Javin headed home, carrying his backpack over one shoulder, kicking an empty soda can. School wasn't too bad, he supposed, but it hurt to hear the other kids talk about their parents.
He hated, more than anything, watching the fathers at the games. His father was in prison, for murder; a drug deal gone bad, he'd explained in a letter. The other boys had fathers, he had letters.
At least Jenny understood; her own father had gone to prison for a while, attacking the man who'd hurt her. "It was a small town, Dad knew where they'd arraign him. From what I heard there wasn't much left."
Jenny'd lost her Dad; so had he. She had her father back, but Javin would never see his father free again. He'd gotten life. His mother had overdosed a few months later and he'd gone to live with Pop.
Javin had found her body. He'd never forget the sight of her stiff limbs and dead, glazed, eyes. He shuddered. He'd never take drugs; they'd killed his mother and might as well have killed his father.
Javin was a medium skinned young black man, twelve years old, developing a nice set of muscles, he thought. Jenny wouldn't let him use the weights yet but they did callistenics.
"People are going to think I'm a pervert" she'd said bluntly, blowing her hair out of her face. "Your Pops is OK with this?" She'd waved a hand at herself and her house as they stood out back. "I'm not so good with the social rules and all but I wonder what people might think."
Pops had come over in his wheelchair and asked her questions, mainly about Jesus, Javin mused. He must have been happy with the answers because he told them both Javin could come over. "As long as it's OK with you" Pops had clarified. "Don't be a pest."
Pops wasn't afraid of the belt, no matter what people said, and Javin respected his rules. Jenny had told him she had bad times; but he was still welcome. He'd just have to understand she wasn't the same Jenny.
He'd wanted to hug her, but didn't. Miss Jenny was everything he'd wanted in a parent. She said she was different, but Javin figured she was in all the right ways. She didn't judge him by his skin, even after that other black guy had robbed her at the bus stop. His fists clenched.
When she found out he had bipolar disorder too, she'd cried, then begged him to take his medications as directed. Javin had shared his fears of addiction and she'd showed him her medication.
"Do you think I'm a junkie?" she'd asked teasingly.
Heck, no.
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