That "Awkward!" Phase
Silja Hare
Copyright 2012 by Silja Hare
"But he's been in there for days!" Her mouth quivered and her lustrous black eyes welled up as she wrung her hands in her frilled apron. "Something's wrong. I just know it!" Her husband chuckled, put a strong, comforting arm around her shoulders, and dropped a kiss on her forehead.
"Honey, nothing's wrong. This is just something he has to get through on his own. Every boy deals with it, sooner or later. Don't cry, honey, you'll muss up your makeup. Come on, give us a smile, make up a nice pot of tea, and we'll leave the boy in peace."
* * *
"Sweetie, what are you doing?" Her eyes narrowed in suspicion as Father straightened up hastily from where he was bent over in front of the door. He glanced sheepishly at his wife and cleared his throat.
"Uh... nothing, honey-bunch. Nothing at all. Just checking the boy's okay in there."
"Really. So what's this, then?" Eagle-swift, she stooped down and plucked up the magazine that hadn't been slid quite far enough under the door. She regarded the cover with deep distaste then flipped through it dismissively. "You must be joking. As if he hasn't enough to go through, you want to give him this trash?"
"It's not trash! There are some very good articles in there!"
"I will not have our son's mind poisoned by this garbage! The very idea! Look at this-- "she stopped short, then pulled the magazine open all the way and turned it sideways. "You can't tell me this is real." He peered over the top of the magazine.
"Well, okay, maybe there's a touch of cosmetic enhancement there - but it still doesn't negate the value of the information in the article."
"What article," she stated, rather than asked.
"That one - look - down at the bottom. Um. You have to turn the magazine the right way again."
"Oooh, I see it - the three-line paragraph at the very bottom of the right hand page in print you need a magnifying glass to read?" He snatched the magazine from her hands, slammed it shut, glared at her, then slid it defiantly under the door.
"He'll thank me for this, you'll see."
That night, he ate his (cold) dinner in silence and went to (an even colder) bed.
* * *
"All right, honey-sweet, maybe you're right. I don't remember it taking me this long. Maybe something's not right in there." He took a deep breath. "I'm going in." She clutched at the sleeve of his pullover.
"Be careful!" He took another deep breath then rapped firmly on the door.
"Bobby? Bobby, it's your father. Unlock the door - we need to talk."
Silence.
"Bobby, unlock the door this instant. Don't make me unlock it."
"Okay, Dad. But not Mom." The sentence started out with the high tones of a frightened child, wobbled and bounced all over the octave map, then finished with a squeak that sounded as though someone had performed the Heimlich maneuver on a piccolo player.
"No, sweetie, I won't - I'll, I'll just - I'll just go make some tea!" and she fled.
Ten minutes later, her husband, pale and with slightly trembling hands joined her in the kitchen where he downed a boiling hot cup of tea in one go.
"I think we need to call in the doctor." Mother bit the side of her fist and sobbed.
* * *
Dr Sitri was of the old school: his portly frame encased in slightly worn but immaculately clean brown and white houndstooth tweed, his brown shoes and black bag both well-worn but with the soft glow that only comes with regular and diligent application of mink oil. His moustache and hair were improbably black and held in neat order by a light application of pomade.
"Yes, ma'am, yes, sir, what problem is it we are having today?" he asked in his lilting accent.
"It's Bobby," Father said. "He's... well... he's been locked in his room for a week now. He barely eats, he hasn't showered -- I know it's normal for boys at this age, but I-- we really think something is wrong."
"And how old is Bobby again? Thirteen! My, my, how time flies! I remember when he was just a little baby - like it was only yesterday, yes, ma'am?" She gave him a watery smile and nodded. "So soon they are growing up," he sighed nostalgically. "Well, show me to the bedroom and I will be examining Bobby. Likely there is nothing wrong, perhaps he is having some teenage drama of the heart. We will see."
They ushered him to Bobby's door, then retreated to the kitchen and pretended to drink tea while they waited. The tea was stone cold by the time Dr Sitri re-appeared, no longer smiling.
"Well, he is certainly having difficulty," he began, then added hastily "but it is not uncommon and certainly will not cause long-term problems. This is something that happens to some young men. It takes... time. He has to come to terms with what is happening to his body and some boys have trouble with the mental and emotional adjustment, particularly if he proves to be a bit... exceptional in this regard. He told me you provided magazines, sir. It is not something I would condone on a regular basis but in this situation, perhaps it was for the best. Certainly the articles were very informative. I have given him something to ease discomfort for the time being. It shouldn't take much longer - if he is not out of his room by this time tomorrow, please to call me again."
"But what's wrong with him?" Mother cried out imploringly. Dr Sitri smiled at her comfortingly.
"He's just getting horny - perfectly natural in a boy his age." He accepted the payment offered and took his courteous leave.
After he left, Mother cleaned the spotless kitchen. Father watched her until he couldn't stand it any more.
"Sweetie-pie, you are going to polish the top right off that table." She threw the cloth into the gleaming sink.
"I'm sorry, it's just... I can't help but feel we should be doing something more. I should go talk to him. He needs his mother at a time like this." Father's expression was a sight to behold.
"I should say not! Did I interfere when Sally finally got her first tail!?" Mother gasped in shock.
"I cannot believe you just said that! That is so wrong on so many different levels! What kind of father even thinks something like that, let alone says it!? You need to go work in the shed or something - I can't look at you right now." Unable to face the onslaught of feminine anger and scorn, he fled the kitchen.
That evening, Mother cried in the bubble bath and Father ate a TV dinner in front of the hockey game. The Salisbury Steak was scorching hot, the peach cobbler dried up, and the mashed potatoes half-frozen - he never could get the hang of the microwave. If ever there was a time, he thought miserably, this was when he could have really used a beer. After his team was soundly defeated, he spent a miserable, lonely night on the couch.
* * *
The morning sun streamed through the window but could not lift the strained, silent atmosphere in the kitchen. Father stared at his plate. The eggs were sunny side up. He hated fried eggs. The toast was pale. He hated pale toast. As if it wasn't enough that the coffee was cold, the bacon was soggy.
"All right, that's enough!" he said, the final straw making the proverbial camel suck sand. She jumped as he slammed a palm on the table.
"Our son is going through a very significant stage of development. This is when we as parents should be sticking together, not tearing each other apart! I love you, honey, but you need to learn when to back off and let a man do what a man's gotta do!" She stood silently, eyes downcast, then sighed.
"I'm sorry, sweetie. You're right. But a mother has a right to worry about her children. Maybe Bobby is becoming a man - but he is and will always be my little boy and I'll never stop worrying about him."
"
And that's what I love about you, sweetheart. You're not like other mothers, who would just as soon eat their young as help them." Finally, she smiled, the dimples he adored peeping out for the first time in days. Stepping into each others arms, they held each other tightly, murmuring nonsensical terms of endearment. Father's hands were just about to get a bit more daring when they heard it...
...the creak of a door overhead. They leapt apart guiltily. Father was straightening his tie and smoothing the front of his shirt and Mother was peering into the side of the toaster making sure her hair was still in array and her lipstick in place when Bobby shyly, hesitantly, stepped into the kitchen, one hand still fingering a long, smooth shaft.
"There's my young man!" Father boomed, a huge smile cracking his face. "Look at that - that is impressive! Doesn't he look fine, Mother?" Mother cast her eyes all about, not daring to look directly at her son.
"Well, now, that is, um, certainly a fine growth you have there, Bobby," she said. "Have some tea! And breakfast! It's eggs and toast or I can get you some cereal or is there something else you'd like?" she babbled awkwardly.
"Eggs and toast is fine, Mom," Bobby said. They were amazed to hear the rich, smooth baritone of his adult voice for the first time. Mother couldn't stop images of melted chocolate pouring out of a gold jug from appearing in her mind. As Bobby leaned forward to take his seat at the table, there was a sharp, ringing "crack" - Father caught the wildly swinging pendant lamp before the glass shade fell and plummeted to the floor. Bobby winced and collapsed onto the chair, hands to his forehead and eyes watering.
"Whoa, there, son. They're new, so they'll be sensitive yet. It takes time to get used to them, although with a rack like that, I think we might need to raise a few door frames and light fixtures." Mother, her composure regained, turned back to the table to slide freshly-done eggs from the frying pan onto Bobby's plate. Warm red flames of maternal pride rose in the black expanse of her eyes.
"They are lovely, Bobby - really lovely. The girls at school are going to go crazy over you!" When Bobby blushed, the bright red skin he inherited from his father gained a deep purple hue and his new set of twin lustrous horns, rising from his forehead an impressive height before forming graceful mirror-imaged arcs, turned from deepest brown to true ebony black.
Just then, Sally appeared, school uniform on and carrysack on her shoulder. Seeing her brother at the table, she rolled her eyes.
"Oh, great - look who's gotten horny all of a sudden," she quipped, and with a quick flick of the barbed tail only possessed by females, sent his toast flying out of his hands onto the table. "Guess you won't be wearing those stupid baseball hats any more!"
Mother and Father, glowing with pride, sat at the table and watched indulgently as their children squabbled. Sally's tail might be a study in femininity and Bobby might be a picture of masculine perfection but they were still little Sally and Bobby. Truly, children of which two demons could be proud!
# # #
About the Author: Born in Stockholm, Sweden, Silja Hare was dragged, kicking and screaming, across the Atlantic to Canada in 1967. Well, she was eleven months old: what did you expect? She has three lovely daughters, each wonderfully talented in her own way; a spicy relationship with a professional cook; and a fantastic Border Collie mix named Dandy.
To contact the author, email
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