I Was a Teenaged Metahuman Ch. 02

"Hello?" asked Grandfather. To his mother: "Is he in there?"

"A girl talked to me last week," Max blurted.

Eyebrows rose all around the table.

"You never mentioned this," accused his mother.

Max shrugged, suppressing an urge to scream at her until they were both crying. "You never asked. You're more of a teller than an asker."

Her face scrunched with anger. "Now you listen—"

"Miranda," interrupted Grandfather, and his mother fell silent. Sulkily, if her expression was any indication. Max was better at reading faces, now that he had a good understanding of the emotions that went with them.

Grandfather leaned in close, an old man about to impart a dose of rare wisdom, and said, "You talk to that girl, Max." His eyes twinkled. "Talk to her! Don't let her wriggle off the hook. You're my grandson; You have to carry the family honor."

He grinned, his golden incisor gleaming in the candlelight. "There ain't nothin' in the world like a dame," he quoted before hoisting his wineglass and draining it half away.

The food arrived and the conversation returned to less surprising topics like all the blue-haired babes Grandfather was pursuing. The old man had gone back to ignoring him.

Max was finishing his fettucini when he happened to glance up. Grandfather's eyelid drooped in a sly wink.

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Popcorn

Mrs. Sherman, eighty-three, five feet tall and skeletally thin, her scalp glossy beneath a scattering of short hairs, was moving out of assisted living. Max had to do all the work while his mother talked, argued with, and cajoled paperwork out of the facility's puzzled staff.

Max didn't really mind the work and he was happy to help her. He was in a considerably better mood after a series of events resulted in his dates getting moved to later in the day. Felice had lined up a date with her other squeeze on Sunday night, so he would be able to see Valerie then, provided he could sneak out of the church unseen. Lydia, meanwhile, had sent regrets, saying she'd forgotten about a swim practice on the night of their date, so they'd rescheduled their meeting for Sunday afternoon.

In discussions with Valerie, it'd become clear that she'd be around Saturday night, so Felice's promised fellatio was not happening. Max was kind of relieved. It was a bit extra. He wasn't sure he was ready for such a step. Besides, if he knew Felice, she'd come after him again.

Mrs. Sherman numbered among her possessions several pieces of antique furniture as well as an extensive collection of Christmas ornaments. Max's muscles weren't needed here, as most of this stuff was very light. Maybe they needed a youth of limited financial means to move all this stuff, so that if and when he broke something, he wouldn't be expected to pay for it. While the women supervised, he loaded a pickup truck borrowed for the purpose, then his mother drove while he sat in the truck bed and held onto anything that looked like it might fall out.

The new place was one of the ground floor apartments in a quad dwelling. Despite an energetic local dog, Max got everything inside without breaking it, although one of the boxes of ornaments made a suspicious crunch when he set it down.

The second trip was mostly furniture, but Max had added boxes to fill in the empty spaces. His 'supervisors' were getting impatient and tried to get him to overload the truck, but he stubbornly persevered until they saw reason. This trip was dangerous enough for its cargo—the furniture was lighter and the boxes more numerous.

He was loading it into the new place when a car pulled up and two irritated middle-aged people, male and female with a strong family resemblance, got out.

"Mom?" asked the woman. "What's going on?"

Max's mother stepped between Mrs. Sherman and the old woman's kids. "Now don't worry about—"

Mrs. Sherman son angrily interrupted, "No one asked you, Lady. We are taking to our mother."

"She's with me," piped the venerable woman in her high, wavering voice while Max's mother sputtered and he hid a smile.

"Why are you not in the facility?" asked her son pleadingly.

"She doesn't like it there," uttered his mother primly, and the old woman nodded.

The daughter ignored that and, taking a sideways step so she wasn't blocked by Max's mother, insisted, "Ma, we've been through this! You have to stay there!"

"Those negroes are mean to me!" complained Mrs. Sherman, making Max and her children wince.

"Ma, please!" implored her son. "We want you to be well. It's a big facility and they have already graciously agreed to limit your exposure to staff members you have issues with." Max was touched by his concern, his love. He'd never talk to his mother that way, he thought sourly. The son softened his voice, "Don't you remember us talking about this? It was the last time we visited."

"I don't wanna live there," crabbed the old woman.

Her daughter's temper slipped. "Well do you want to live?" her eyes were wet. "Because we do! Mom, you have aggressive gastrinoma that requires round the clock care. You've already had two medical episodes this month!" She was tearing up as she said this.

Max was wondering at the rich and caring life of these people and resenting his mother when she decided to inject herself once more into the conversation. "Children should respect their elders," she began sternly. Oh heck, Max thought, they're in for it now. She went on, "Your mother has expressed a sincere desire to live on her own and control her own finances. In fact—"

Mrs. Sherman's son cut her off, earning Max's everlasting respect. "This is a family matter, Ms..."

She bristled. Max physically flinched at the expression on her face. "It's Mrs. Garland, and I'll thank you to—"

He raised his voice, "This is a family matter, Mrs. Garland, and you are not family. You can go now."

He stepped past her and began to entreat his mother in low tones while his sister said, "Garland? Adam, that's the woman from the church!"

Max goggled at the balls on these people.

Adam stopped and turned slowly to face Max's mother. "I see what this is," he drawled reproachfully. "You just want to keep those checks coming in."

His mother rallied her outrage and replied, "I seem to be the only one who respects Marietta here. It has nothing to do with the checks, and I resent the implication!"

Adam sneered. "Bullshit. As far as you're concerned, my mother is the gravy train with biscuit wheels. You were the one who caused that cack-up with the power of attorney, weren't you? Yes, I remember you now."

Max thought it a shame he didn't have any popcorn to accompany this show.

Adam shook his head in disgust. "It's all about money with you church types, isn't it? Was six hundred thousand dollars not enough for you? Now you're trying to squeeze a few more bucks out of the poor woman?"

His mother's attention bounced from one to the other indignantly. "I never!"

The daughter snarled, "Tell your story walking, ya moocher!"

At this point, his mother had had about all she could take. "Both of you, sit down and shut up!"

Max's memory became fuzzy and worryingly indistinct as the two silently lowered themselves to the pavement.

Some time later, he was sure, it was just the three of them. "What happened to, uh, weren't there people just here?" he puzzled. He had been certain that there were angry people, and he'd been excited, hadn't he?

"There are no people here but us, Max," asserted his mother wearily. "Now finish getting those things into Mrs. Sherman's new home. Move that chair first. Mama's got to sit down for a few minutes."

He went to get the chair. For no reason he could see, he was moody and frustrated the rest of the day. Several times he felt on the verge of frustrated tears, but he couldn't put his finger on why.

His mother tried to pat him soothingly, but when he was like this, it just came off as condescending, maybe even manipulative, and he shrugged off the touches that irritated him so.

Once Mrs. Sherman's things were in the apartment, it took a while longer for him to move everything around to everyone's satisfaction. He didn't know why he wanted to hit something. As soon as he was released from duty he went into the bathroom and wiped angrily at his eyes and slammed his hand painfully against the sink several times. Why was he so mad? And why was that, itself a cause for so much discontent?

When he came out, his mother was there to envelop him in a big hug. His whole body tensed, which only earned him a longer, lavender and sweat-scented embrace.

"Good work today, Max," she soothed. "You should relax. Go to the library."

He was so angry, but he couldn't pin down a reason why. He must be in one of his moods again, he reckoned. Simmering, he went to the library. Once there he blinked, looked around, and mentally kicked himself for not paying attention to where he was going. This was definitely one of his moods.

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The author is in no way condemning Christianity or religion in general. If one thinks that the character of Miranda Garland is over the top, that only means that one has never encountered the author's grandma. Any resemblance to persons living, dead, or author's grandma is totally unintended.

Thanks for reading. Please vote, comment, and print this story out so you can rub it all over your naked body. That's what I do.

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