a work in progress

Chapter 10 - Meet the Press

"You've called."

"Jackson?"

"Yes, younger sister?"

"Who answers the phone like that? It's obvious I called."

"Did you call to nag?"

"No actually I called to talk to dad, so can you?"

"I suppose."

There were times when Jackson and I spoke that I knew we were made of the same genetic gunk. Then there were others, when I was certain that one of us was nothing of my mother and father. Which one it was is debatable.

"Ciao."

"JJ?"

"Yeah. MC, where've ya been? You're like a ghost. You missed my last game. I scored the winning goal – diving header for the win. They never saw it coming."

"JJ?"

"I'm getting so much better. Hey you wanna help me go to the camp at Indiana?"

"Jamal Joaquin?"

"Seriously?" he asked annoyed.

"Sorry, I just wanted to get your attention. Why are you talking to me? Wait...no...that didn't come out right."

"It came out right," JJ answered still huffy.

"No, I'm serious. I meant, I asked Jack to put papí on the phone, so I wasn't expecting to hear your voice. I really do love speaking with you JJ. And you're right; I haven't been around like I should."

Frightened by his silence, I continue. "And, I don't know what a diving header is, but I know it's amazing and really hard to do. I don't know what I can do with the soccer camp, but that's not because I don't support, it's, it's, it's, because..."

"It's okay, MC. It's okay. I'll go get dad," he grumbles deflated.

"Are you sure? I'm serious. I love you bud. I just put my big foot in my mouth and you know....this happens."

"MC, I'm serious too. I'm fine. You're fine. We're fine. I'll get dad."

"Love you."

"Quit being weird."

I never knew what to say with JJ. Even though Jackson and I fought incessantly, somewhere in our fighting we were actually having a quality conversation. With JJ I constantly said the wrong things and I always knew like he felt like I ignored him.

"Mi'ja?"

"Hi papí. How are you?"

"I'm doing well. How are you?"

"I'm fine."

"What's the matter?"

"Is it that obvious?" I asked confused as to how he always knew when I had something specific I wanted to talk to him about.

"I'm waiting."

"Well, I just have a question for you."

"Yes?" with continued quick responses to shorten my diffidence.

"Okay. What if..."

"No, what-ifs. Tell me Noe, what is?"

"Daddy, I feel so much pressure. You're making me nervous."

"How am I making you nervous?" he asked affronted. "Don't be nervous. Just tell me your story rather than another plausible story. This way I can help you instead of offer advice to a hypothetical young lady."