Turning Eighteen, Part Three

Mr. Mendes wasn’t happy when he found out how I left my house. He had asked me how my Mom felt about me leaving and I had shrugged and said that I had no idea. I explained how I had just gotten up, packed and walked out the door, tossing my house keys into the mailbox as I left.By now we were standing in his kitchen. He’d been explaining kosher rules. I didn’t think he was religious enough to keep kosher, but I guess you can’t tell. I’d even eaten at his house before, but I didn’t realize that there was anything special about the food or the plates.But now I’d be cooking here too, so I had to learn the rules. They weren’t as complicated as you might think. In fact, I was looking forward to them. It’d be a challenge to come up with creative meals within the system.The truth is that I liked having rules to work with--as long as I understood them. And Mr. Mendes was good at giving me rules that made sense to me.I started thinking about the meals I would prepare. The cooking classes I took in high school were the only classes I really loved. I’ve been cooking ever since. In fact, I work as a cook in a diner now. I started as a busboy two years ago, but they’ve finally put me in the kitchen. Now that I’m eighteen they’re going to stick me with the graveyard shift--eleven at night till eight in the morning--but that’s ok.Mr. Mendes interrupted my thoughts by asking about my Mom. That’s when I told him how I’d just left without a word.He folded his arms across his chest. “You don’t think you owe your Mom some kind of explanation?” he asked. “What if there was an emergency? She won’t know how to contact you.”I glared at him, annoyed that he would criticize me for the way I left. What the fuck right did he have to get into my family business?“Look,” I said, “my Mom’s a bitch. She’s made my life hell for eighteen years. Why should I tell her I was leaving? She’ll figure it out. And if there’s an emergency, I don’t want to know about it. I don’t care what she does.”“Jason,” he began.“She’s kicked me out herself before,” I spat, cutting him off. “I spent three days sleeping in the park once.”Mr. Mendes sighed and leaned back against the wall. “I wish you would have come to me then,” he said.“Why?” I demanded. “So you could get me out of my Mom’s custody and into foster care? That was the last thing I wanted.”“There might have been other options,” he said. “Jason, why don’t you just send your Mom a note letting her know where you are? Just in case.”I slammed down the pot that was in my hand. “Fuck her,” I said. “And fuck you for getting in my business!”He took that so calmly that I wanted to explode. God, I was fuming.But he ignored my anger. “You’re right,” he said. “My apologies. How you treat your mother isn’t my business.” He paused and nodded toward the cabinets. “I think you’ve got the hang of the kosher rules now. I’m going out for a walk.”He turned to leave the kitchen but I grabbed his arm. “Don’t you dare just walk out,” I said. I knew my eyes were blazing.“Take your arm off of me,” he said. He spoke softly, but I recognized the steel in his voice.I let go of his arm as my face turned bright red--not with anger now, but with humiliation. God damn it! I still couldn’t control my temper.My temper has always gotten me into trouble. I’ve lost count of the times I was suspended from school for fist fights. I lost my first job for the same reason. And I’d been brought up on assault charges during my Sophomore year for beating up one of my Mom’s boyfriends. I ended up in Juvenile Court and for a while the guy had a restraining order on me.Mr. Mendes knew about my problem. He knew about all my problems. He was a Special Ed teacher--he taught in the ‘Resource Room’ at the high school. He spent all day dealing with kids like me. I wasn’t stupid, but I had dyslexia and ‘anger management’ issues. We had another girl who was insanely smart but kept cutting herself at home. And then we had kids who were a little autistic, kids with attention deficit and other stuff like that. Mr. Mendes and the other Resource teachers had to handle all of us.“I’m sorry,” I whispered, looking away from him.“Take a deep breath and get yourself a glass of water,” he advised.I nodded and did as he said. I was facing the counter now as I drank the water down. I couldn’t bring myself to face him. But I heard him come up behind me and I felt him put a hand on my shoulder.I managed to grin as I put the glass down. “You see?“ I said, looking straight ahead so I wouldn’t have to glimpse his expression. “You should take a belt to me.”“It’s tempting,” he admitted. I could hear a slight smile in his voice.I should have cut my losses and kept my mouth shut. That would have been the smart thing to do. But I pressed my luck instead.“Why don’t you?” I asked. “I deserve it.”I heard him catch his breath at that. It took him a long time to answer me. Meanwhile I was cursing myself. How stupid am I?“Why are you here, Jason?” Mr. Mendes asked at last. “Do you want me to be a friend who gives you a place to crash? Or are you looking for a father figure?”I felt my face redden again. Neither, but how could I explain that? Jesus, could this be any more embarrassing?He must have guessed how hard it was for me to keep talking. “Just speak your mind,” he told me. “I’m not judging you and you’re not going to shock me.”“I don’t want you to think of me as a kid,” I managed. “I mean--well, now that I’m eighteen, there’s nothing to stop us from getting closer, you know? And if you want to discipline me--” I broke off and forced myself to turn and look him in the eye. “Well, that would be hot,” I finished.He had said that I wouldn’t shock him. Well, maybe that was true…but he sure seemed speechless to me.