#3- Zürich
Mom's finally decided that me going to my shrink was a waste of time. Apparently, he cannot treat one who does not wish to be treated. I wonder if telling her “I told you so,” is grounds for punishment. I still have to write in this though because it falls into the category of, “Mother-daughter bonding time,” and it's either this or the mall.
I hate this but the mall is like Hell; there's only so much lugging of stuff you can take before your spirit breaks. You start to feel like a mule and wonder if you should practice your braying in the mirror. I've never gotten farther than displaying my metal-covered teeth, as I usually come to my senses shortly after I drop the bags in the living room.
I eat dinner with Elga, our live-in maid, as my mother chatters to us from the living room about all the things that we bought and I'm slightly resentful because my choice wasn't a choice at all as I write while I eat. Elga may be German but she makes the best spaghetti I've ever eaten and I've eaten a lot of spaghetti. Once I'm finished she says something in German which I don't understand but the pointing and miming is universal. “Go upstairs and clean your room.” I throw all the stuff in my closet and tell her I'm done.
It's almost eight o'clock in the evening when I head into my tree-house to look through my father's old brass telescope and find a few constellations. After an hour according to my Mickey Mouse watch, I give up and spin it to see what happens. It lands at the Grahams house and I look through the telescope, curious. I squint and see Tawny's room, bathed in golden light, and her shirt off. A wide grin etches it's way on my face and I try to stare harder. It's only her back, but it does seem to be smooth and clear. She slips a shirt on, sans bra, and turns to close the window. She sees me and smiles, waving at me. I'm about to wave back just as she closes the window and shuts the blinds.
I have no problem with what I've seen and I go back inside. Elga is at my door, pointing and yelling in angry German. I understand just enough to know that shoving everything in the closet was a bad idea. She makes me take all my clothes, fold them, toss the dirty one's in color sorted piles, separate my socks from my underwear and put them all in the laundry room, and place my shoes neatly in the closet. It takes maybe fifteen minutes and she smiles at me when I'm done before she pats my head and goes downstairs.
I stick my tongue out at her back before I go to take a shower. It's long and hot, and my skin feels tight and stretched when I get out and get dressed for bed. There's a computer in my room, and I wonder if I should search the web yet for something to do but I decide against it. I have Family Guy DVD's and it's more than adequate against the Internet. I should tell Dad to cut it out of the bill; I think the only one that uses it is Elga and from what I've seen when I've gone down there to tell her to do something, she's been looking at porn. Gay guy porn at that.
I settle in my overly-large bed and watch one of the episodes where Stewie and Brian decide to start singing. I love the 'Pot Song' and I know most of the lyrics to it. I'm about to fall asleep when Mom slips in and checks on me. All children are partial to their mothers being the most beautiful creatures on Earth, at least according to Freud, but my mother puts them to shame.
Her hair is wavy and a soft brown, gray around the temples, and her eyes are brown as well. They're a soft brown, like the kind you see when you make hot chocolate. She says I lucked out on having green eyes instead and that they look “striking” against my paleness and the gray of my glasses frames. I don't care. She's delicate looking with a thin body and a cherubic face. I understand how Dad could have fallen for her easily, despite that. She has an aura that claims the room around her, that commands respect and adoration and I easily surrender myself to her. Dad and I are much more laid-back and if we do claim attention, it's bad.
The other day he donated a large sum of money to St Jude's Children Hospital because it was my turn to pick a charity for the month and they completely ignored that. When he flew to China talk to one of the Prime Ministers associates who was a friend of his from college, they had a field day and claimed he was meeting a mistress.
Now my mother is beautiful, but simple-minded. She understands that the news is bad and sometimes lies, but she doesn't understand why they pick on him so much and it makes her depressed. When she gets depressed she shops until I drop, and Dad almost has ulcers from the amount she spends on absolute shit. I agree with him on just about everything because I'm the one carrying it all. What the hell do we need seven bags of potpourri for? One of those smells bad enough.
Mom sits on the edge of my bed and pushes my glasses up. She smooths back my hair and kisses me on my cheek. “Sleep tight, sweetie,” She says as she leaves and closes my door. I wonder what the hell that was about since she hasn't done that since I was in the fifth grade. I watch another episode, the one where the portal to the ghost realm is in Meg's ass when Dad comes in.
He looks tired and he rubs his eyes behind his glasses. He's in a business suit and his tie is out of the knot I usually see it in. He squints and looks at me before he sits on the edge of my bed.
Dad has gray hair and teal eyes, and he always looks tired. I guess there's more to being a CEO than sitting on his ass playing poker with the executives. He looks at me and says, “You like it here?” I'm use to questions like this. He sometimes just asks a random question to see what I'll say. Sometimes he likes me, other times he finds me repulsive. I think he's bi-polar.
I nod and say, “Yeah, the house is pretty cool.”
He shakes his head, “I mean in this town. It's small and safe and all, but I'm asking whether or not you like it.”
I think about it and say, “I like the town but the people that inhabit it can stand to change.” He gives a single chuckle, ruffles my hair, and leaves, turning my light off. Mom says that I remind him to much of himself at my age and that's why he and I don't get along. I eventually go to sleep, wondering what possessed my parents.
My parents aren't affectionate, accommodating people which is why it freaks me out so much that they actually kissed me last night. I was the surprise from Hell, and then I have the nerve to not look like either of them. Dad was always scowling in our family pictures and he looked more tired than ever.
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