Right before the awkward hug ended he remembered his mother.
‘Everything in your life so far has led to this moment,’ is what Christian’s mother was fond of telling him. Only she was repeating this hyperbole to him at such a young age that he hadn’t made any choice at all that lead to that point. Perhaps he chose crunchy peanut butter over smooth, or raspberry over grape. Grape was the worst. The idea of grape jelly as well as apple juice made Christian’s stomach turn at an early age. But really, what choices were those? In his mind it was the same as a death row inmate choosing his last meal. These were not choices that made a difference. He expressed this to his mother around the age of ultimate reason, in third grade. Age eight.
He remembered the day he connected the dots and told her that he felt like a death row inmate.
“What are you talking about?” she demanded, her reddish-brown hair, shoulder length and mostly straight, spun around first and green eyes followed before landing on Christian. She had always tried to keep the tone in the household a positive one, and this was no different. To her, even mentioning the word death was off limits. She had given away his action figures the prior year because they were too violent. She was leaning hippie with a foot in the professional door. Though at the time Christian was proclaiming his death rowmanship, he assumed most moms were the same.
“I’m on death row. No matter what I choose, I don’t get to make any big decisions,” Christian explained. She came closer, and leaned against the side of their wooden kitchen table and crossed her arms. She assumed the role of inquisitor rather easily.
“Well, would you like to tell me where you heard about death row?”
“No.”
“That’s fine. When you tell me about that, I’ll let you make a choice about your future,” she said as she turned away, effectively swiping Christian’s thunder and rendering him momentarily mute.
He paused and considered his options. Seconds later he took a course of action.
“I heard about it from Nick.” Nick was his best friend and Christian figured he’d throw him under the bus since he wasn’t there to defend himself. He squared things in his own mind by allowing that Nick would certainly blame him for anything similar, and he was okay with that. He had actually heard about it from someone else, one of the trailer park kids, who claimed his uncle was on death row and that the lights in the whole jail would go out when his spirit left his body. Christian knew his mother wouldn’t be pleased about him hanging out with those kids, though the reason wasn’t clear. Either way, Nick took one for the team.
His mother didn’t turn around to acknowledge his admission, rather she continued walking away while talking, “And what kind of decision would you like to make today?”
“I don’t even know yet.” He had somehow won the right to make a decision, and like a trump card to hang on to, he wasn’t anxious to waste it without some thought. “I’m going to my room but that doesn’t count, “ he said as he walked away feeling as though he suddenly had a whole new world of possibilities to contemplate.
‘Everything in your life so far has led to this moment,’ is what Christian’s mother was fond of telling him. Only she was repeating this hyperbole to him at such a young age that he hadn’t made any choice at all that lead to that point. Perhaps he chose crunchy peanut butter over smooth, or raspberry over grape. Grape was the worst. The idea of grape jelly as well as apple juice made Christian’s stomach turn at an early age. But really, what choices were those? In his mind it was the same as a death row inmate choosing his last meal. These were not choices that made a difference. He expressed this to his mother around the age of ultimate reason, in third grade. Age eight.
He remembered the day he connected the dots and told her that he felt like a death row inmate.
“What are you talking about?” she demanded, her reddish-brown hair, shoulder length and mostly straight, spun around first and green eyes followed before landing on Christian. She had always tried to keep the tone in the household a positive one, and this was no different. To her, even mentioning the word death was off limits. She had given away his action figures the prior year because they were too violent. She was leaning hippie with a foot in the professional door. Though at the time Christian was proclaiming his death rowmanship, he assumed most moms were the same.
“I’m on death row. No matter what I choose, I don’t get to make any big decisions,” Christian explained. She came closer, and leaned against the side of their wooden kitchen table and crossed her arms. She assumed the role of inquisitor rather easily.
“Well, would you like to tell me where you heard about death row?”
“No.”
“That’s fine. When you tell me about that, I’ll let you make a choice about your future,” she said as she turned away, effectively swiping Christian’s thunder and rendering him momentarily mute.
He paused and considered his options. Seconds later he took a course of action.
“I heard about it from Nick.” Nick was his best friend and Christian figured he’d throw him under the bus since he wasn’t there to defend himself. He squared things in his own mind by allowing that Nick would certainly blame him for anything similar, and he was okay with that. He had actually heard about it from someone else, one of the trailer park kids, who claimed his uncle was on death row and that the lights in the whole jail would go out when his spirit left his body. Christian knew his mother wouldn’t be pleased about him hanging out with those kids, though the reason wasn’t clear. Either way, Nick took one for the team.
His mother didn’t turn around to acknowledge his admission, rather she continued walking away while talking, “And what kind of decision would you like to make today?”
“I don’t even know yet.” He had somehow won the right to make a decision, and like a trump card to hang on to, he wasn’t anxious to waste it without some thought. “I’m going to my room but that doesn’t count, “ he said as he walked away feeling as though he suddenly had a whole new world of possibilities to contemplate.
No comments:
Post a Comment