Posts Tagged ‘ #jamesonsmith ’

The “Talk”.

Hey all. Just a quick peek at something I’ve been working on when I’m not slaving at Home Depot. Please give a read and enjoy when you can.

***
“Now, son,” began Tony Smith, glancing around the room awkwardly.

 

Jameson stared at him for a moment. “Yes—Dad.”

“Jameson—my son—the time has come—” Tony coughed nervously, and looked up at the ceiling, before beginning again. “Jameson—your mother and I have noticed some—changes in your lifestyle.” He bit his lip, and then stared at his feet. “For example—well, like—”

 

“You have friends,” noted Martha Smith bluntly.

 

“—Which is a good thing,” appended Tony hastily. “A very good thing. In some ways. However, the sheer—amount of changes in your lifestyle causes us to wonder if you have had—certain other changes. Now—Jameson—at your age, change is normal. But sometimes—some changes indicate—things.” Toshiro looked his son in the eyes, desperation obvious on his face. “You do get what I mean, don’t you?”

Jameson blinked. “I believe so, and trust me—there’s no need to talk to me about puberty. I’ve experienced its deforming touch.”

Tony stared at his son quietly for a moment, then glanced at his chuckling wife. “This isn’t funny, Martha.”

Martha snorted. “You’re right—it’s actually hilarious.”

Tony’s eyes narrowed. “You know, you’re the one who wanted to have this talk…”

“Yeah, yeah…” said Martha in forced repentance. “I would have been just as happy not to have this talk.”

“I know, I know.”

“In fact, if you’re going to act like this, I’ll just leave, and we won’t have the talk.”

“No, no—I’m cool.”

“So can we get back to it?”

“Go ahead. No one’s stopping you.” The couple suddenly winced at the sound of a rap on the table. They glanced up at their son, who nervously glanced at his hand, which was resting uneasily atop the tabletop.

“Flies,” said Jameson apologetically.

Tony coughed, then looked earnestly at his son. “Now, Jameson—are—have you ever—do you—”

Martha groaned to herself, then turned to Jameson. “Yo, son. Are you downing any reds?”

Jameson blinked. “Say what?”

“Doing any snow? Horse? Weed? Crystal? Bennies? Downers? Acid? Angel Dust? Anything like that at all?”

Jameson’s hand slapped several times against the table. “Boy, lot of pesky insects around, aren’t there?”

Martha frowned. “Not really. Now, answer the question?”

Jameson laughed nervously. “Ahh, yes. The question. The important question.” He coughed. “Could I—get a translation? A version of it that makes sense?”

“Are you doing drugs?” said Martha bluntly.

“No,” answered Jameson with a reassured nod.

“Because if you are, we don’t necessarily look down on that,” she finished.

“What?” said Jameson blankly, his clenched fist nervously slamming into the table.

“I think what your mother’s trying to say is that she and I feel that certain substances declared dangerous by the government have legitimate recreational uses,” explained Tony.

“Damn straight,” agreed Martha. “And as long as you use them responsibly and in moderation, we have nothing against you using those substances,” continued Tony.

“Also, make sure you’re dealing with reputable dealers,” added Martha. “Some of these guys are rip­off artists, and others are just animals.”

Jameson nodded, nervously, rubbing his hand. “It’s—nice to know you’re concerned.” He began to knock on the table again.

Martha pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket. “Actually, I’ve got a list of ones you can trust with me…”

Jameson began to inch his chair away. “I’m really not interested.” He smiled broadly. “Thanks for the offer.” He swatted the table. “You sure?” his mother asked. “Because I can assure you these are men and women you can trust. Actually, some might be willing to give you a discount if you mention my name…”

Jameson’s rapping took on a frantic edge. “I’m still going to pass, mom.” “I think we should respect Jameson’s wishes on this one,” said Toshiro quietly.

Martha frowned. “But Tony! You know I don’t want my baby burning out his soul and endangering his health with unsafe, inferior products!”

Tony took a deep breath. “I knew this was going to wind up like this…” “Oh, like your ‘touchy­feely’ approach was getting us anywhere.”

Martha glared at her husband. “We could have been talking for the next seven years the rate you were going.”

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