Josh screamed for his mother. She had gone too far
this time. Too far by a mile.
"Ma! What have you done to my room? Where are
my posters? Where's my stuff? It looks like some motel room!"
The top of his dresser was covered with a linen cloth, the clothes
that had been on his chair and in the corner were gone and his
Lego creation was sitting on a bare table, no longer surrounded by
extra pieces and stray figures and cars.
"Oh, hello, Josh. I didn't know you were home."
His mother had come through the doorway, wiping her hands on
a dustrag. "I've done a little spring cleaning. Do you like it?"
"Like it? You've ruined my room. Where's all my
stuff?" Josh felt a distant rumbling.
"Oh, I didn't throw anything away, dear. I just put a lot of
it out in the garage. Just the extra stuff. You can bring anything
you want back up here. And we'll put the rest out for the trash
next week."
"I thought I told you. Never clean my room. Never go
in my room. I've got to have some space in this house. Some
private space. This is my room!" And where I exist, he thought. He
had accumulated seventeen years of self and it had always been a
place of shelter when the days got stormy.
"Well, you'll be going away this summer and I just
thought it would be nice to get a head start on cleaning this up. You
don't want me to do it after you've left, do you?"
"I'm not leaving. Or I might not leave. Or, well, you know,
I haven't made up my mind yet. I might just stay here. Just live in
this room. Why not?"
"Oh, that would be wonderful, Josh. We'd love to have
you here. I still think of you as my little baby. Come here, let me
give you a kiss."
"Ma! Back off. I didn't say I was staying. I didn't say I
was going. I just haven't made up my mind. And until I do, stay out
of my stuff !" His defenses were crumbling. Is this how animals
feel before an earthquake?
"How are you going to decide, Josh? I think this
whole school thing has got you confused. Bamboozled. We could
talk about it. We should talk about it. I don't think we've done very
well for you in this house. Just a bunch of old people who never
pay much attention to you. Do you talk to Gramps much? About
your plans? I don't think so." She had been standing just inside the
room but now she settled into the overstuffed chair that Josh had
rescued from the trash a few years back. She immediately began picking
at some stuffing that was spilling through a rip in the arm.
"I'm fine, Mom. Just fine. All I gotta do is decide what
I'm gonna do with the rest of my life. No big deal."
"No big deal? Then why don't you just flip a coin and
leave it at that? Heads stay home, tails off to Detroit."
"It's not that simple, Ma." Josh began pacing around
his small room but couldn't find the space he needed. Finally,
he stopped by the window and stared at the empty road. "Listen, can
I tell you something? Can I tell you something and have you
never repeat it? Not to Gramps? Not to Parsons? Not to anybody?"
"Of course you can. I'm your mother, after all." She smiled.
"You gotta promise, Ma. You can't just let it slip someday.
I haven't even told Miss Ingersoll this, and I tell her lots of stuff."
"Trust me."
"Do you remember Dad? Do you remember when you
first met him? Do you remember what it felt like?"
"That was a long time ago. But I remember it. Every
single moment of it." Her fingers stopped moving and she
straightened herself in the chair. "He made me alive for the first time in my
life. He made things important. You can't imagine how nice it
was, suddenly to have somebody that cared about me, that
understood what I felt. But you wanted to tell me something. Not ask me
a question."
"You know Cindy?" He turned and focused on his mother.
"Josh. She's here practically every day. Sometimes I think
I have two kids. Wait a minute. She's pregnant. That's what
you wanted to tell me. Oh, Josh. You do have big decisions."
"No, Ma. No, she's not pregnant. Couldn't be."
"Oh, Josh."
"What's that supposed to mean? Well, never mind
that. She's not pregnant, not going to be. We're just friends. Or
were." He was struggling to find his focus.
"Were? What are you saying, Josh? Have you and
Cindy had a fight? What happened?"
"No, no we haven't. We don't fight. But she wants me
to stay here, to stay the same." It sounded worse, when he said it
out loud.
"Well, what's wrong with that? You can stay here, even
if I've cleaned your room. Do you want Cindy to move in? Is that
it? Well, that might work. I'd have to talk with Gramps, but maybe
we could do that."
"Ma. That's not it. That's not what we want. Not yet.
Not now. No." This wasn't working.
"Oh, Josh. I'm missing something. I try hard to
understand you. But things seem to get confused. You need to be patient
with me. Help me. What is it, dear?" Her face reflected her concern.
Josh moved across the room and sat on his bed. He
looked up at his mother. Could she understand? She had lived her
entire life right in this house. Thirty-four years in the same room.
Why should she expect Josh to be any different?
"Ma, I could go to Detroit. That school out there is
awesome. The tools they have, the facilities. Stratham Tech is all
right. But it's just the same. Live at home. Go to school. Work with
Gus. More of the same." He stood up again.
"Cindy would like that. She's a special girl, Josh. And
I would like it. You and I are becoming good friends too. Don't
you think so?"
"Sure, Ma. That's why I'm asking you this. That's why
I need your advice." He didn't need friends. He needed truth.
How could he explain that to his mother?
"What's the question, dear? I still don't understand."
"Can I go to Detroit? Should I go to Detroit? I need help.
I need to figure this out." Maybe that wasn't it. Maybe it was
how much other people would care if he left, whether he'd ever be
able to come home again.
"Detroit is so far away. So different than Exeter. You'd
have to start over. Make new friends. Learn how to live on your
own. It's a big city, and you're a small town boy. Cities have
problems that we don't even begin to understand." She smiled. An
all-knowing smile, filled with a wisdom that Josh knew she didn't have.
He wished now he had never begun this conversation.
"And Josh, you know I like having you here. Gramps is
fine. He's my father and all. But I feel closer to you. I'm only
thirty-four years old. Practically a kid. I'd be sad if you left. Oh, don't let
that influence your decision. But I would be sad." She stood up and
ran her dustrag over the recently cleared surfaces.
"Okay, Ma. I just don't know yet. To go or to stay.
Pretty straight forward conflict. But no easy answer."
"Well, I'm glad I could help. You bring anything you
want back upstairs. It just seemed like a good idea to get some
stuff moved. You'll be happier with less in your room. Is there
anything else?"
"No. No, Ma. That's all I wondered about. Thanks for
the help." Sarah smiled and left the room. Josh fell back on his bed
and stared at the ceiling. If Cindy were pregnant, then his mother
would have some advice. She'd been there and done that. And Josh
had spent most of his life suffering the consequences. But moving
away. Going to a new city, a new life. His mother didn't have a clue.
How come grownups didn't have to take some sort of course before
they were allowed to raise kids?
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