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Mum was waiting for me in the lounge room. This threw me completely off guard. Normally all Armstrong business was conducted at the kitchen table: holiday discussions, school reports, conflict resolution, the handing down of punishments, what you wanted from Santa Claus. I could hear the sounds of Joni Mitchell, one of Mum’s sad but serious CDs, coming from the stereo and knew it wasn’t going to be pretty. I stood in the doorway and tried to prepare myself.
It was quiet except for Joni’s voice, quiet and dark. Mum had lit all the candles and she was sitting right in the corner of the sofa, surrounded by cushions, with her feet up, holding a glass of wine. She was staring, looking at nothing, with her head resting on her knees. She looked really, really small and I felt really, really bad.
I knew what was coming. Sometimes I wish Mum would just lose it and yell and scream, but she has to talk about everything. She’d been extra vigilant since January. It made me think of Mad-Eye Moody in those Harry Potter books. But instead of looking for the evil bloke Voldemort, she was looking out for any sign of me losing my grip.
The he who can’t be named in our house was Dad. Actually, that was not strictly true; I think Mum really wanted to talk about Dad but I wouldn’t. I didn’t see the point. It made her upset and it made me feel like an idiot. Clearly not an enjoyable experience for anyone involved.
Anyway, Dad was not the topic of conversation this evening; the fact that I had exposed my backside to the world was.
Why, Will?
She hadn’t moved. I shifted from the doorway and made my way to the other end of the sofa.
Why, Will? she asked again.
What do you say to your mum when she asks you why you dropped your pants in front of a hundred adolescents in full view of the general public?
I don’t know, Mum. I didn’t think about it. The bus was stuck, everyone was looking around waiting for something to happen, it was Friday afternoon, Jock dared me, and it seemed like a funny thing to do at the time. Millions of reasons. No real reason.
She hung her head for a few moments and then put down the wineglass.
Mum, it doesn’t mean I’m a dirty pervert. It doesn’t mean you have to put me in therapy. It doesn’t mean anything. I just did it, that’s all. I promise you it will never happen again.
She looked so sad and tired. By this time my feeling like a complete loser had multiplied by infinity.
But it’s not just what happened on Friday, Will, can’t you see that? The past six months have been full of moments when you do something stupid or dangerous and then you say you’re sorry but in another few days you go and do something stupid again. And whatever we … I … try to do doesn’t seem to have any effect.
She turned and looked straight into my eyes.
Do you have any idea how close you came to being expelled today?
My gut started its second workout for the day.
Do you? It was only because the other teachers spoke on your behalf that you weren’t. I tried to tell them that maybe I could have been more supportive or—
No way, Mum, it’s not your fault….
I’m worried about you, Will. Really worried, and I’m not sure that—
This was way out of control! She had nothing to do with it.
Don’t be worried about me! I know Waverton reckons I need to be in a loony bin, but I honestly just did it for a laugh.
But you seem so—
I cut her off. No poor William session, not tonight.
Honest, Mum, I’m fine. I know I’m seventeen years of age and too old to be doing such stupid things. But it’s going to stop from now on, I promise.
I just kept plowing through, trying to mop up her hurt with my words.
Look, they’ve given me my punishment and that’s going to make sure I don’t have a life, so you don’t have to worry about me getting into trouble ever again. Really!
She cut me a look that said that if I ever did anything that stupid again, she would pack me off to my grandparents’ house, the land of nana smells, bed by eight o’clock and side-part comb-overs—and that’s just my grandmother.
I knew from past experience that her silence meant I was finally winning some ground.
You should see what I have to do over the next two months! Operation Musical will be a death sentence for my social life. Every friend I ever had will disown me for fear of being infected.
The eyes lifted.
So you see, Mum, when you think about it, this might have been the best thing that could’ve happened to me.
If you think for one minute that I am going to buy that rubbish, then you have clearly underestimated my intelligence.
Mum … I don’t know what else to say. I don’t know why I did it and I am really sorry. And I am really, really sorry you’re so upset.
And I meant it, I really did. She’s the first in my top three of things I’m most sure of: my mum, my guitar and my mates.
I know I’ve been in a bit …
Her eyebrows jumped nearly to her hairline.
… a lot of trouble lately, but …
She interjected. I’d stop now if I were you.
But I knew she finally believed me, and a tiny half-smile flickered on her face.
Serves you right, William. I hope you’re condemned to being a social reject for the rest of your teenage life and you have to spend every Saturday night looking after your mother.
That’s not very motherly of you, Mum.
You’re bloody right it’s not.
And about three seconds later a pillow landed square in my face.