A Wish for Mr. Javenson

            by Jennifer Cain

 

It was a quarter-to-one and Joey was watching TV while munching on potato chips and sipping one of his mother’s beers.  He heard the car pull up outside and his mother holler, “Bye honey bunches,” in a shrill girlish voice, as the car honked and her boyfriend Stewart drove away.  She came in, stopping to look at herself in the hall mirror before flipping off the ancient TV set.  “Well, Mister, I have good news for you.”

“What?” Joey said, still staring ahead at the black screen as if he expected it to turn on again at any second.

“I’ve found you a job.”  Joey looked up from under his dark eyebrows.  His mother stood, still dressed in her clothes from the diner, with bright red lipstick smeared at the corners of her mouth and smudges of mascara beneath her eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she said picking up the nearest pillow and swatting it towards Joey’s face.  He ducked out of the way.

“A job?”

“Yes, Mister, a j-o-b.”

“What kinda job?” Joey said as he snatched the remote from her painted red fingertips and turned the TV back on.

“You’ll be helping Mr. Javenson redecorate.”

“What?” Joey said as his brows knotted up in confusion.  “Who the hell is Mr. Javenson and what the fuck do you mean by redecorate?”

“Don’t use that kind of language in my house.”  Ms. Taylor glared down at her lanky sixteen year old son, sprawled across the sagging couch in a stained white T-shirt and frayed jeans.  “I met Mr. Javenson in church.  You’d know if you came.”

Joey chuckled and shook his head.  His mother only went to church so that she could believe she was a good person.

“That’s mine,”  Ms. Taylor said, reaching for the beer bottle.  Joey made a grab for it as she tried to snatch it off the end table, causing the drink to topple over.  “Damn it!” Ms. Taylor cursed.  “You better clean that up.”

“It’s your fault,” Joey said matter-of-factly, still staring blankly ahead. “This damn thing never works.”  He heaved himself off the couch and adjusted the crooked bunny ears.  “Why don’t you get your great boyfriend to buy us a new one?”

Ms. Taylor narrowed her eyes.  “I’ll wake you up before I leave for the diner tomorrow,” she said between her teeth. “I told Mr. Javenson you’d be there by eight, and you’d better do a good job, Mister.  I don’t want any screw-ups this time.”  She stalked out of the room, and Joey heard her high heels clicking on the linoleum kitchen floor.

Neither of them cleaned up the beer.  It settled into the rug, forming yet another stain.

 

 

            Joey pedaled past the squat brick house a second time, scowling and squinting at it out of the corner of his eye as he whizzed past the decaying lawn.  He knew the real reason his mother had gotten him this job.  She said it was to get him out of the house, to motivate him.  Just like the times before, she claimed it was for his own good.  He could hear her lecturing him inside his head, “I don’t want you turning out like your father.  I’m giving you the opportunity to make something of yourself.”  He pedaled faster, legs burning, as he circled the block.  But it was really to keep him from getting into trouble while she was at work, so she could get him off her back and have a little extra cash in her pocket, so she could spend more time with Stewart. 

            Most of the houses were flawlessly painted and perfectly pruned.  He saw grand pianos and marble chess sets as he rode past the giant windows.  But he had to work in the dingy dump of the neighborhood.  His mother had said he would be redecorating.  It would probably be easier if they just tore the damn shack down and started all over.

            Joey hopped off his bike and let it fall sideways onto the lawn, instead of leaning it against the side of the house.  It had been a gift from one of his mom’s numerous former boyfriends - some rich guy with wavy blond curls that his mother couldn’t seem to get enough of.  By now it was way too small, chipped and dented.  He rang the doorbell and paced back and forth on the landing.  “Come on,” Joey muttered, ringing the doorbell again.  He counted to twenty, rang the doorbell once more, and was just about to leave when a man in a burgundy polo and blue jeans pulled it open. 

            “Sorry,” he said, running his hand through the two tufts of black-grey hair that remained on the sides of his head.  “You must be Ellen’s son, Joey.”  Joey hadn’t known his mother was on a first name basis with Mr. Javenson, though he didn’t know why it surprised him.  “Come on in.”

            Joey held his breath, preparing for the worst, as he stepped inside.  The hallway was covered in yellowish wallpaper, but on the whole the interior wasn’t as bad as he had expected.  It was spacious, far larger than his own duplex.  Some buckets of paint sat idly in the living room, where the furniture was covered in plastic sheets.  “Care for a drink?”  Mr. Javenson called back as he headed into the kitchen. 

            “No,” Joey said absentmindedly, glancing up the stairway. 

            “Well, I’m parched,” Mr. Javenson said as he returned holding two glasses of lemonade.  “You sure you don’t want one after that long bike ride?”

            “I guess I’ll have some,” Joey said, reaching for the glass.

            “Cheers,”  Mr. Javenson said.  Joey took a sip and let the cool citrus run down his throat.

 

Ms. Taylor bought Joey a large red alarm clock at a garage sale and set it for six am.  Each morning Joey scowled at his mother over his bowl of Cheerios before biking to Mr. Javenson’s.  If Stewart was over for dinner Joey would bring his Mac-and-Cheese to his room, making a point not to respond to his mother’s question of “How was your day?” with anything other than “Whadaya think?  I like working my ass off while you stay home and play?”  He smirked at his mother’s look of irritation as he slammed his bedroom door behind him.

 

            Mr. Javenson wanted to repaint the downstairs and plant a garden outside.  They started in the living room, for which Mr. Javenson had chosen a pale lavender, his wife’s favorite color.  While they painted Mr. Javenson played classical music on the radio.  For this Joey was grateful because it meant he didn’t have to worry about making conversation.  The way he saw it, the less talking there was, the more quickly things would get done, and the sooner he could leave.  “Not used to this kind of music are you?”  Mr. Javenson asked, raising his eyebrows.

            “I guess not,” Joey said gruffly.

            “Well,” Mr. Javenson put down his paint roller and walked over to where Joey was stroking his brush back and forth across the wall, “What do you think it’s saying?”

Joey tried to mask his look of incredulity. “How should I know?”

“Just listen.”  Mr. Javenson waved his hands in the air like a conductor and waltzed around the room.  “This one’s an allegro.  Fast, energetic.”  The piece came to an end and a slower one came on.  “And here’s an adagio,” he said, twirling back to Joey.  “Calm, peaceful, lucid.  Which do you prefer, my friend?”

Joey listened as the stiffness that tensed his jaw and shoulders relaxed.  “This one’s fine,” he said, just wanting to get back to work.

“The legato.  It makes you want to sleep doesn’t it?”  Mr. Javenson lay down on the carpeted floor and closed his eyes.  Joey noticed the exhaustion that creased his face and his thinning hair.  “Come on down.  It’s time for a break anyways.”  Joey waited, hoping Mr. Javenson wasn’t serious.  “Come on down.”  When Mr. Javenson didn’t get up Joey sighed and knelt down, thinking how ridiculous this was.  He closed his eyes and let the notes wash over him, surrounded by the smell of paint. 

           

            By July Joey had grown used to the buzzing of the alarm clock, and had begun to enjoy the ride over to Mr. Javenson’s in the crisp morning air.  There was something satisfying about seeing the walls transform from peeling yellow wallpaper to shades of lavender, cream, and Caribbean breeze.  They always took a break at noon, when the sun was at the highest point in the sky and the humid air saturated with moisture, for tuna sandwiches and lemonade.  Long after Mr. Javenson had drained his cup and Joey had cleaned his plate of crumbs, they would sit in the shade of the broad green porch umbrella, sucking on the ice from their lemonades.   Joey would watch the clouds shifting slowly above as he listened to Mr. Javenson read from his book of poetry or reminisce about his childhood.

            “And that’s when we realized Harry was a girl.”  Joey smiled at a chuckling Mr. Javenson, who had just finished recounting the time his cat Harry had had kittens.  “But that’s enough about me.  What about you?  What do you like doing in school, Joey?  What would you rather be doing with your summer?” 

            Joey sat up in his chair and looked down at the creases in his palms.  “I don’t know.  I mean,” he paused and looked up at Mr. Javenson, who was gazing intently at him.  “I guess I’m not really into the whole school thing.”

            Mr. Javenson smiled.  “Who is?”  Joey laughed despite the sinking feeling in his stomach.  There were plenty of bright students.  He just wasn’t one of them.  “Do you have a favorite teacher?  Class?”

            “English I guess.”  Joey thought about his red-headed English teacher.  She had just graduated from a college in Boston, and still looked more like the girls pictured in magazines than his other wrinkled teachers in horn-rimmed glasses.

            “Oh, you enjoy reading?  I think I might have some books you’d like.”  Mr. Javenson got up, motioning for Joey to follow him.  Joey grimaced as he followed Mr. Javenson inside.  What had he gotten himself into?  He hadn’t finished a single book they had read in class that year.

 

Joey was grateful that he had somewhere to escape from his mother’s giggles and pestering questions other than the local mall, where he wasn’t cool enough to hang out with the jocks or approach the girls in mini-skirts, but didn’t want to be seen with the pimply kid from his science class, either.  Despite his mother’s recent complaints that Joey wasn’t spending enough “quality” time with her and Stewart, he would often stay at Mr. Javenson’s for dinner rather than returning home.  His mother had never wanted to play “family” board games or eat dinner “all together” before, so why should he have to now?

            “What did you do before retiring?”  Joey asked as he bit into one of the burgers Mr. Javenson had prepared.

            “Oh, I was a doctor,” Mr. Javenson said with a sad smile. 

            Joey sensed an awkward pause and cleared his throat.

            “I never see your wife around much.  Does she still work?”

            Mr. Javenson’s face remained grave for a moment before his lips parted in a small smile.  “She’s the one I promised to make this house into a home for, and that’s exactly what we’re going to do, my boy.”  Mr. Javenson grunted as he stood up and walked over to the sink where he selected pills from various orange bottles and swallowed them with a glass of water.

“It must suck having allergies,” Joey said.

            Mr. Javenson glanced at him over his shoulder.  “Come on, I have something to show you.”

            Joey followed Mr. Javenson as he slowly climbed the stairs.  He realized that the two tufts of black hair that once framed Mr. Javenson’s head were now merely a few strands of grey, and he could hear Mr. Javenson’s deep breathing once they had reached the landing.  Joey could see the master bedroom and a bathroom through two open doors.  A third door remained closed, and Mr. Javenson paused, carefully placing his hand on the door-knob, before pushing it open.  Inside the walls were covered in blue and white striped wallpaper, with a duck patterned trim.  A crib was sheltered underneath a plastic cover, and boxes of unopened toys stood at the other end of the room.  Joey watched from the hallway as Mr. Javenson gazed about the room and then walked over to the crib, putting his hand on one of the dusty bars.  “Joey?”  Mr. Javenson’s eyes were filled with a seriousness he hadn’t seen before.  “What do you consider a family?” 

            Joey wasn’t sure how to respond.  “I don’t know, um, a mom, dad, kids?”  He looked back up and watched as Mr. Javenson’s eyes cleared as he smiled and shook his head.

            “I think a family is where there is more laughter than tears.  Where you can trust one another and forgive. Where you know you will always be welcomed back.”

            Joey gulped and fidgeted from side to side in the hall, not knowing what to think.

            “Why don’t you help me bring these things down to the car?  I want to take them to Goodwill.  I’m sure someone could make better use of them.”

           

By the time they had returned to Mr. Javenson’s from Goodwill the sun had begun to set, creating a pink and red smear across the darkening sky.  Joey got out of the car and headed for his bike.    

“They’re quite spectacular.”  Mr. Javenson was leaning against the side of his car and gazing at the first stars appearing overhead.

“Yeah,” Joey agreed, craning his neck.

“Remember to make a wish.”   Joey thought about all the things he had ever wished for.  At nine he had written a letter to Santa asking for a dog.  At eleven he had blown out his birthday candles asking for straight A’s.  At thirteen he had thrown a penny in a fountain asking for his mother and him to get along.  He had stopped believing in wishes, but tonight he chose a star and decided to give it one last shot.  Only, he couldn’t think of what to wish for.

“I don’t know what I want,”  Joey said, his voice filled with both confusion and surprise.

“That’s not necessarily a bad thing,” Mr. Javenson smiled. “You don’t want a ride home?  It’s a long ways.”

“No.” Joey swung one leg over the seat of his bike, still half-waiting for a wish to come to mind. “No thanks.”    

            Joey could hear his mother’s shrill laugh coming from inside as he leaned his bike against the porch.  He opened the door to find Stewart and her on the couch, feeding each other Chinese take-out as they watched TV.  His mother looked up, jaw set, and ready for another of Joey’s sly remarks.  “Hey Joseph,” Stewart said smiling. 

            “Hi,” Joey said curtly. “Can I have some of this?” He pointed to one of the cartons on the coffee table.  Ms. Taylor stared at her son, as though she were trying to figure out whether he was playing some kind of trick.

            “Course you can,” her boyfriend responded.

            Joey grabbed the box and sat down in the chair next to the couch.  He slurped on the noodles, occasionally glancing up at the TV, and listened as his mother’s cautious murmurs changed back into laughs.  Ms. Taylor said goodnight to Stewart and gave him a kiss in the doorway sometime around eleven.  She came back into the living room and stood to the side watching Joey.  After a while she came over and gently brushed his hair back from his forehead.  “Good-night Joey.”

 

            The next morning Ms. Taylor came in as Joey was pouring milk over his Cheerios.  “I have good news.”

            “What?” Joey said looking up.

            “Mr. Javenson called and said he won’t be needing your help any longer.  But, he’s still paying you for the entire summer, so don’t worry.”

            “Why?”

            “Because he promised to pay you for ten weeks of work.”

            “No, why doesn’t he want my help anymore?” 

            Ms. Taylor shrugged.  “He didn’t say.  Besides,” she said as she sat down and leaned in towards him, “I thought you didn’t like helping him anyways.”

            “I don’t,” Joey said getting up and pouring his Cheerios down the sink.

He went in his room and turned on the radio before collapsing onto his bed.  He didn’t understand why Mr. Javenson didn’t want his help anymore.  They still had to plant the entire garden.  Had he messed up? “Why do you care?” Joey said aloud, suddenly mad at himself.  “Now you can do whatever you want.  You can enjoy summer.”  He fiddled with the corner of his sheets before climbing back out of bed.

            There was nothing good on TV.  Joey paced the house, growing more and more irritated as he watched the clock on the kitchen wall ticking slowly, and more and more dizzy as he listened to the thudding music coming from his bedroom.  He was disgusted as the sun coming through the window reflected off dirty dishes and lit dusty corners.  Finally he tuned the radio to the classical station Mr. Javenson always listened to.  He cleaned out the fridge, washed all of his laundry, and then sat down to scrub the stains out of the living room rug.  By the time his mother returned he was sweaty, and the house was nearly spotless.

            Ms. Taylor’s look of exhaustion turned into one of surprise.  “What on earth have you been doing?” she said smiling and running her finger over the dusted TV top.

            “Nothing,” Joey said, and retreated into his room, closing the door and turning down the radio so that only he could hear.

 

            Joey awoke to the sound of rain splattering against his window.  He pulled back his curtains to find a dreary grey sky that matched the chain-linked fence separating his backyard from the neighbor’s.  Joey thought it must be early since his alarm clock hadn’t gone off yet before remembering that he had unplugged it the night before.  He heard his bedroom door open behind him and spun around to find his mother in the doorway.  “What?” he asked edgily, still irritated over Mr. Javenson.

            “I’m taking a day off from work.”  She paused and looked away from Joey, running her fingers up and down the door frame.  “I thought you might like to go to the pier with me.”

            “You must be crazy if you think I’m going anywhere in this weather,” Joey accused,  motioning to the window, his voice harsher than he had meant it to be.

            “Okay,” Ms. Taylor said, forcing a smile and straightening her back. “You suit your - ”

            “I’ll go if you really want me to.”

            “I said you could suit your - ”

            “I said if you really want I’ll go with you.”

            “Fine then,” Ms. Taylor looked at Joey out of the corner of her eyes.  Joey saw them twinkle and her pink mouth tighten into a smile.  “Get your ass in the car.”

            Almost all of the stands that usually lined the pier were closed because of the rain.  There were only a few fishermen in black raincoats and hats leaning idly over the railing without any real hope of a catch, but without anything better to do, either.  Joey and his mother sat in the front seats, watching the rain run down the windshield and their breath steam up the window.  “I miss this,” Ms. Taylor said as she turned and smiled at Joey.  “Just you and me.”

            “Yeah,” Joey sighed half-heartedly.

            “Hey, do you want a pretzel?” Ms. Taylor said, pointing to a stand at the far end of the pier.

            “Okay.” Joey unbuckled himself as he unlocked his door to get out.

            “Wait. I’ll get them,” she said, placing her hand on Joey’s shoulder.  Joey watched as his mother ran over to the stand in the rain.  She returned a few minutes later with two steamy pretzels in hand.  Her perfect curls were wet and astray, and she wiped the runny mascara and foundation from her face with one of the napkins.  She laughed, “I’m so ugly,” and turned to Joey. “Gosh, don’t I look old?”

            Joey looked at his mother. “You know you’re not old,” he muttered.

            “Well, I sure do look it.”

            “No you don’t,” he said, a hint of impatience creeping into his voice.

            Ms. Taylor laughed again.  “Last night Stewart -”

            “Can we not talk about Stewart?” Joey asked moodily, slouching in his seat and looking at his mother out of the corner of his eyes.

            “I was just going to say that he thinks -”

            “I don’t care what he thinks,” Joey interjected. 

Ms. Taylor continued as though she hadn’t heard him. “He thinks you’re a really sweet boy deep down, and that you’ve just built up a sort of wall around you.  He says we’ve got to spend more time together, the three of us, and that’s why he says we should be glad you don’t have to work for Mr. Javenson anymore.”

            Joey turned angrily on his mother, “I don’t give a fuck what Stewart thinks and  you were the one who got me the job in the first place!”

            “Look, let’s not get into any arguments.  I came here to tell you,” Ms. Taylor paused.  “I have this feeling that Stewart’s going to propose.” 

            “You have that feeling about everyone,” Joey said through his teeth.

            “I’m serious this time!”  Ms. Taylor beamed.  “We’re all going to be so happy Joey.  Think about it.  You even looked up to old Mr. Javenson this summer, but now you can finally have a real father!”

             “What the hell is wrong with you?  Stewart’s no father, and Mr. Javenson would have been a far better parent than you two put together.  Right when I’m beginning to think everything is going to work out, when you finally want to spend some time with me - I should have known better.  It’s always about you and your boyfriends and,” Joey trailed off and glared at his mother.  “You always ruin it!”

            “Hey you have -”

            “ I knew you didn’t want me working for him.  You probably asked him to fire me.  You asked him to, didn’t you?”

            “You didn’t even want the job!” Ms. Taylor shouted.

            Joey opened the door to get out, but Ms. Taylor grabbed onto his arm pulling him back in.  “Fine Joey.  Fine.”  She released the parking break and pressed on the accelerator.  The car jerked and skidded across the damp pavement as Ms. Taylor steered it towards the road.

 

            Joey knocked on the huge oak door.  A woman in a flowered bathrobe and curlers answered.  “Yes?”

            "Hi, um sorry to disturb you, but I was wondering if you knew when the Javensons’ll be back?” 

The woman’s eyes widened in an expression of worry and she hesitantly peered at her neighbor’s house.  “Oh, Mr. Javenson,” she said softly.

            “Yes, the Javensons,” Joey smiled, hooking his thumbs in his belt loops.

            “Mr. Javenson was taken to Oakville hospital a few days ago.”

            Joey’s heart skipped a beat.  Oakville hospital was more than four hours away.  Why hadn’t he just gone to the one here?  “What’s he sick with?  Do you know when his wife’ll be back?”

            “Oh.”  The woman drew in her breath quickly as she covered her mouth.  “Mr. Javenson has cancer.  But… but his wife left him years ago after the,” she looked around as if to see if anyone else was within earshot, “the stillborn.”  Joey stood gaping in the doorway.  “I’m so sorry.  Is there anything I can do?”  Joey barely managed to shake his head.  “I’m sorry,” she said smiling grimly and closing the door.

            A wave of nausea washed over Joey.  That explained the pills, the absent wife, the untouched toys.  Why hadn’t Mr. Javenson said he was sick?  Why hadn’t he told him about his wife and child?  Why hadn’t he said goodbye?  Joey felt his eyes burning as he fumbled down the porch steps and headed for his bike, hands shoved deep inside his pockets.

            He rode his bike to the local gardening supply store where he bought some lavenders, a given since they were Mrs. Javenson’s favorite color.  The florist helped Joey pick out some other flowers which she promised would look astonishing alongside the lavenders.  Joey didn’t care that they also happened to be the most expensive, and asked that they be delivered to his house.

Each day the next week Joey rode to Mr. Javenson’s house with two flower pots squeezed inside his bike basket.  After planting them he would lounge around the backyard, reading one of the books Mr. Javenson had suggested he read.  It was on one of these days that Joey heard the familiar rattling of his car’s engine pulling up outside.  He walked out front to find his mother unloading flower pots from the trunk.  She saw Joey and scooped two of them into her arms, walking towards him.

            “I thought I would bring these over.”  Joey reached for them but she didn’t let go.  “Joey, I’m sorry.  Hey, look at me.”  Joey lifted his eyes from the ground.  “I really am.”  Ms. Taylor looked towards the house, “It looks really nice.” 

            “Yeah,” Joey said, reaching for the pot again.  He headed over to one of the holes he had dug and placed the flower inside.

 

Joey finished both the garden and the last of the books on the same day, a week before school was to start.  No longer the dingy dump of the neighborhood, the house was just the way Mr. Javenson had told Joey it would look on the first day.  He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.  When he opened them he was looking at the nighttime sky.  “I wish for Mr. Javenson,” he whispered into the silence.  Joey climbed on his bike and rode away.