The Confrontation: Chapter 2
by Al
This is a continuation of the story. If you haven’t read it yet, here’s Chapter 1
THERE’S ALWAYS THAT ONE GUY
It is an isolated cabin out in the woods. You know the one — it’s in every single horror movie. The one with five college kids — always five. Some have seven, but never even.
I wonder why there’s always that one guy without without a girl.
Two are in the bedroom having sex, and the rest are outside sitting around a fire with an old man in rags. The Old Man tells them ghost stories that he swears by. He tells them not to touch the gold coins in the basement, or play the old tape recorder in the attic.
These things usually unleash unspeakable evil, The Old Man warns.
But of course one of the kids laughs and ridicules the old man. It’s always that one guy without a girl. And sure enough, five minutes later, he’s the first one to be brutally murdered.
“What is this you’re watching?”
The stupid little kid is startled — almost pissed his pants. His ten year old heart starts racing like darts.
It is past midnight and the little shit is in the living room watching an old movie on TV. Except for the light coming from the TV screen, the room is pitch black.
How long had she been standing there? Did she see the sex scenes? Please God no…
“Come on, turn off the TV,” the mother says as she switches on the lights. “I want to talk to you”
She goes into the kitchen to make tea.
“Hot chocolate?” The mother shouts from the kitchen.
Almost by reflex, the stupid shit hits the power button and runs into the kitchen.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?”, the stupid shit thinks he can deceive the mother into thinking he switched off the TV when she said he should.
“I said, would you like some hot chocolate?”
“Oh, yeah. Sure. Thank you”
“OK. Wait for me on the table”
That’s the dining table.
The kid sits there quietly, waiting.
“So, I read your e-mail today,” the mother says as she sits in the seat across the kid.
Stupid little shit couldn’t even talk to his mother face to face. He sent her an e-mail the day before. It had something to do with school, in a way.
He could’ve written her a letter, but he was afraid the father would find it. He knew the father would never understand.
But the mother, she would. She was very easy to talk to. Maybe not that easy, but she was very understanding — approachable.
Maybe it was her eyes. She had kind eyes.
“You think I had it better growing up?” asked the mother. It isn’t accusatory, and neither is it a question. It’s one of those things people say to help them transition into long monologues.
In the e-mail, the stupid kid hypothesize that he couldn’t interact with people because of where he was growing up.
It was a suburban neighborhood, with maybe 40 — 50 houses tops. He sees the same stupid people everyday. He never meets anyone new — unless someone unlucky moved into one of the houses in the neighborhood. And those new people are only new until they become stupid too.
The kid envied the mother. Growing up, her father was a High Court judge and the family traveled around quite a lot. The mother had lived in almost very major city in the country as a child.
The kid wants that. He believes the mother is cool because of all the places she’d been — people she’s met.
The little kid wants to be cool.
“It wasn’t that much fun really,” the mother explains. “We moved to a new city every two years or so. I left behind a lot of friends, some who I never saw again”
“But… But why can’t I be cool like you”, the little kid says.
“Don’t worry about that, it’s just a phase,” the mother assures him. “You’ll grow out of it. Ten years from now, you won’t even remember that you used to have trouble talking to people.”
“And I’ll be cool?”
“Yes”
“Like you?”
“Yes like me”
Clearly, the mother wasn’t a time traveler. But she was a lot of other things the little kid wanted to be.
“So what should I do about Zainab now?”
The mother smiles, “Right, and about the girl,”
Oh yea, and there’s always that one girl…
*****
Chapter 3 next Friday.
