A boy and his mom
She was good enough I suppose. She sat there with her curly blond hair framing her slight, pale face. She was dressed for work and looked both professional and stylish. All in all, she wasn’t that bad. But she just kept talking, and talking, and talking. And she never said anything. Even if she did, I didn’t hear her. I had tuned her out long ago. I guess that’s how most teenage boys think of their moms.
Every day she would drive me to school. She’d coach me on how to talk to my friends, how to manipulate my teachers, what to wear, how to be cool, how to not be arrogant, how to get good grades, why it was important to achieve, why losing wasn’t tolerated and a variety of other topics. From time to time she even told me what to have for lunch. It was a level of interference that was simply intolerable. Even my book bag and the water bottle that I carried to school were forced upon me by her. Today was no different and as we sat at a red light preparing to turn down that one way street to school, and oblivion, she babbled on and on and on. I wasn’t listening. I watched the snow falling, lightly, and looked at the break lights of the red pickup truck in front of me. The man driving it was wearing a stocking cap. He had a bumper sticker on his truck that said, “Peace. Back by Popular Demand”. His head was bobbing to the music. He was alone with his thoughts and his music and he looked happy. I was jealous and wanted to be there.
I could feel my hand reach for the snow scraper. It was a handy and substantial tool. It had a hard plastic sharp edge at one end, a wooden shaft and a foam handle at the other end. It was only about ten inches long but it was fairly heavy. Suddenly, my fingers gripped the scraper. I could feel blood rushing to my brain. I could feel my ears closing. I could feel my heart racing. I could sense the anger of a thousand generations of animal hatred and repression building inside of me. My grip grow stronger with every “blah, blah, blah” that seemed to endlessly come out of her mouth. I squeezed harder and harder; to the point where my finger nails were cutting into my skin.
I turned. Looked at her and when she looked back at me, I whacked her across the forehead with the scraper. I beat her and beat her and continued to rain blows down on her skull until the cracking of her bones started to sound like a mushy pile of meat. She was helpless and I was finally hopeful. The car was quiet. It was peaceful. I was free. I turned on the radio and I felt my head bob. I was in my own world. I was happy.
Suddenly, the radio turned off. My mother looked and me and said, “Well?” Again, she looked and said, “Are you getting out or what?” I looked up and saw the school. We were there. My dreams, once again, destroyed. I slumped in the front seat. Then, slowly, gathered my things, opened the door and started to get out of the car. The heat of the moment ran from me. I was wasted and worn before the day had even begun. I stood by the car, slammed the door and looked at the faceless stone wall of the high school. My misery was coming to me in waves as I fell in line with the hundreds of other failures scuffling into the school building. Then, when it couldn’t have gotten any worse, I heard the car window roll down and she shouted, “I think you should join the Spanish Club. It will look good on your transcripts. And don’t be late tonight. You ACT tutor comes over at 8:00PM!”
I died for the millionth time.
It is time for a small gripe. I just don’t understand auto-correct. This week I was asked some questions about India and the caves I’ve visited. I put together a nice little pictorial of them and posted it to Tumblr. However, for some reason, as I was building the slides, Microsoft thought it should “fix” my wording. Thus, it changed the word “interred” to “interned”. It changed the word “basalt” to “Baltic”. It made some other minor changes.
On some level I don’t mind that Microsoft is trying to give me an assist. That’s generally welcomed. But, it changed legitimate words, being used in the proper context, to words that made no sense. C’mon auto-correct, use your head! I posted this stuff and then later read it. Thanks, Microsoft, for making me look like a fool.
We’re all locked
In our secret hidden cell
We’re all trapped
In our personal burning hell.
We’ve tried in vain
For a life less complicated
But we feel disparate
Knowing our lives are so fabricated.
We see the depth
Of anger and rage in our eyes
Because so little
Of our future truly survives.
So we stay
Strapped into this unstable chair
Hoping for freedom
Because we believe we’re all innocent here.