UnBound Read Free

isn’t dark in the dining room; it’s just that outside it’s still light, and his father’s eyes haven’t adjusted to being indoors, but Mr. Nelson is not a man who suffers contradiction easily—especially when he’s tired, and he looks exceptionally tired today. So Jasper just turns on more lights, wondering if he’ll get a lecture later that night about wasting electricity. You’ll bankrupt us with utility bills, and then what?
    His father loves to lecture, and the angrier he is, the longer the lecture goes. Only once did he become physically violent with Jasper. Jasper had gotten suspended for cursing at a math teacher who deserved it, and that night his father blew like a volcano, throwing Jasper hard enough to crack the drywall. Then his father cried and begged forgiveness. Jasper knew this type of thing is rarely a one-time occurrence. In most cases it becomes a pattern—as it is for several of his friends, whose high-stress parents see their kids as the only available pressure valve. But it won’t become a pattern if Jasper never gives his father a reason to hit him again. Or at least not until he’s escaped to a place of safety. Where kids protect each other.
    At dinner his father will often complain about the state of the world or the morons in his office. He still goes off on diatribes about the teen “terror march” on Washington, long after it ended. Maybe because Jasper once commented that he would have liked to have seen it. But tonight his father doesn’t voice any opinions at dinner. He doesn’t complain about work or about traffic or about anything. Jasper noticed he seemed tired, but it’s more than that. He’s quiet, distracted, and noticeably pale.
    His mother doesn’t say anything. Instead she leaves his father’s medication on the counter, just in case he might forget to take it. Jasper can’t stand a dinner table where the only sounds are the scraping of silverware on china. Even a lecture would be better than that. If no one will say anything, he has to.
    â€œIs it your heart, Dad?” he asks. There are times he wishes his father would just keel over and die, but when that actually seems like a possibility, Jasper hates himself for thinking that and gets terrified that it might actually happen.
    â€œI’m fine,” his father says, as Jasper knew he would—but now the door’s been opened for discussion, and his mom takes over.
    â€œMaybe you should get in to see the doctor.”
    â€œIt’s indigestion,” his father says, a bit louder. “I’m not an idiot; I can tell the difference.”
    Jasper scrapes himself a forkful of peas and speaks without looking up at him. “Indigestion doesn’t make your lips turn blue.”
    His father puts down his silverware with a clatter. “What is this, the Inquisition?”
    No one says anything for a few moments. Jasper counts peas on his plate. He ponders how to dissect his steak to get the most meat off the bone. He waits to see which direction his father’s mind will go. His father does get cyanotic from time to time. Low blood oxygen. He’s already had two heart attacks. He’s slimmed down and exercises more but refuses to change his eating habits. The doctors say he’ll need a new heart eventually. Which, to his father, is like saying he’ll eventually have to clean the garage.
    â€œFine,” he finally says. “I’ll go in tomorrow and get checked out if that will make you both happy.”
    Jasper silently sighs with relief. He knows before the end of the week he’ll be hoping his father drops dead again—but not until he comes home with a clean bill of health.
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    They change the dosage of his father’s meds, tell him he has to stop eating red meat, and put him on some nebulous transplant waiting list. His lips aren’t cyanotic anymore, and for