Orange Julius

I remember my first Orange Julius. It was the day I met my father. Mama took me to the mall outside of town and we sat at a veneer table at the edge of the food court. I remember the giant dome ceiling in the center of the mall towering over everything. It echoed the sounds around it, scattering the chatter like pinecones spinning off a schoolyard merry-go-round. I was amazed I could hear Madonna’s ‘Papa Don’t Preach” playing in the Sam Goody on the other side of the mall. Mama said it was a ‘whispering gallery’.

My older sister Jenny was just 24 and managed the Orange Julius store by herself. Mama said Jenny grew up fast and could manage anything she meant to. She brought us our drinks and sat a minute before returning to the counter.

I was Mama’s ‘happy little surprise’. She always wanted a boy, but a single mother in our small town was ‘loved with judgement’ Mama said. She moved herself and Jenny to the city before I was born. We only moved back to town when I was ready for kindergarten. 

As we sipped the sweet orange froth, a man stopped by.  He seemed to know Mama and they chatted pleasantly.  I paid him no mind until he sat down in Jenny’s chair.

“John,” Mama said to me. “This is my friend Sam.”

“It’s nice to meet you, John.” The man smiled brightly and extended his hand. I took it and he squeezed mine extra long. I looked at Mama.

“Sam is a friend.” She said sweetly. “I wanted him to meet you.”

Sam released my hand and I gripped my cold cup again.

My sister returned with a tray of hotdogs. “Mama, what the hell?” Jenny said.

“John needs him in his life.”

Sam focussed his blue eyes on mine. “I used to teach science to your mother in highschool,” he said. 

He didn’t look older than Mama, I thought. I looked at her again. Mama simply smiled. 

“Did you know that?” he said brightly.

Jenny stiffened.  “Can I speak to you, Mr. Spivey?” she hissed.  

He stood, tousled my hair, and followed my sister to the far side of the rotunda.

I watched as Jenny crossed her arms. Their words carried across the chasm as if they were standing next to us.

“He’s not your son,” Jenny said. 

“Of course he is. He looks just like me!. Christsake!  You were a virgin when we . . .” His words retreated from his lips, refusing the light of day.

No! He’s NOT your son because he has NO father! He has me. You weren’t there.”

“You know I couldn’t. They would have crucified -”

“They should have!” She seethed.

Her whispered words rippled along the curved dome and fell down on me and Mama hard as pinecones. The dregs of the Orange Julius gurgled in the straw as I sucked in the last of its sweetness.