Jazz Moon by Joe Okonkwo Page B

chores,” Ben said.
    Willful chuckled. “My ma gives me chores all the time. If I don’t feel like it, I don’t do ’em.”
    Ben already knew that. Tales of Willful’s laziness were legion. The Hutchison women ploughed, planted, and harvested while Willful did little or nothing. “I would’a kicked his freeloadin’ ass out the house a long time ago and not thought twice,” Ben’s ma once said. But six colored women alone—five of them budding young girls—needed a man’s presence to avert catastrophe.
    Willful kept chuckling, as if obeying a parent was the dumbest thing he’d ever heard. Ben retaliated with the best defense he could think of.
    â€œThe Bible say you gotta mind your ma and pa.”
    â€œThe Bible say a lot of things. Don’t mean you gotta believe any of ’em. What’s in that crate?”
    The blasphemy sauntered off Willful’s tongue as casually as spit. Horrified, it took Ben a moment to remember why he’d come.
    â€œClothes for your sisters. My ma sent ’em over. Miz Hutchison around?”
    Willful eased toward him. “She and them gals is over to the church, helpin’ Reverend Ledger with . . . something. Anything in there for me?”
    â€œNo.”
    He was in front of Ben now. He punched him softly, playfully, on the arm. “Why not?”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    Willful punched him again. “You don’t know?” Punch . “You don’t know?” Punch . “Why don’t you know?” Punch - punch-punch.
    â€œI don’t know.”
    A giggle spurted out of Ben and once he started, he couldn’t stop.
    â€œThat’s what I thought,” Willful said. “Got me a boy in here don’t know nothin’ . That’s what I’m gone call you: Know-nothin’. ’Cause you don’t know nothin’!”
    The punching transitioned to tickling. It felt good to be teased, touched, paid attention to. Willful smiled like a prankish adult savoring his fun with a delighted child. The tickling stopped, but the smile remained. He touched Ben’s cheek, skimmed his thumb along his neck, under his chin, along his Adam’s apple.
    â€œI’m glad you here. I don’t got nobody to talk to most times,” Willful said.
    â€œYou got your ma. Your sisters.”
    Willful snorted. “A bunch of jibber-jabbering women. Please. It’s hard when you ain’t got nobody to talk to.”
    Ben understood loneliness. He had no one to tease or coddle him. All he had were a ma who snarled orders, a pa who said nothing, and four dead siblings.
    Willful placed both his hands on Ben’s shoulders. “You a good boy. That’s nice.”
    Ben looked up into the older boy’s eyes. The sin at the pond wasted away. He just wanted Willful to keep touching him.
    But Willful stepped away. “You best be gettin’ back home. Your ma and pa be waitin’ for you, wonderin’ what’s takin’ you so long. Don’t want you gettin’ in no trouble. Go on home now.”
    Ben hesitated, then went to the door, stopped. He didn’t want to leave. The desire to hug Willful, to be hugged, crushed him. He turned around. And when Willful spread his arms, Ben ran straight into them. Willful hugged him tight, tight, tight, grasping his head to his chest as Ben wept.
    â€œShh,” Willful whispered, and kissed his forehead. “Shh.”
    He didn’t know how long they stayed locked in that hug. He didn’t care. This was the first affection he could remember in a long time and he basked in it. It felt so good, losing himself in Willful’s chest, those arms secured around him. He had started to flit into something like unconsciousness when Willful pulled away, gently.
    â€œYou best be gettin’ home, Know-nothin’. We’ll see each other again. I promise.”
    Â 
    â€œRefill? Sir?