“It’s Jonathan. Not John, or Johnny. Jonathan. Got it?”
His eyes pierced across the desk, following the line of his pointed finger. He meant it.
I nodded.
Where I’m from, abbreviating is affection. I thought it was friendly. What did I know, I was seventeen and new on the job.
I grew to understand why it was Jonathan and not John or Johnny. Because he doesn’t want to be associated with all the pricks from his past that used to call him John-Boy. He made it out of there.
I remember that. The insistence. The tone.
Rest in peace, Jonathan.
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