JEREMY
This is the reason I don’t eat bananas.
I look at the table in front of me and wish the next five minutes were already over. Every second week since I turned fourteen, my mum makes me practice putting a condom on a banana.
It’s one thing to imagine doing that in a Sex Ed class at school, where you can smirk and talk shit about it with your friends. It’s a totally different thing to do it in front of your freaking mum.
I have to be as red as the reddest freaking fire truck. I tear the foil and hurriedly roll the condom over the spotty yellow banana skin.
Of course she likes to give me the soft mushy ones. No matter how hard it might be to get it on, that’s no reason not to use it. There’s no naked tango—never, ever—unless this thing is on. Got it?
I’d gotten it the first time she said it. The sheer mortification of having that conversation with my mum in awkward detail was enough to make me remember. But it is never enough. She needs bi-weekly proof I haven’t suddenly and magically forgotten the Golden Condom Rule.
When it’s time to take the condom off the banana, I can feel her staring, making sure I do it right. I have to hold the rim tightly and carefully slide it off, tie it in a knot and trash it in the bin.
So yeah, there is a reason I don’t eat bananas anymore. My mum just laughs and says I’ll get over it. But I’m pretty sure I’m going to be traumatized the rest of my life.
No more banana cake for me. Ever.
And if it weren’t for sweet-faced Suzy, my sort-of girlfriend, I might forego the sex part too.
Except, not really. Because although I tell my dad I don’t have any girl I like—his bi-weekly version of the How-Not-To-Get-A-Girl-Pregnant-At-Fourteen = no girlfriend at all—I do. I really like the way Suzy moves. And how she grooves. Her brown curls that bounce on her shoulders. And that plump bottom lip that she lets me suck on behind the wood workshop at school.
Her hot tongue in my ear made me jizz a little in my pants just last month. It was sticky and sort of gross, and I had to stay like that for the rest of the day, but oh God was it worth it.
At the school dance last week she’d gone further, groping me, and there was a wicked sparkle in her blue eyes that suggested maybe we go further than that . . .
Yeah, this summer is going to be awesome.
Or it will be as soon as I finish this last week of assignments and school officially ends for the year.
I wash my hands, twice, as if it will miraculously get rid of my embarrassment too.
“Oh, hon,” mum says, coming over and pulling me into a side hug, “you’re so cute when you blush. You look just like your dad did at your age.”
“Doesn’t mean I’m going to make the same mistake as he did,” I say, grabbing a dishcloth and drying my hands. Even with the apple-scented detergent we have, I still think I can smell the rubber.
I never say it, but of course I’m glad they made the mistake. It would suck not to have been born. My life is great.
I mean, my parents can really be downers sometimes. They make me do chores, finish all my homework, and read at least one book a month or they take their respective televisions away—like seriously, they unplug them and heft them to the loft—and of course there is the banana thing . . . but I have it good, too.
Like Dad lets me play video games late on Fridays and Saturdays and when I don’t have school the next day, and Mum can bake the best non-bake cheesecake ever, and she takes half of my soccer team in our van to all the competitions we have around the city and up North.
And at Dad’s it’s cool because most of the time there’s Luke and I fucking love Luke.
He likes to take Dad and me all over the place, where we have all sorts of adventures. We go on camping and kayaking trips, biking trails, and rock climbing expeditions . . . And yeah, he’s just cool. Like, I know he pays for all the stuff and pretends it doesn’t cost as much so Dad doesn’t have to worry about it. When I found out, I promised not to say a word, and I haven’t. I won’t. But it makes me like him even more.
But there’s another reason I love having two homes, two rooms, two routines . . . it means I can get away with shit.
I say to Dad that Mum says it’s okay if I go to Steven’s house to study after school on Wednesdays. I tell Mum the same thing. Dad says it’s . . .
Wednesdays are the days Suzy and I go on our sort of dates. Mostly we hang out at KFC in one of the corner booths and make out. Sometimes we go to the local park and hang behind some well-placed bushes—
“What are you thinking about, Jeremy?” Mum asks, grinning as she grabs a banana from the fruit bowl and peels it.
I shrug, looking away before she stuffs the thing in her mouth. “Nothing. I have to get over to Dad’s. I have a math assignment he’s going to help me with.”
Mum snorts. “Good God. Sam? Math?” She kisses my temple. “Good luck, dear. You want me to drop you off?” The phone rings.
“Nah, it’s a nice day. It’ll take twenty minutes.”
Mum nods and answers the phone. “Oh hey, Debbie,” she says, moving away from me into another room.
I run upstairs and pack my bag. When I come back down to say goodbye to Mum, I pause. I can hear her from the hallway and she’s talking in hushed tones.
It puts me on alert, because over the last few months I’ve been noticing a few strange things at home. Like finding a large T-shirt in the wash that I’d never seen before. And the mouthwash that suddenly showed up half-used in the bathroom cabinet . . .
I think Mum is hiding something from me. And I refuse to acknowledge what it likely is. If I’m ignorant enough, it won’t be true. Those things won’t be happening. There will be no sudden and big changes to my life.
Even though I don’t want to know, I strain to hear what Mum is saying. I want to resist, but I can’t help it.
I swallow in relief as I catch her just gossiping about me.
“Yeah, Jeremy’s great. But, you know this age.” She laughs. “Exactly. Sometimes I just wish he was gay, you know? So I wouldn’t have to fear him getting some girl pregnant. Sure would make me feel more relaxed.”
At first I frown.
But then the wheels in my head are turning, and any and all secrets are forgotten, because boy am I grinning. I hitch my bag strap higher on my shoulder, then make a ruckus as I round the corner into the living room. Mum instantly stops talking.
“You off, love?”
“Yep.” I give her a wave and leave.
I use the walk to Dad’s to ring people. First I talk to Suzy. I learn that after the last day of school on Wednesday, there’s a party Simon is having in his garage. Her voice is husky at the edges, and I don’t even think about the how, I just say I’ll be there.
Then I ring my best friend Steven.
“What’s up?” he answers.
“I need your help with something,” I say. I tell him my plan and he hangs up on me. I laugh; I know Steven will come around.
In under a week, I’ll have my plan in action.