Read Online My Dearest Jonah by Matthew Crow - Free Book Online Page A

towards the centre of the party, hoping that by rushing blindly towards the nucleus of the action I
would evade individual appraisals of my appearance. “What’s the matter kid, you got a funeral to go to afterwards or something?” he continued in jest.
    I felt a hand on my back and a large woman, resigned comfortably and contently to her own frumpiness, pulled herself into view. “How embarrassing for y’all!” she yelled at the
men who had now all but returned to their offshoot conversations. “Being shown up by this fine young stranger.”
    Some of the men chuckled and raised their cans at the woman.
    “Just shows how comfortable we all are in your company, Barbara darling!” yelled one of the men from work whose name I had not bothered to memorise.
    “You must be Jonah,” she said, still holding my arm in her hand. “I’m Barbara, Harlow’s wife. I heard all about you.”
    “So long as none of it’s true,” I said, masking my mortification with an attempt at good humour. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”
    “Ignore him Barb,” said Harlow, flipping unspecified chops onto the bars with a rewarding hissing sound. “Me and Jonah’s making fast friends. He’s a grafter
alright. And a fine new addition to my work force.”
    More cheering from the crowd, this time aimed at Max who, true to his nature, remained wholly nonplussed.
    She flapped her hands playfully at the men, “Well you’re certainly a sharp young thing, you look just like a movie star. Let me get you a drink. You want a beer?”
    God did I want a beer.
    She pulled a can from a nearby dustbin filled to the brink with ice and beverages and handed it to me unopened. I tore the can clean open and practically dove headfirst through the ring piece.
“You need anything else Jonah just help yourself,” she said, making her way across the garden towards the kitchen. “And it’s a pleasure to meet you, my dear.”
    As the afternoon rolled on the majority of the men initiated a game of poker while the women tossed salads and clucked about life’s minor difficulties behind the
kitchen’s screen doors. I have little interest in gossip and poker is a game I feel I’ve mastered, so took myself away from both groups and sat on an old swing set just behind the dying
coals of the barbeque. Bananas wrapped in foil gently softened over the hot ash as a slight chill began to play like a xylophone across the amber glow of early evening. In nothing more than a bid
to appear at least partially occupied I picked a piece of wood from the ground and with my pocket knife began to smooth its edges until it seemed manmade. It wasn’t that I was avoiding
people. I was thrilled simply to be surrounded, yet felt overwhelmed somewhat by my sudden thrust into a social life, and further perturbed by the ellipsis and elision that inevitably occurs
between a longstanding clique, people with pasts, people with histories, people with lives that have interlocked and overlapped and acted as both witness and jury to each other at one point or
another. I have never had this luxury. And as such am not entirely sure how to go about achieving it. I guess I’ve left it too late. Though maybe all is not lost. You and I seemed to lock
into one another’s existence at a time when most people were as established in their roles as ever they would be. But then again we had an incentive; that catalyst of a scheme which at least
broke the ice and marked us out as ripe for company. Real life’s trickier, I have found. And when faced with individuals I seem to spend so long deconstructing character and intentions that I
inevitably miss the most obvious inroad and am forever resigned to acquaintance at best. This is tenfold when faced with large, established groups. So I take the loner’s preferred method;
separate myself entirely then wonder why it is I never seem to be the one holding court.
    As I pushed the edge of the knife across the length of the wood,