Turning Eighteen, Part Ten

I got up in the morning before Mr. Mendes—no, before Aaron—so I decided to make breakfast for him. I kissed him on the lips, just lightly so that I wouldn’t wake him up. Then I got dressed and went downstairs.Tybalt followed me out. He’d been sleeping on his dog-bed in a corner of the room. I fed him and then took him out for a brief walk. Walking him first thing in the morning was one of my chores—Mr. Mendes and I had talked about that over dinner.The walk only took about fifteen minutes. When I got back, the dog settled down on the rug in the living room. I went back into the kitchen and pulled out the ingredients for omelets. I made sure that I had the right dishes for parve and dairy stuff, and then got to work.By the time Mr. Mendes was coming down the stairs, I had finished cooking the omelets, set the table and poured the juice and coffee. The only thing I didn’t do was fix his coffee for him. I didn’t know how he liked it yet.He stopped and stared when he reached the kitchen. “I’m usually a grouch in the morning,” he said, “but I’ll think I’ll make today an exception. This looks great!”I grinned at him. “I’m good at this stuff. How do you take your coffee?”“I don’t actually like coffee,” he said. “Not unless you put so much sugar, cream and Irish whiskey in it that it can’t really be called coffee any more. And it’s too early for that kind of drink.”I rolled my eyes at that. “How do you get your caffeine in the morning?”“Straight from Coca-Cola,” he said, smiling as he walked over to the fridge and pulled out a bottle.I smiled back as we both sat down. Then I watched him reach for the ketchup—but I grabbed his hand before he could make another move.“You’re not going to ruin my omelets with ketchup,” I said. “Especially since you haven’t even tasted them yet.”He gave me a look that said he couldn’t tell if I was serious. I gave him a look back that said I was. He put the ketchup down and studied me. It’s kind of hard to describe his expression. I think he was a little amused, but he was keeping his face straight for my sake.He was being condescending—that’s the right word.Up till that moment, we’d both been all smiles. But I don’t know what happened to me. I had this knot of anger in me that exploded. I smashed my hand into my coffee cup, knocking the cup over and sending the coffee flying. Then I stormed out of the kitchen.I stopped when I reached the foyer. What the fuck was I doing? And what the fuck was I angry about?I remembered a time in his class, back when I was a freshman, when I got angry at something—something I don’t even remember now. I knocked my desk over and stormed out of the classroom. It was either that or punch another student out.I remember walking down the hall and stopping to turn toward the wall and bang my fists against it. God, I was frustrated.Before I knew it, Mr. Mendes was standing behind me. I stared at the wall as I waited for him to send me to the principal’s office. I was going to get suspended again. Not that I cared.But he didn’t send me there. He leaned sideways against the wall instead, facing me, and gave me a half smile. “Did you get that out of your system?” he asked.I shrugged. “I guess so.”“Do you want to pretend it didn’t happen?” he continued.I turned my head to look at him. “Yeah,” I said.He nodded. “Ok. Come on; let’s go back.”That’s the thing about Mr. Mendes. No matter how angry I got, he never lost his temper with me. Yeah, there were times when I could tell that I had aggravated him—but he always kept his cool.I kept thinking about that time as I stood there in the foyer. Then I turned around and walked back into the kitchen.Mr. Mendes was cleaning up the coffee. I walked over to help him.“Did—did the coffee hit you?” I asked.“No,” he answered, shaking his head.I gave him a half smile—the same one he had given me back when I was a freshman who had just knocked over a desk and stormed out of the room. “Can we pretend this didn’t happen?”He grinned. I think he must have remembered that time too. “Yeah,” he said.I nodded and went back to cleaning up. Then we sat down to eat breakfast. He smiled at me as he cut into his omelet and tasted it.“This is excellent,” he said. “Even without the ketchup.”This time I laughed. “Put as much ketchup on it as you fucking want,” I said. “I just wanted you to taste it first.”He laughed too. It was a good moment. And after that breakfast went pretty well. But I had ruined something for myself—I had destroyed all the good I’d done by fixing breakfast and walking the dog.I had really wanted Mr. Mendes to spank me again this morning. I kept imagining myself back over his knee while he lectured me and brought his hand down. And then I pictured us running into the city to try out paddles at one of those kinky shops in the Village. But I didn’t think that was going to happen now.But what the hell—it was worth a shot. “I don’t suppose you’re going to spank me for being all mature when I came back in here?”He looked up at me and shook his head. “’Fraid not,” he said. “But tell you what—if you can keep your temper under control while my sister is here, I’ll make it worth your while.”“I can do that,” I promised.“Don’t be too sure—she can be provoking,” he told me. “Remember, she says exactly what’s in her head. This’ll be a challenge.”That sucked. I wasn’t worried that I’d hit her or anything—I’d never hit a girl—but I might take my anger out on dishes or furniture.But I shrugged that off and went back to my food. I stopped chewing, though, as I thought of something else.“Do you want me to go back into therapy?” I asked.I used to have to go to therapy—the school made me. And they paid for it. But I hadn’t been since I dropped out. It just occurred to me that Mr. Mendes might think it was a good idea for me to go back. He’s the optimistic type. He thinks therapy really works.No, that wasn’t fair. He’d told me before that he thought it worked sometimes. It depended on the particular person and the particular therapist.He smiled again. “Jason, you’re a grown man. You have to decide for yourself if you want therapy. If you do want it, and there’s a question of money, I’ll help you out. But the choice is yours.”“I know it’s my choice,” I said, annoyed. Ok, I didn’t really think of it as my choice—I mean, I was living under his roof now. But I could pretend that I thought it was up to me. “I just want to know what you think.”He shook his head. “I’m not going to express an opinion.”I rolled my eyes at him. “The thing is—I don’t want them prescribing drugs. I don’t trust drugs. And I don’t want to talk about the fact that I like getting spanked.”“I’m sure you can make it clear that you won’t take drugs,” he said. “And it’s up to you whether you bring up spanking or not.”I thought about that. “Yeah,” I said. “That’s true. I guess they don’t need to know what turns me on. But what if I don’t like the person?”He shrugged. “Then you try someone else. The school isn’t sending you to a particular psychologist anymore, Jason. You get to decide for yourself now.”I hadn’t thought about it that way. “I guess that’s true,” I said. “You don’t need to help me pay for it—I have enough money. But how do I find someone?”He reached across the table and took hold of my hand. “Give it some more thought and make sure it’s what you want to do,” he advised. “If it is, then we’ll ask around for recommendations, ok?”I nodded. He was serious about this being up to me. Suddenly I felt more mature. “Ok,” I said.I squeezed his hand and then went back to my breakfast. Everything would go ok now—as long as I could survive his sister.