March/April 2014

He needed his own special place Jasper stared out the window of the van and thought. He thought that he would not like his new home. His friends and his father were at his real home, the home he wanted to be his. The home that used to be his. His mother and father got divorced six months ago and his mother wouldn’t let her husband take Jasper. Jasper would rather have gone with his father. His mother could not teach him to fold paper airplanes or throw a football. She could not throw a basketball or sing him his favorite lullaby. She could show him drawing techniques and read to him. Jasper did not like those things. He had shoulder-length brown hair and green eyes. Like his father. Jasper stared out the window and looked at the sea. He had everything in common with his father. His father was behind him, like his past. As a matter of fact, his best days were behind him. How would he ever get along with his mother, and how could he do it alone? Jasper looked down at his notebook. A droplet of water splashed onto one of the pages. Jasper knew where it had come from. He wiped his grimy arm across his eyes and listened to the radio. “… and it is one hundred three degrees out, humid,” the reporter said energetically. One hundred three degrees, thought Jasper. No wonder I’m sweating. “Jasper, darling,” his mother whispered, “we’re here.” They stepped out of the car and Jasper looked at his new home. It was a nice place, two stories, and painted sky blue with white shutters. There was a basketball hoop attached to the garage door and a large backyard. The beach was just down the road and there was a dock and an ice cream parlor. Jasper’s mother sent him to the beach while she sorted things out with the moving truck guy. She gave Jasper ten dollars for ice cream. Jasper walked down the road. The beach was deserted. It was too hot. First he went into the ice cream parlor and bought a cone of fudge ripple. He slung his feet over the dock and squinted into the sun. His feet made ripples in the water. Just like my ice cream, thought Jasper. His mind directed back to the move. I’ll have to make new friends, he thought. I’ll have to get along with Mom, he thought. I’ll have to be missing dad, he thought. But he knew he had to get along with Mom, because otherwise his father would be mad at him. Now he was totally confused about how to do that. When he got home, his hands sticky from the ice cream, his mother showed him his room. She bought some wooden letters and spelled JASPER over his bed. His room had a desk and a bed and a closet and a dresser and a bookcase. Like any old room. “It’s nice,” he told his mother politely. Then Jasper excused himself and went to sit in the backyard. What would he do? What he really needed was something to keep him calm, to calm him when he was upset. He needed his own special place, that had a sound that calmed him down. So the next day, he rode around the neighborhood and looked at all the places. The playground, the beach, the ice cream shop… He settled on the dock. He loved to put his feet in the water, the dock was almost always empty, and it had the sound of the sea. One day Jasper and his mother went to the beach and Jasper found a conch shell. He sent it to his father, along with a tag that said, “A gift from your boy, Jasper.” *          *          * But then one evening, Jasper had a big fight with his mother. Naturally, it was about his father. And Jasper was so angry and upset he ran out into the backyard and hugged his knees until the lights went out in his house and the stars came out. Jasper tiptoed back into his room and got ready for bed. He got in bed and closed his eyes. But the pesky burden that was sleep would not come, and Jasper could not stop his brain from squeezing into thoughts about the fight. Then he remembered his special place. He looked at his clock. It read 10:02 p.m. Pretty late, thought Jasper, but not too late. So he walked into the bathroom and put on some shorts and a T-shirt that read, “The Beach Is Cool,” then tiptoed out onto the street. His feet ruffled the water and he lay back on the dock and felt the breeze rustle his hair. For once since he moved, he felt, not exactly happy, but at peace. Not upset. He leaned his head back and thought. Then he took out a piece of paper and a pen and wrote a letter to his dad. *          *          * A week later, Jasper lay on his bed, tinkering with his broken radio until he became bored by trying to fix it. He rolled over on his back and stared at the clock. It read 11:57 a.m. Jasper would have to wait. It wasn’t happening until one o’clock. The letter had worked. Jasper was waiting on the front steps. He leaned his head back and let the breeze rustle his hair. Then secretly, he smiled, something he hadn’t done much since his parents got divorced. Jasper knew his father wouldn’t come exactly on time. He was famous in the family for being late. The times where his mother and father had laughed about that seemed ages ago. So this time, Jasper went into the house around 12:25 p.m. to have lunch. At 12:38 p.m., he came out, licking a purple Popsicle. Then he sat down on the front steps again. Around 1:15 p.m., Jasper was getting anxious. He hoped his father