I got a holiday present: an art piece from the talented
\n\t\t\t\t\tbeowulf100Big thanks to
\n\t\t\t\t\tcoult45 not only for gifting me this commission, but also for proofreading the story.--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
My boy was always an odd one. In elementary school, he had gotten in trouble more than once for eating art and crafts supplies. In middle school, he watched Animal Planet while everyone else watched MTV. And much to the chagrin of my ears, he and his high school friends tried to form a progressive rock band in our basement. Regardless, he is my son, and there's nothing he could do that would make me not love him like one.
Of course, that's not to say we don't have our ups and downs, but that doesn't make him any less my son. One instance that comes to mind was when he was home for winter break. My husband was out having dinner with his car club. So for home, I made us a couple of quesadillas. Really easy to make. All you need are a few tortillas, some cut-up chicken and some pre-grated cheese. You can add other stuff like peppers if you want, but I prefer mine plain. Mix it up in the tortilla, fold it in half, and cook it in the pan until the cheese is melted and the tortilla is golden brown. Add some chips and some carrot sticks on the side and you have yourself a nice meal.
Anyway, I made us quesadillas and I was going to let him know dinner was ready. I walk up to his room and I hear him singing and playing guitar. I knock on his door. Knock knock, just as I always do. No response. Again, knock knock and again, he just keeps singing.
I call out, "Pat! Dinnertime!"
Still nothing! Either he can't hear me, or he's straight-up ignoring me, and I'm left outside with his ugly "Please Knock" sign on his door staring me in the face.
Now, I know I'm supposed to give a boy his privacy. Ever since he turned 12, my husband and I made an effort to knock rather than just barging in unannounced. After all, you know how boys get around that age. I'm proud to say I've been following that instruction for well over a decade. However, I've exhausted all my options that don't involve opening his door, and his quesadilla was going to get cold.
"It's easier to ask for forgiveness than for permission," I sighed as I twisted his doorknob open.
Looking around, the first thing I noticed was my son and his bright green feathers in the middle of the room, eyes closed, strumming away at the guitar in his talons.
"She told me she worked in the morning and started to laugh,
I told her I didn't and crawled off to sleep in the bath."
He was wearing his recording headphones, which explained why he couldn't hear me. They're great for noise-canceling. In fact, I actually bought a pair myself so I could read my crime thrillers while my husband has the TV on full blast. He doesn't hear as well as he used to so it's the only way he can watch it.
"And when I awoke I was alone, this bird had flown,
So I lit a fire, isn't it good Norwegian wood?"
The second thing I noticed was that his headphones happened to be the only thing he was wearing! No shirt, no pants, and by the stars, no underwear! And it's not like the guitar was low enough to keep him decent either. His whole humdinger was out!
"PATRIGUE!!!" I squawked.
He must've finally heard me, because his eyes popped open like a couple of jack-in-the-boxes and looked like he was startled by one when he noticed my presence.
"Mom!? Why didn't you knock!?" he caterwauled as he pulled the headphones off his head.
"I did knock! Twice!" I answered, covering my eyes.
"Oh… sorry… you know how it is with these phones."
"It's fine, it's fine," I sighed. "Just… put something on and come out here. Dinner's ready."
I made sure to close the door behind me as I headed back to the kitchen. I cut our quesadillas as I waited for him to get dressed, mine in quarters and his in thirds, the way we both like them.
As the person who had to change and bathe him as a kid, this obviously wasn't the first time I've seen my son naked. This was, however, the first time seeing him naked as an adult. Honestly, at his age you'd have thought he'd be done with that phase of running around the house with nothing but a pair of underwear on his head. At least he had the decency to keep it to his room.
I was cutting up the carrot sticks as I heard Pat come in about a minute later.
"Hey," he piped up. "Sorry again about that."
"You've nothing to apologize for," I answered, only to look up from the cutting board and see he was only wearing a skimpy pair of boxer-briefs. "Although, when I said 'put something on,' I was thinking more along the lines of a pair of pants or a robe."
"Still decent though, aren't I?
"Decent?"
"Well, I’m covering everything you can't show on TV."
"I just think that's kind of an odd response coming from the teenager that couldn't hang music posters in his room because he couldn't get dressed with his favorite bands watching him."
"Well, that was before…"
"Before what?"
No response.
I asked him again, "Before what? College?"
His foot started fidgeting. He always fidgets when he has to do or say something he doesn't want to.
"I've told you about Perci, right?"
"The poodle girl from university?"
"Yeah, her."
"What about her?"
"Well, I may have neglected to mention that she… well, her and the friend group she hangs with is a bit more… bohemian than most."
“And that means?...”
“Well, that they’re… not as inhibited as most others… you know… about their bodies.”
“So… what? Are you trying to say they all hang out in the buff?”
“No!” he exclaimed, looking down. “Well, not all the time.”
Not all the time, huh? At that point, I was genuinely curious about what the flub he was up to at college. Fortunately, mothers around the world have a special method of getting information that rivals CIA interrogation tactics in terms of effectiveness: the look.
The first and most important part of the look is eye contact. If you look away at any point, it doesn’t work. Secondly, you want to raise an eyebrow. It doesn’t matter if it’s the left one or the right one, but make sure you raise one and only one. Otherwise, you’ll just look surprised and probably confuse whoever you’re looking at. Finally, you have the coup de grace: tilt your head forward just the slightest bit. It’s subtle, but once mastered, it perfectly spells out to whoever you’re talking to that you know they’re hiding something. Pat’s never lasted more than five seconds under its effect.
“It just happens, Mom,” he blurted out at the three-second mark. “They hang out, have a few drinks, maybe smoke a little, talk about politics and nerdy stuff, usual college hang out shenanigans. After a while, though, the clothes just… slip off. Some people keep their clothes on, some go topless or keep their underwear on, and some… go full monty.
"And after a few hangouts, I may have gotten a little curious. I mean, if they're not embarrassed over it, then why should I be? Honestly, after a while you kind of forget you're naked. Seriously, like there have been a few times someone had to be reminded to get dressed before heading out.
"And I know it sounds weird. Believe me. I was just as surprised with how… open they all were, but when you have weight issues like I do, and everyone sees you as you are and accepts you as you are… it feels kinda good."
I believe that was what kids these days call "T.M.I." Still, better that he told me the whole truth instead of not telling the truth at all. Plus, considering how hard it's been for him to make friends in the past, I really shouldn't complain about his new social circle, as unusual as they may be. Nonetheless, I wasn't completely satisfied with his explanation.
"Is this a sex thing?"
"Um… not exactly. It can be?" he said, tilting his head. "There's some flirting and some of the couples get a bit intimate, but it's not, like… hardcore or anything. And even if it was, anything we do is always safe, sane, and consensual."
"Hmmm."
I needed a moment to mull everything over in my head. That's definitely not the college experience I had back in my day. Still, he's an adult now. Regardless of any apprehensions I may have, it's not my place to butt in when he's old enough to be responsible for himself.
"Just be safe, will you?" I finally responded. "I don't know who any of these people are so I can't trust them, but I'm going to trust that you know what you're doing."
"Thanks, Mom," he smiled.
"Is it safe to assume you're going to continue this 'not wearing clothes' thing in your room?
"I'm not going to start running around the house naked if that's what you're worried about. I doubt you'd consent to that."
"I wasn't worried about that in the slightest, but thank you anyway. I was just asking so I'll be sure to knock in the future."
"Yes, please knock. Always knock. At least it'll give me a chance to throw a robe on or something. Now if you'll excuse me…"
With that he grabbed his plate and headed back to his room, presumably to do more naked singing while he ate his quesadilla.
My boy was always an odd one. Throughout his school years, his behavior always made him stand out from others. Even now, as a college student, he's hanging out with hippies and discovering himself in ways I never did when I was his age. Regardless, he is my son, and there's nothing he could do that would make me not love him like one.