We never would have had that argument if Mom hadn't asked me to give her a ride home. So, really, everything that happened is also her fault. And my Dad was the one who started us on that method of resolving arguments. So it was his fault, too. Of course Faith had her share of the blame. So, although I don't want to downplay my own role in things, they were all partly responsible. Them, and Samuel L. Jackson.
School was out for summer, at least for me. Exams were still on, but our school board had a policy that if you did well the rest of the year, you could skip the final exams. Both me and my sister, and about a quarter of my friends, did just that. I was looking forward to two months of newfound freedom. For the first summer ever, I had a driver's license, and a car to go with it. It was only a shitty used car, but it was mine.
The freedom wasn't total... I was only sixteen and lived with my parents, and whenever I wanted to go anywhere I either had to beg for gas money or work for it. I had a part time job, but I didn't want to spend the whole summer slaving away and having no fun at all, so I didn't make the job full-time over the summer like most of my friends did.
The big problem was, with my friends working, either on last minute studying for exams or to save money for college, there wasn't much they could do with me. Freedom gets old when you don't have anybody fun to be free with. My summer of freedom was in danger of becoming a summer of boredom.
I was wrong. My summer really began on one fine, sunny day when I decided I was going to head out to the mall. I had some idea of checking out some hotties in the food court, as I'd done so many times before, and maybe talk to my friend Fred who worked at the Burger King, to see how much work time we could waste without him getting fired. I'd spent the previous few days mostly lounging around the house watching movies, so I was excited about doing something different, something that got me out.
My cell phone rang as I opened the car door. It was my Mom. "What's up?"
She sounded stressed... nothing new, there. "Listen, Mark, I need you to do me a favor."
"What'll you pay me?"
She wasn't amused. "Tell you what, we'll take it out of your back rent out of the last sixteen years. I thought I was going to get out of here by now, but they've just called an emergency budget meeting, and I'm going to be late."
"Yeah, yeah," I said, not really caring. "What do you want?"
"I need you to pick up your sister from her dance lesson. She doesn't have bus fare and your father can't get out of work."
My plans weren't great plans, but they were mine, and now they were out the window. I had to consciously keep from swearing. That would do no good and only get me grounded. "Aw, Mom, I was just about to head to the mall."
"You can go after you bring her home."
I sighed, overly dramatically, told her she'd better reimburse me for my gas later, and then ran back into the house to get a pen and paper to jot down the address of the place and the time.
I was a little late, and Faith was waiting outside by the corner with her bag on her shoulder. She'd already changed out of her dance tights and now wore shorts and a belly shirt.
My sister Faith was three years younger than me. She was into dance, I never really took an interest in what it involved, just that it was more complicated than ballet, she really enjoyed it, and it sometimes had her practicing around the house in tight little tights. She was a little snobbish about her dancing, acting like it was some great profession that would make her famous one day, which might have been why I deliberately took no interest. I didn't want to encourage the attitude.
Other than her little hobby, she was a typical kid. I always thought of her as kind of a brat, but I bet most big brothers think that. We were close at some point, but it seemed especially this year when she hit her teens, she closed off. The fun times tapered off, and it seemed the only time we talked was when she was bothering me and asking questions that were stupid or nosy. We got in fights all the time, but that hadn't changed since we were kids.
She was hot, though. I wasn't proud of thinking that way about my sister, but I never planned on telling anybody, either. While I took after our father and had dark brown hair, she took after Mom and was a redhead (although Mom usually dyed her hair). She also had green eyes, pale skin, and freckles. I teased her often about being a ginger kid, but she wasn't goony looking like a lot of gingers. Her face really looked pretty to me, although I'd never admit it. She had a little button nose and even though she hated her freckles, they were cute and didn't explode all over her face like some of our cousins. It was just a nice little patch around the nose. Sometimes they disappeared completely, although since it was summer they were out in force and she hated them. Her body was slim and toned and, I imagined, perfect for dancing. It was a tight little package... even though she was a little smaller than most girls her age, small frame and her long limbs contrived to look tall and willowy at the same time.
I only gave her a brief once over this time, though. I didn't stop to stare because I was angry at being put out of my way. I rolled down the window and pulled to a stop in front of her. "Mom wanted me to pick you up."
She didn't seem at all grateful. It was like she took it for granted that I was going to help her out. "Yeah, she told me. You're late," she said.
Since I was doing her a favor, I didn't appreciate being talked to like that. So, when she put her hand on the door handle, I said, "Hey, not in the front seat. I don't want any of my friends seeing a ginger kid in my car. Besides, you probably smell like a sweaty gym sock. Get in the back."
She sighed and got in the back without further complaint. We drove a block and then she said, "I think I like it better this way. It's like you're my chauffer."
"Don't get used to it."
"Yeah, yeah." She was mercifully silent for a while as she twiddled her thumbs and texted her friends, and I listened to the music on the satellite radio. I was almost able to forget she was there.
She ruined at illusion while we were stopped at a red light. "Ooh," she said. "I want to see that movie."
I glanced around, trying to figure out what she was referring to, when I caught it. There it was, a poster on a bus shelter wall, for one of the upcoming summer blockbusters. "Yeah, it might be cool," I agreed. I read the cast list. "Huh, I didn't know Samuel L. Jackson was in that." I didn't remember him from the commercials.
"He's in everything these days," Faith said.
I gave a little laugh. "Yeah. What do you think the odds are that he's bald or has an eye patch in this one?"
"I don't think he'll have an eye patch. And he's always bald."
"Not always," I said, struggling to think of a recent example where he didn't.
Faith, instead, began listing all the recent movies where he was bald. Some were not so recent. She ended her little list with, "Star Wars. The Matrix."
"He wasn't in the Matrix," I corrected.
"Yes he was," she said, sounding snotty. "He was Morpheus."
"No, that was some other guy." I snapped my fingers, trying to remember, but Lawrence Fishburne's name, though on the tip of my tongue, wouldn't come out.
"No, it was Samuel L. Jackson. I just saw it on TV a few weeks ago."
"You're wrong."
We went back and forth, arguing "Yes he was" and "No he wasn't" several more times, before Faith finally said, "Wanna bet?"
That's where my Dad's part of this came in. We got into arguments like this all the time, for our whole lives, over stupid shit. As annoying as the arguments were to us, they were even harder to listen to, and Dad often snapped at us to shut up... which only made us continue the argument in whispers, slowly regaining out original volume.
Finally, one day, years ago, Dad came up with a solution. "If you're both so sure," he said, "You should bet on it." If we weren't convinced enough that we were right that we were willing to bet on it, he explained, we should back down and stop arguing. And once we bet on it, there was no need to argue, you only had to settle the bet.
It was a pretty good solution for him. Whenever he couldn't take any more of our arguing, he'd suggest we'd bet on it, and we soon started betting to settle our own fights. Sometimes we bet money, but more often we bet chore duties, services, items. We were scrupulous about keeping the bet, no matter how unfair it seemed to be. Dad made sure of that, too. The one time he caught me welching on a bet, he gave me a spanking I'd remember long after I'd forgotten what stupid chore I would have had to do. I think it was to attend a tea party with Faith instead of playing baseball with my friends.
There were two ways the bet system could be used to resolve an argument. Either we agreed on a bet, found out who was right, and the loser paid up their part of it, or one of us bet something so outrageous that the other person backed down because they weren't sure they were right. It was like a game of chicken. If the person accepted the ridiculous bet, Dad insisted there still be a chance for the first person to back out, but if you didn't, once you shook on it, you were committed.
I chose the second way this time. It was too easy. Of course Samuel L. Jackson wasn't in the Matrix. "Fine," I said, half-jokingly. "If he wasn't in the Matrix, you have to give me a blowjob anytime I want for a week." I don't know what made me think of that. Actually, I do. Sometimes, when a girl's annoying you, all you can think of is shoving your cock in her mouth, if only to shut her up. My sister gave me that reaction often
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