“I want you to pick up your books from the hall and take them to your room. You have a perfectly good desk up there! And while you’re at it, remove your shoes from under the coffee-table, PLEASE!” Derek’s mother was on a dictatorial streak; it really got on his nerves.
“Yes, officer,” he said, with a comically fearful expression. “Right away, sir!”
“What did you say?”
“Oh, officer, I didn’t intend to cause trouble! I will remove the shoes as soon as possible! But you see, my hands are full of books.”
“Derek, you are disrespecting me. Don’t do that.” His mother was not amused.
“I am showing you the UTMOST respect, sir!”
Derek, who was 15, had no inkling of his mother’s horror of becoming “the disciplinarian” in the family, or of her related insecurity about being “feminine” enough for his father, who sometimes joked about Lanie “wearing the pants.” He didn’t get why his mother had just sat herself down on the couch and started sobbing.
“Ma! Hey, I’m kidding! I just remembered when we got stopped by the cop that time, when we went to pick up Dad, and you tried to double park at the airport. You were so polite to him! I’m just RECOGNIZING your, uh, authority.” Derek sat down next to Lanie and patted her back. She glanced at him, then turned away.
“I’m at my wit’s end, Derek. But you don’t need to worry about it.”
How could Derek NOT worry now? “Wit’s end”—-what did that mean? His father was away on yet another business trip, but his mother previously had seemed to enjoy her single-parent days. “Look, I’m picking up the shoes, Ma,” Derek said. He ran upstairs with them, then returned for the books.
“It’s not THAT,” Derek,” his mother said, a bit more composed now. “It’s everything. I can’t live up to my own standards. I’m supposed to care, but I don’t. In fact, I think I’ll just leave my own shoes here OVERNIGHT!”
Derek ran back upstairs, grabbed his dirty sneakers again, ran back down, and placed them under the coffee-table next to his mother’s fancy sandals. Lanie laughed. “Now all we need are your father’s slippers.”
Derek scooted into the master bedroom, brought out his father’s old leather slippers, and placed them next to the other two pairs. “Together again,” he said.
Lanie reached down and began to rearrange the shoes. First she put one of her sandals inside one of her husband’s slippers. Then she placed her other sandal on top of one of Derek’s sneakers. Derek picked up the other sneaker and put it on the coffee-table. Then he took his father’s other slipper and put it on his mother’s lap. They looked at each other. “It’s the latest therapy method,” Derek said.
“I’m glad no one is taking notes,” Lanie said. She was struggling now to NOT pick up all the shoes and put them away immediately. The moment she’d shouted, “OVERNIGHT!” she had felt unusually free of compulsion, and she wanted to stay in that psychological place, but it was so hard. She stroked the leather slipper that was in her lap and sighed.
— Macoff
“Yes, officer,” he said, with a comically fearful expression. “Right away, sir!”
“What did you say?”
“Oh, officer, I didn’t intend to cause trouble! I will remove the shoes as soon as possible! But you see, my hands are full of books.”
“Derek, you are disrespecting me. Don’t do that.” His mother was not amused.
“I am showing you the UTMOST respect, sir!”
Derek, who was 15, had no inkling of his mother’s horror of becoming “the disciplinarian” in the family, or of her related insecurity about being “feminine” enough for his father, who sometimes joked about Lanie “wearing the pants.” He didn’t get why his mother had just sat herself down on the couch and started sobbing.
“Ma! Hey, I’m kidding! I just remembered when we got stopped by the cop that time, when we went to pick up Dad, and you tried to double park at the airport. You were so polite to him! I’m just RECOGNIZING your, uh, authority.” Derek sat down next to Lanie and patted her back. She glanced at him, then turned away.
“I’m at my wit’s end, Derek. But you don’t need to worry about it.”
How could Derek NOT worry now? “Wit’s end”—-what did that mean? His father was away on yet another business trip, but his mother previously had seemed to enjoy her single-parent days. “Look, I’m picking up the shoes, Ma,” Derek said. He ran upstairs with them, then returned for the books.
“It’s not THAT,” Derek,” his mother said, a bit more composed now. “It’s everything. I can’t live up to my own standards. I’m supposed to care, but I don’t. In fact, I think I’ll just leave my own shoes here OVERNIGHT!”
Derek ran back upstairs, grabbed his dirty sneakers again, ran back down, and placed them under the coffee-table next to his mother’s fancy sandals. Lanie laughed. “Now all we need are your father’s slippers.”
Derek scooted into the master bedroom, brought out his father’s old leather slippers, and placed them next to the other two pairs. “Together again,” he said.
Lanie reached down and began to rearrange the shoes. First she put one of her sandals inside one of her husband’s slippers. Then she placed her other sandal on top of one of Derek’s sneakers. Derek picked up the other sneaker and put it on the coffee-table. Then he took his father’s other slipper and put it on his mother’s lap. They looked at each other. “It’s the latest therapy method,” Derek said.
“I’m glad no one is taking notes,” Lanie said. She was struggling now to NOT pick up all the shoes and put them away immediately. The moment she’d shouted, “OVERNIGHT!” she had felt unusually free of compulsion, and she wanted to stay in that psychological place, but it was so hard. She stroked the leather slipper that was in her lap and sighed.
— Macoff
Those of us who are a little OCD definitely feel Lanie's pain. opelikakat
ReplyDeleteI have met many women and actually men like this. Super characterization of Derek as well. You definitely nailed a fifteen-year old boy.
ReplyDelete