSucks.”
    â€œIt’s not ideal.”
    I make a face. “I’m really sorry if my situation is fucking up yours, man. This is the last place I wanna be.”
    â€œYour language.”
    â€œWhat about it?”
    He sighs.
    And I say, “I’m sure you know where it came from.”
    A smile cuts across his face, and he laughs. “Yes, I do.” He laughs again and leans his head back against his seat. “I’ve never heard anyone cuss that much. Never.”
    â€œRappers don’t even cuss as much as my mother.”
    â€œI used to give her so much shit for it, and how she—”
    â€œNever knew she was doing it,” we both say at the same time.
    We laugh. It’s the first time me and my father have ever laughed together, and it comes at the expense of my mother.
    My father goes pack to pounding his keyboard, and I turn and look out the window.
    â€œSo how’d you get your black eye, Jaime?” my father asks, just like that, without even looking at me.
    â€œI got hit. How do you think?”
    â€œWho hit you?”
    His questions irritate me. I scowl. “This kid at school yesterday.”
    â€œWhy’d he hit you?”
    â€œBecause I decked him for talking shit.”
    My father finally looks up from his computer. “You get into a lot of fights, don’t you?”
    Shrugging, I go, “Not a lot. Some. But not a lot. How would you know anyway?”
    â€œYour mother told me.”
    â€œWhen? You didn’t see her at the hospital.”
    â€œLast week, I think. Maybe the week before. It came up in our conversation. She’s said it before too, that you get into fights frequently.”
    I get nauseous.
    My cheeks begin to burn.
    â€œI didn’t know you two talked.”
    â€œWe talk a couple times a week, Jaime.”
    â€œExcuse me?”
    My father looks confused now too. “Your mother and I talk frequently. You didn’t know that?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œShe always tells me you don’t want to talk to me when I call. She tells me that she can’t force you to talk, and that’s the end of it. You didn’t know?”
    It feels like my heart’s sitting in the pit of my stomach. I didn’t know. She says that my father calls maybe once a