“We went to the quarry lake,” Mason told his dad as he paced about the room throwing off his cape, taking off his black jacket.
“The one near the Pennsylvania border?”
“Yes. Seth drove. Dad, Seth skinny dipped.”
“Seth Seth?”
“No, Dad, Seth the Egyptian God of the Desert.”
Sidney cocked his head.
“You really ought to read more, Dad. Anyway, yes, Seth McKenna. As in Joel’s son. Anyway, we almost got arrested. We were trespassing.”
Sidney’s eyes went wide.
“What happened?” he sat on his son’s bed, face rapt with interest.
Mason eyed his father in disbelief and then wondered why he was shocked at Sidney’s evident pleasure.
“We ran really fast. I mean fast, through the grasses, on all fours, we kept a tight line, Becky said it would be best if we didn’t scatter—”
“Addison’s girlfriend?”
“Yes.”
“Wow,” Sidney said. “And who else?”
“Balliol was there?”
“Lincoln Balliol? He seems a little too classy to skitter through the woods.”
“Actually, Balliol even skitters in a classy way. But, of course, Tommy was at his Christian thing.”
“Um,” Sidney’s voice was neutral.
“So,” Sidney said. “Did you know it was trespassing?”
“Yes,” Mason said wearily.”
“Um?” Sidney looked shocked. He looked... pleased?
“What?” said Mason.
“You willingly broke the law and almost got arrested?”
“Yes, Dad, I did.”
“And just barely got away?”
“Yes, Dad.”
Sidney swooped his son into his arms, kissed him on the head and said, amazed, “You’re turning into a man!”
Mason blinked in shock.
“Just don’t turn into a man too much. A little danger now and then is good.”
` “If you say so,” Mason told him.
“Oh, I do,” Sidney said.
“And you know what Balliol told me?” Mason was changing out of his clothes.
“Hum?”
“I was talking about something, about how this boy we know always wants to buy the latest things and he’s working this job now so he can afford them and his parents got him the job. I think it’s at Menard’s or something. His name is Adam, right? And he tells us how his dad wants him to work because it builds character. Then Balliol says, but when it’s just the two of us, that the only reason Adam’s parents think that way is because they’re middle class, and the middle class have... how did he say it, ‘The middle class has made a virtue out of working forty hours a week to disguise the face that they don’t have a choice because that’s the only way they can have anything.’”
Sidney sat on the bed and began laughing.
“Wait,” Mason said, “He was telling me, and it was funny for a while, he said, that middle class people are always going on about this work ethic and how now in America everyone applauds having a factory worker’s ethic, but that the only reason to work is because you’re poor and you have to.”
Sidney laughed until he wiped his eyes and then he said, “When did this began to bother you?”
“When I told Balliol, ‘Balliol, I am middle class.’ And then he looked at me and said, ‘No, you aren’t Mason.’ But I am. I mean,” Mason looked at his father, looked around his average room. “We are... right?”
Sidney stopped laughing at Mason and looked at him in amazement. Then he said, “Mason, no you aren’t.”
“What?” Mason blinked at him.
Sidney shook his head. “Mason, we own half the gas stations and grocery stores in town, not to mention a clothing store. You might not like the way Balliol said it, but he’s right.”
Sidney looked for a nice way to put it: “A lot of times society does have this sort of blue collar ethic and we’re not blue collar, Mason. We’re rich. That’s why Joel drives a bus and I paint when I want to.”
Mason had just discovered something he’d never known about himself.
“But... we live in a regular house... In a regular neighborhood. I mean, we don’t have airplanes and... stuff like that.”
“We’re not that rich. I don’t think the Balliols even have that.”
“We’re not as rich as Balliol are we?” Mason said hopefully. He felt like such a snob. There was so much he took for granted.
Sidney shrugged. “He’s the heir to the entire Balliol fortune, I think. Yes,” Sidney eyed his son. “There is a Balliol fortune.
“You and me and Savannah and some cousins share our family money so I guess, if it makes you happy, we’re not as rich as the Balliols. But... we’re not hard up.”
Mason considered this and then he said, “One more question, and then I’ll let you go.”
“All right?”
“So, like, are you going to make me live like a normal person?” Mason frowned. “See, I’m even talking like a snob, now. You shouldn’t have told me this.”
“I shouldn’t have had to,” Sidney told him. “Whaddo you mean normal people?”
“You know, go to college right away and have a normal job and—”
“Normalcy is greatly overrated,” Sidney told him. “You’ll work at what you’re good at, which is your art. And you’ll do what you want to do because you can.”
Mason felt the ground falling from under his feet. Why hadn’t he always known this? He had, but... it was in the background.
“Addison’s parents are getting him a car for his eighteenth birthday,” Sidney said. “They already told him.”
“You’re getting a grocery store for yours,” Sidney said. But Mason had always known this, only it didn’t mean anything. There was nothing exciting about owning a supermarket. “And when you get it, then you can buy all the cars you want.”
And that was how Mason discovered something important about himself.
This was all such exciting news, that Mason got on the phone and called Addison up at his house.
“Mase?”
“Addison, did you know I was rich?”
“Uhhh, yeah, Mason. We all did.”
“I just found it out.”
“Good for you, Mase.”
“I never knew it.”
“Mason, you’re going to own a grocery store when you turn eighteen. And that’s just the gift you know about. When I hit eighteen I’ll be lucky to get a blowjob. But thanks for rubbing the shit in, friend.”
“No, you don’t understand,” Mason said. “This means we can do... anything.”
“Well, you can, Mason. I’ll be at Cartimandua Community College.”
“No, you won’t. I can’t be rich by myself.”
“You’re crazy.”
“I’m serious. We’re going to have so much fun with money. I swear!” Mason said.
“Goodnight, Addison.”
“Goodnight, freakshow.” Addison told him, and hung up the phone.