The Crossover

Mom calls me into the kitchen

after we get home from beating

St. Francis. Normally she wants

me to sample the macaroni and cheese

to make sure it’s cheesy enough,

or the oven-baked fried chicken

to make sure it’s not greasy and

stuff, but today on the table

is some gross-looking

orange creamy dip with brown specks in it.

A tray of pita-bread triangles is beside it.

Maybe Mom is having one of

her book club meetings.

Sit down, she says. I sit as far

away from the dip as possible.

Maybe the chicken is in the oven.

Where is your brother? she asks.

Probably on the phone with that girl.

She hands me a pita.

No thanks, I say, then stand up

to leave, but she gives me a look

that tells me she’s not finished

with me. Maybe the mac is in the oven.

We’ve talked to you two about

your grandfather, she says.

He was a good man. I’m sorry you never got to meet him, Josh.

Me too, he looked cool in his uniforms.

That man was way past cool.

Dad said he used to curse

a lot and talk about the war.

Mom’s laugh is short, then she’s serious again.

I know we told

you Grandpop died after a fall, but

the truth is he fell because he had a stroke.

He had a heart disease. Too

many years of bad eating and not taking

care of himself and so—

What does this have

to do with anything? I ask,

even though I think I already know.

Well, our family has a history

of heart problems, she says,

so we’re going to start eating better.

Especially Dad. And we’re going to

start tonight with

some hummus and

pita bread.

FOR MY VICTORY DINNER?

Josh, we’re going to try to lay off the fried foods

and Golden Dragon. And when your dad

takes you to the recreation center,

no Pollard’s or Krispy Kreme afterward, understand?

And I understand more than she thinks I do.

But is hummus really the answer?