Cheating Gods of Death (Sequel to L: Find A GirLfriend)

Cake

"George,"

She never finished her thought.

"What?"

"Why did you just... hug me like that?"

Like our parents, motive was important to her when making decisions. She was logical; sometimes, I couldn't be. I didn't want to be. It was still one of the hardest things I've ever had to say on my own breath.

"I'm... I'm kinda scared, y'know?"

"No, I don't. Of what?"

But, after it, everything else burst at the seams.

"Dad, Ryuuk... The Deathnote..."

Laying back across her bed, I saw the glowing stars Mom stuck up there the last time she painted her room. I put my hands back to cradle my head that was nearly hanging off the side, and let myself breathe. The room smelled faintly of cheap glitter spray and Victoria's Secret.

"Have you read the rules yet?"

"What?"

"The Deathnote's rules. I asked Dad about it, and he let me read them. They're on the inside of the covers."

"The thing has rules?!"

"Yeah. It's not a genie lamp, it's just a tool to play a game."

"Y'know what, you're pretty philosophical."

"George, our mom is a psychiatrist and our dad can somehow equate shoe soles to murder suspects. I hope I've picked up something from them."

"Yeah, I know."

There was almost nothing more needing to be said.

"I'm sorry, that sounded mean."

Until, of course, she spoke up against it. Her mind was already flung open, more was practically spilling out. She was a certain kind of reserved, like Dad, but I knew she thought. A better analogy is that there were two of her: one to have fun, and the other to be rational. She was always so strong; she did my job better than I ever could through those years.

Don't think I was denying her natural emotional responses or responding positively to her suppressing it. I'm not. She was just always more apt to take the hidden brightness of situations rather than the face value. She was just that person. Mom kept our momentum, let everyone else know we were fine. Mom never let anyone know what she couldn't handle, or what really was first. She never lost her martyrdom as a housewife; she wore the title with pride and went about seeing patients.

I didn't know my job, really. I still don't.

I say that about a lot of things, but I truthfully don't know my job.

After the last few days went by and everyone was packed and ready, we left Friday evening to the tune of "Adam's Song" and my mother hesitating until the second verse to change it.

"Buzzkill... I like the song, but a total buzzkill..."

And, we drove until we reached Richmond, to spend the night in a hotel and wake up in the unreasonable morning hours. Dad almost immediately stripped when we got in the room, put on his pajamas, and had nearly gone to sleep by the time Mom had showered, redressed, and stolen the hotel soaps. Erica and I resolved to shower once we were in the UK.

Even in a civillian's jeans and a simple graphic shirt, my mom demanded the attention she sought as if every step was punctuated as normal by her heels. Dad followed her over her right shoulder, Erica over the left, and I transitioning from directly behind Dad to beside Erica. We marched on, barely dignified, into the gate the next morning, and it was filled with stereotypically speaking Brits. Or, how I imagined it would be. As we sat in the gate, Dad began to offer quiet, tiny things for us to look forward to.

"I have missed Jammie Dodgers so much from living there."

"Weren't those the crumbly jelly cookies?"

"Yes... I might just hoard them in our luggage. I left space."

"I hope so, this is a giant checked bag."

-That she willingly dragged the entire way, which was why none of us could travel directly behind her.

"I missed them."

"You both lived in England?"

Erica.

"Yes, I met her there. I grew up there."

"Oh."

At the least, it was quickly settled. We boarded into coach and sat in the middle row behind a pod of genuine senior citizen whales. After Mom chatted a bit with them, she learned they were a retirement activity group on a trip. Dad was on the outside end, with Mom, Erica, and then me, beside a cat carrier with a snoozing, slightly anxious maine coon inside.

And, thus began the dragging hours of mid-air brain death in the center aisle of an airborne metal baguette.

Erica zoned out on her Nintendo for the first two hours like a champ, then took a short nap. Dad was doing the same over her drooping shoulder, it seemed; he and mum were leaned against each other, listening through respective headphones through a splitter attached to her phone. Mom's eyes were open, but staring blankly ahead into the dimmed cabin lights. Over the heads of the retirement group, and past the screens, still onward past the lulling beards of scraggle into "vintage" scarves. They had come closer since he's been away, he much closer to her, and she accepted every memento of happiness he gave her.

Mom never slept when traveling, which was why we got that hotel room in the first place.

The in flight was the kind of trash Nicolas Cage should have starred in, but they hired some D-List actor in his place. Something with a deep, resonating theme about family, growth, and learning about life. Lifetime Nic Cage movie.

We landed and disembarked in England a little after noon due to the time difference, and once we had boarded up in our hotel suite, Mom began to tell us what we would be doing.