Aaron plopped down on the sofa and grabbed the remote control. He flipped around aimlessly, looking for something to watch. Infomercial, news, baseball game between two teams he didn't care about, movie he didn't recognize, cartoons, talk show... Oh, now this looked interesting. Aaron stopped on the Rerun Channel, watching an episode of an old sitcom. It ended its run before he was even born, but something about it seemed nostalgically familiar.
"Hey hun, watcha watching?" Aaron's mother entered the living room.
"Oh, uh, I was just... You know, flipping around," Aaron said.
"Oh, I love this show. Scooch over." Aaron slid over to the side of the couch as his mother sat down beside him. It seemed weird his mother wanted to watch television together, as though they were friends spending the afternoon together. But was it any weirder than a 17 year-old boy would have the same interests as a 44 year-old woman? Actually, they were both weird, but the part of Aaron's mind that would have noticed a discrepancy was slipping away.
Did she really have to sit so close, though? Did she have no concept of personal space? Their legs were practically touching. Speaking of which, Aaron noticed his mother's legs were crossed just the same as his. Why would she cross her legs like a boy? Unless, perhaps, Aaron had crossed his legs like a woman. Aaron quickly uncrossed his legs, as thinking about such a thing upset him. He adjusted his hoodie, as it started bunching up on him. Strange, he thought. I always thought this hoodie was black. In this light it looks a little red.
His mother laughed at a joke, and so did Aaron. They laughed in unison, with an increasingly synchronized cadence. Aaron even went so far as to place his hand against his chest, which he was sure he had never done before, but seemed almost second nature to him now. His fingernails were now definitely longer, and in dire need of a trim. Or maybe not. They looked almost elegant in a way. He would have to clean his watch, however. The white band of his sports watch looked as though it was being crusted in yellow film.
"Do you remember how popular this show was in high school?" Aaron's mother asked."Everybody wanted to have that haircut." His mom was losing her grip on reality. Aaron was in high school now. Or rather, he had been since he graduated last spring. How could anybody his age have ever watched this series? That hairstyle was way out of date, and no 18 year-old would dare wear it.
The show cut to a commercial, and Aaron needed to use the bathroom. "Excuse me, mom. I'll be right back."
Aaron's mother swatted him in a playful manner. "Oh, don't call me 'mom.' You know I hate that."
This was news to Aaron. He called his mother 'Mom' for as long as he could remember. He called her that earlier today. "What do you want me to call you then?"
She stared at Aaron as if he just asked her the color of the sky. "Melissa," she said matter-of-factly. It was her name after all. Why would Aaron call her anything else? "I really don't appreciate you making fun of me. It's not like I'm Betty Crocker or anything. We still go out. We have fun."
Aaron was a little confused about his mother's reaction. But rather than question it, he felt ashamed and sympathetic. He immediately recanted and apologized. "I didn't mean that. You know I respect you. I love you." The audacity of calling his mother, 'mom;' how could he have been so thoughtless?
"Aw, I love you too, babe." Melissa stood up and leaned in for a hug. The height difference between him and Melissa could not be ignored. He was nearly a full head taller than her when he left the house this morning. Now he could barely see over the top of her head. Aaron had already lost six inches of his height, and was still shrinking, but he paid it no attention. He just cradled Melissa's body in his arms and let the hug continue.
Aaron breathed in his mother's perfume and accepted the familial love. He was sure no 19 year-old in the country was closer to his mother than him.
Aaron still needs to use the bathroom. What happens while he's there?  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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