"Hi, Mom," I awkwardly said upon entering my room. Seeing her again was a surreal experience; it felt like I hadn't seen her in years despite it only being a few days.
"Oh, Clive, what are we going to do with you?" she asked with a worried tone, shaking her head.
"You're way too worried about all of this; I'll be fine," I said a little too casually. The truth is, I was more trying to convince myself than her that I'd be okay. I knew deep down I permanently damaged at least a few parts of my brain. I definitely damaged my amygdala.
"I hope so; I don't know if I could go through this nightmare all over again," she said with tears in her eyes.
"Was I really that out of it?" I asked curiously.
"You locked yourself in the hospital bathroom because you thought the doctors were trying to hurt you. They had to drag you out of there, and they said your resting heart rate was at 190 beats per minute. You're lucky to be alive."
"Mom, do you think I'm a good person?" I asked, genuinely curious as to whether or not she thought I was a decent human being. I certainly didn't feel like one.
"Of course! Why would you be anything else?" she asked, taken aback by my question.
"I'm selfish. I hurt those I love constantly. I get mad at everything and everyone so easily, and I'm a total loser," I replied with my eyes stinging.
"That's just called being a teenager. Look, when I was your age, I wasn't the most likable person either."
"How bad were you?" I asked, ecstatic to hear about her past.
"I dumped this one boy two weeks before we were supposed to go to prom," she replied, cringing.
"You what?!" I nearly yelled out in shock.
"Yup, I went that low. I used to bully others," she said with a look of shame.
"I did too, but I outgrew it. Bullies are pathetic; they're always picking on those who can't defend themselves. My school does all these anti-bullying rallies, but they change nothing; you can't change human nature," I replied with a frustrated sigh.
"I don't agree with that; plenty of people change over their lifetime."
"People can change, but at the end of the day, we're all drawn by instinct to do evil. We're only animals after all..."
"Except you know what makes us different from other animals?" she asked with a tiny smile.
"What?"
"Morality, we're the only species that base our decisions on ethics over instincts."
"I mean, yeah, that is true. Anyways, how have you been doing since, you know?" I asked, curious as to how she was dealing with my father's death.
"Well... it's been difficult for sure. Imagine knowing someone for twenty years and then losing them. It's a hell I wouldn't wish upon my worst enemies."
"We'll be alright," I said supportively.
"Oh! That reminds me of something I've been listening to lately," she excitedly exclaimed.
"What's that?" I asked curiously.
"Do you know the band Weezer?"
"Obviously, I know Weezer! I don't live under a rock, you know... Pinkerton is one of my favorite albums."
"Just checking, I've been listening to their album Everything Will Be Alright In the End. It's their best one in a while. Raditude was absolute garbage."
"Is that the one that has that terrible Can't Stop Partying song? That song makes me gouge my eyes out," I asked, cringing.
"That's the one. Anyways, there's this song from it called Back to the Shack that I really like. Let me show it to you," she said, pulling out her phone. I'll admit that I was jealous that I couldn't have my phone with me.
She put the song on, and from the first chord, I was hooked. That's the funny thing about Weezer; they make a lot of great songs but then make others that are downright unlistenable. The Beatles had a habit of doing that as well; I can't stand that Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da song; hearing it makes me want to punch someone.
"Not bad, right?"
"Yeah, I think it's pretty good. What did you listen to when you were my age, Ma?" I asked curiously.
"I listened to a lot of Public Enemy; It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back is such a great album."
"Yeah? Why don't you show me something from it?" I asked excitedly.
"Okay, tell me what you think of this," she said with a tiny smile while putting on Black Steel in the Hour of Chaos. Despite not liking rap all that much, I thought it was brilliant. I enjoyed how, instead of bragging constantly, they told a thought-provoking story; it's not often that you see that in hip-hop. My favorite hip-hop album of all time would have to be Illmatic by Nas; it's a masterpiece. I love that It Ain't Hard to Tell song and N.Y. State of Mind blows me away every time.
"It's stellar; they don't make rap like that anymore."
"They sure don't. This isn't rap-related, but your father got to see Metallica perform in Seattle back in '89. He told me it was one of the greatest experiences of his life and that when ...And Justice for All started playing, he nearly screamed from excitement. He also said James swore about ten times before starting that song..."
"What a lucky son of a gun... Hey Mom, did you know Clive Bullock?" I asked nervously. I'm not sure why, but asking about him made me feel nervous; my body was shaking all over the place like those tweakers you see at Seattle parks. Once, one of them even offered me some crystal; I asked him, "Why, so I can end up like you?" He nearly assaulted me for that comment, but I was told honesty was the best policy. If you can't handle my honesty, you're an insecure brat.
"You mean your dad's friend who died?" she asked in a surprised tone.
"Yeah, I mean, what was he like? Was he a decent human being, or was he trash?" I asked, dying to hear more about him.
"He wasn't either," she replied, emotionless.
"What do you mean?" I asked, confused.
"He wasn't good or bad. He was always helping around the community, but was repeatedly unfaithful when we were together. He would drink and start hitting on women at parties. After I broke up with him, I gave your dad a chance, and he was everything that Clive wasn't."
"Wow, I want to change my name now... Was he drunk when he crashed his car?"
"Probably, he often drove after drinking heavily. You know what was the worst part of it all?" my mother asked with tears rolling down her eyes.
"What?" I asked, curious.
"He once jokingly told me he wouldn't live past twenty-five. He always used to say we die young."
Was he quoting that one Alice in Chains song off Facelift?
"I know you feel guilty that you couldn't save him, but it's not your fault. He chose his own path, not you. You can't save someone who doesn't want to be saved," I said supportively, hugging her. My mom has been through hell, and I rarely appreciate all she has done for me. She's not perfect, but that's what makes her human.
"The past is still the past, the bridge to nowhere," my mother gently sang. She used to sing a lot to help me fall asleep when I was a child; Song of the Count from Sesame Street would always put me straight to sleep. If I were a character from the show, I'd probably be Oscar the Grouch; I hate most people like him. The biggest problem with society is that people often do what's popular before what's right. It's like we blindly follow so many things and people just because everyone else is doing it. Me? I like to form my own opinion on things before trying them. That's why most critics suck; they always hate things that should be loved and love what they're meant to hate.
"Sufjan Stevens," I said with a wide smile.
"Yes. Well, I probably should get going now. I'm delighted I got to see you again. I love you," she said, hugging me tightly.
"I love you, mom. Hey, one last thing?"
"Yeah?"
"Remember, everything will be alright in the end."