[I don't think i will ever finish this, but i like it bc it gives you a good impression of how fucking awkward Jude is]

The car ride, silent except for the classic rock on the radio and the hum of the car, was the easiest part. Jude watched the blurred scenery pass by his window as his father aggressively hummed to along to the tunes of his long gone prime. Car rides were the only time Jude heard his father interact with music, but the man never seemed to enjoy it. In the car with his son, Thomas Jones was frustrated with the music instead. That forty-five minute drive confined to a tiny cabin was the best opportunity for both of them to practice ignoring each other’s existence. And all too soon, Jude clawed feebly at his seatbelt as his father pulled the car up to the curb in front of the familiar two-storied house.
Jude faltered at the front gate. He stared at the peeling white paint of the old fence. It crackled and curled like dead skin, speckling the sidewalk with white scabs. Dandelions pushed out from between the fence slats, catching some of the paint flakes. Flower petals drooped, matted with diseased white splotches. Jude looked up from the flowers and stared at the pallid veins of exposed wood. His fingers itched. He clutched his mother’s salad bowl closer to his body.
“We’ll be out by four,” his father announced, laden with jugs of cranberry juice. The man pushed the gate open with a grunt and headed for the door without pausing to wait for his son. Jude scrambled to catch up before the gate closed with a shuddering groan.
Even before his father knocked on the cold wooden door, Jude knew they would absolutely not make that deadline.


Uncle Miles’ house was as humid as it had been last Easter, and the Easter before that. The furniture was still coated with dog hair. The dog had been dead for ten years. The German Shepard used to knock Jude over when he was a child, and even now he felt the scratching in his throat from inhaling mouthfuls of dog hair. The fur clung to the carpets, the armchairs, the couches, and of course the cluster of Joneses gathered in the living room. Jude mutely watched clouds of fur disperse through the air as his relatives sprung from their seats to greet him.
Three uncles – Thomas completed the quartet of brothers – and an aunt embraced Thomas, who barked, “Juice,” before stomping through the dining room into the kitchen. Then they turned on Jude, standing alone by the door with the salad bowl. Jude careened through the room, passed from one set of arms to the next. He stooped to offer his grandparents their turn, feeling their rough and wrinkled brown hands pat him down gently as he perilously balanced the bowl in his hands.
“Stokely,” Uncle Miles called from behind Jude. “Give your cousin a proper welcoming.”
His grandparents’ hands fell away as Jude straightened up to see his cousin lounging in an armchair in the corner of the room, the only person under sixty to remain in his seat. Stokely tipped back his beer, swallowed, and looked Jude up and down. His gaze paused briefly on the salad bowl before meeting Jude’s eyes. “Jude,” he stated with no change of expression.
“Stokely,” Jude responded, his voice scraping across the room. It was the first word he had spoken that day. His cousin broke into a grin. Jude smiled back crookedly.
“Jude!” His father called from the kitchen. “Salad!”
Jude ducked out of the living room, leaving his relatives to their conversation. Stokely watched him go and took another sip from his beer.


Aunt Sherry cooed at Jude as she gently released his mother’s salad bowl from his grasp. Deprived his purpose, Jude stood to the side, watching his father reorganize the contents of a large cooler to make space for the cranberry juice. Another aunt – Aunt Belle – flashed Jude a smile and a wave before continuing to cajole Thomas.
“Salad, again? After all your bragging about your Chef’s Special steak?”
“Salad is important for nutrition,” Jude’s father retorted. “Need to make sure you get all your vitamins.”
Aunt Belle gave Jude a look of mock horror. “I hope that’s not all you’re feeding Jude in that house. No wonder he’s so scrawny.” She winked.
Thomas forced another bottle of cranberry juice into the cooler. “The boy knows what’s good for him.”
“So Jude,” Aunt Sherry interrupted from her post by the stove. “How’s school going?”
Jude swallowed. “Good.”
“Boy, we never see you other than for holidays. Right now you’re in…”¬
“Tenth grade.”
“God,” Aunt Belle breathed, nudging Thomas to pass her a beer. “And he used to be so tiny.”
“It’s ten years since Stokely was his age,” Aunt Sherry said, smiling as she checked the yams. “High schoolers were much bigger back then.”
Thomas handed Aunt Belle a beer and grabbed one for himself. “Don’t mention that to Stokely or he’ll remind us how old we are.”
“Still younger than dirt,” Stokely announced, strolling into the kitchen. He leaned an elbow on Jude’s shoulder. “And maybe some fossils.”