“If you’re going to do this, then you’re really going to do this. I’m talking more than a straight-A low hurdle. Anything less than perfect is unacceptable. Do you understand me?” Jonah’s father, Richard, stated aggressively as he stared into Jonah’s soul.

Jonah nodded, “Ye…yes, I understand, dad. I mean sir. I understand, sir.”

“That’s what I thought. Now fetch me the other half of that sandwich in the fridge, and be quick about it.”

Silver streaks of hair shined off Jonah’s head as he opened the refrigerator door. Late thirties wasn’t old, but he wasn’t young anymore either. A high school dropout, Jonah Nicks had agreed to complete various chores around the house for a weekly allowance, just like a small child trying to save every penny for a remote control car. Serving Richard’s dinner wasn’t one of those chores, but you never argue with a man with a violent temper. And it’s not like Richard minded Jonah living there. All it took was some tough talk and an occasional fist through a wall to shape Jonah’s compliance with his every demand. But Jonah’s recent decision to return to high school and hopefully earn his diploma threatened to change everything.

“Hurry up, you dunce! How do you expect to graduate from school if you can’t even perform mindless and menial tasks around here?”

An aroma from the refrigerator ambushed Jonah’s senses and chilled his bones. Wheeeeew, God, that’s pungent, Jonah thought but didn’t dare say aloud. A half-eaten meatloaf from nearly six months ago sat uncovered and crawling on the top shelf. What could Father possibly be saving this for?

“Here you go, sir,” Jonah slid a dinner tray onto Richard’s lap, then placed the plate on top. “I noticed that the meatloaf is still in the fridge. Permission to toss it?”

“Leave it, I need it for something,” Richard answered, brow furrowed with dark, heavy bags under his eyes.

The start of the school year arrived in the blink of an eye, but Jonah was ready. He may have never graduated, and chore allowance may have been his only source of income, but he wasn’t that stupid. Besides, he’d only missed his senior year way back when, and most of his remaining classes were electives, which he got to choose. How could someone fail ceramics class anyway?

“Thank you, sir,” Jonah told Richard as he closed the door. Richard had agreed to drive Jonah to school each morning in exchange for Jonah placing his mouth over Richard’s ears each night, securing an airtight suction against Richard’s face, and inhaling as hard as he could. Such was Richard’s preferred way to have his ears cleansed, but they hadn’t been cleaned that way since his divorce twelve years back.

Richard scoffed, “Don’t be a suck up, you’re still finding your own way home, and it better not take you any longer than four minutes to get home or else it’ll be more than just my ears you’ll be cleaning!” Jonah and Richard both knew that it takes twenty-five minutes to get home without traffic.

Jonah sighed, “Yes, sir,” and walked onto the school campus knowing that no matter how well the day went, he’d still have that to come home to.

The first day of school went as well as Jonah could’ve hoped for. Friendly teachers, not too many students staring at his greying sideburns, only six kids tripping him and screaming, “OLD MAN!” to his face. His classes seemed like they’d be relatively easy, his most difficult being physical science, and that wouldn’t have been an issue if his father, a science major, had agreed to help him.

“Absolutely not,” was Richard’s answer. “And you’re late, as expected,” he grinned. Jonah’s punishment for being late was to move the crawling, seeping meatloaf in the fridge to a new plate and clean the old one with nothing but his tongue, then clean out Richard’s ears simply because Richard felt that the juices would moisturize his earlobes.

Months went by and Jonah never made it back home within four minutes. Every day as he’d walk through the door after a long day at school, his first task was to move the meat and clean the plate. Move the meat, clean the plate. Move the meat, clean the plate. Day after day, month after month. Richard was kind enough, however, to always have a clean plate ready for Jonah so he didn’t have to search for one himself.

Despite the anguish of coming home to the torment of his father, Jonah managed to maintain good grades throughout the year, even in his physical science class. He felt that his final exams were a breeze that only strengthened his overall grades. He was so excited at the end of the last day of school that he ran the nine-mile stretch home instead of taking the bus, which he had begun doing to delay his arrival back home.

“Dad! Dad! I mean, I mean, sir! Sir! Sir! I’ve done it! Of course, these are just the preliminary results, but look at this! One hundred percent across the board!”

Richard silently stood from the couch and emerged from the shadows of the living room. “Give me this,” he ripped the report card from Jonah’s hands, giving Jonah a deep paper cut. “One hundred percent, huh? But only preliminary? When will the final results be available?”

“Day after tomorrow, but I’m positive that these will be the final results. Some may be even higher after counting the extra credit!”

“Very good, boy. We shall wait until the final report is issued.” At that, he back-stepped into the shadows and out of sight.

The next day, Jonah overheard Richard having a suspicious phone conversation. He didn’t pick up much of the content, but he thought he heard the words, “He must not graduate,” before Richard became aware that Jonah was listening. Jonah was forced to move the meat and clean the plate for that one.

Jonah couldn’t sleep that night, as his nerves kept him awake. He knew that the school office opened its doors at seven o’clock, so he convinced Richard to drive him. Richard didn’t take much convincing. In fact, he seemed to be excited about it, which concerned Jonah a little.

Jonah obtained his final report card from the office and waited to review it until he was back in the car. Opening the sealed envelope, his jaw dropped as he saw five large F grades, one for each class he’d taken, including ceramics. At the bottom of the report, his teachers had left feedback regarding Jonah’s performance. Cheater! one teacher said. I observed this ugly man cheating throughout the entire school year, said another. Without Jonah’s knowledge, Richard had paid each of Jonah’s teachers to intentionally fail the man. Such was Richard’s way of maintaining the servant relationship he’d created in Jonah at home. Jonah had suspected that something wasn’t right after overhearing part of Richard’s suspicious call, but he’d never be able to prove it.

Jonah didn’t know what to think, had no idea what to say. Richard tore the report card from Jonah’s hand, re-opening his previous paper cut. Richard scowled, the wrinkles in his face prominent and growing deeper.

“It’s not true, sir, it’s not! I studied the whole time and earned it myself! Please believe me! Please!”

Jonah begged and begged, but Richard didn’t say a word throughout the duration of the drive home. Once home, Richard pointed to a chair at the dining table, and Jonah knew that he had to sit. Richard pulled the rotting meatloaf from the refrigerator and tilted the plate toward a bowl. Thousands of near-transparent larvae poured into the bowl. Richard applied pressure to the meatloaf, and, just like squeezing a sponge, the loaf secreted a thick golden-yellow sauce.

After the bowl had filled to the very top, Richard placed it on the table directly under Jonah’s nose. He then removed a large, unwashed and uncooked sweet potato from the refrigerator, dipped it into the larvae sauce, and set it on the table beside the bowl.

Richard stood over Jonah and pointed at the sweet potato. “You’re going to eat this potato, then you’re going to eat the contents of this bowl. You will not use your hands. You will not grimace. You will not gag, and you will chew with your mouth open the entire time so I can relish the sound. Do you understand me, boy?”

Jonah swallowed hard and nodded.

“Eat,” Richard commanded.

A tear beaded up in the outside corner of Jonah’s eye, then streamed down to his chin. Arms limp by his side, he dropped his head into the bowl and began filling his mouth, like bobbing for apples, except there were no apples. Richard sat at the other side of the table, smiling as it all unfolded. The dining room was completely silent save the crunching and popping sound of the maggots in Jonah’s mouth and Richard’s repetitiously slow and villainous, “Yes, yes, yes,” while Jonah ate.

It took Jonah sixteen hours to finish what was in front of him. He’d eaten through the entire night and finished early the next morning. Richard hadn’t moved an inch the entire time. As Jonah finished slurping up the dregs at the bottom of the bowl, Richard stood and walked to his son, patting him on the back and saying, “Let’s try again next year, boy.”