I Taste Snot

I taste snot.

But I’m used to it. It’s probably because I keep picking my nose and eating it, but I can’t help it. When I get nervous, I jam my finger up my nose - and if there happens to be a nugget, well, in my mouth it goes. Somehow, the taste makes me less nervous and it reminds me that I can take care of myself.

Grown-ups try to be nice and all, but they confuse me.

Plus I love salt anyway, so it’s like a superpower knowing that I can make my own.

My name is Ezekiel Brad Matheson.

But you can call me Zeke. I’m named after some guy in the Bible and a feisty hockey player from Hammonds Plains that Mom had a crush on.

I’m 12 years old and in grade 6.

I’m not stupid; I’m just smart in a different way.

I’m the only kid in my class who has a part time job. And I’m the only kid who seems to have a Mom that has “problems”. You’d think that my Dad moving out a couple of years ago would be the problem, but nope. There are a few of us in Grade 6 with that issue. I guess my Mom is the only one who can still live at home with us - but only if Family Services drops in to check on us unannounced on the regular.

I’ve got two younger twin sisters, Anna and Elsa. They’re 5. (I didn’t name them. But we were watching Frozen a lot before they were born). They’re cute but they’re really annoying. I babysit them before and after school and then when Mom comes home, I go to the rink to help clean up the garbage and empty bottles. Instead of earning money, I get paid in pop and chips. Sometimes Carlos, the rec guy, lets me keep some bottle money. It’s not a lot, but it’s usually enough to get nachos at school on Fridays.

Anyway, at the end of just about every month, Mom starts freaking out. Well, not losing her shit completely, but she definitely gets cranky and crooked and impatient and sour. She says it’s because of her period, whatever that is, but I think it’s because she owes people money. I’d tell her to calm her tits but I think she’d either cry or lock herself in the bathroom. Or both.

I know she likes to drink beer but she tries not to. I know she likes to smoke but she tries not to.

But I can smell it. I ought to - the inside of my nose is pretty clean after all.

And I can tell you it doesn’t smell like snot tastes so I just keep picking my nose.

I can’t play with my friends after school, but that’s ok. I don’t have a lot of friends anyway. Besides, I’m the man of the house. Playtime can wait.

Besides, I need to be on top of my game in case Family Services drops by for a visit and I don’t want to have to tell my friends to behave - it’s hard enough to keep Anna and Elsa from making a mess. My god, those girls are trouble. But nothing is as funny as a fart. So lucky for me, we can keep each other entertained.

So that’s pretty much me.

Someday I’m going to be a hockey player. Or maybe a hockey coach. Or maybe a general manager. I don’t know how to skate yet, but I know a lot about hockey from watching everybody at the rink. I try to look busy, but I study those guys and gals out there on the ice. Some of them think they’re so good. They’re not. And some of them don’t know their ass from their elbow, but they’ve got grit. They dig deep. I see that in them. They’re like me. Except they can skate.

So yeah. My grit is going to take me far.

Just as soon as I finish grade 6.