I wrote this story a few months ago. I was writing heaps of really shitty stories back then, this was the only one that I thought was marginally ok. I probably wouldn't write this sort of thing, now, but maybe I would, except in a different way. When you are reading this story with your book club, please consider the following question: "Is the mother character completely fucked in the head, or is she merely trying to come to terms with the realities of a life that could not live up to the impossibly perfect future that she had planned out, in her youth?" Please discuss this story with your book club.
Anita looks at Tyson through the reflection in the rear-view mirror of the two-door hatch.
“I wish I’d never bought a car,” she says, “When I was younger I wrote down a list of things that I would never do and I wrote that I would never buy a car, right at the top of the list. Did you know that? I never had a list of ‘plans’ or ‘ambitions’. I thought that was so stereotypical, sickeningly stereotypical.”
They are driving home from the day-care centre that Tyson has been attending every weekday, nine to four, for three months.
“I wrote that I would never have children because I wanted to spend all my time on my art, even if that meant me being a homeless person.”
They drive past a Chicken Lickem outlet and Tyson says, “Mum. Mum. Mum. Mum. Mum. Mum. Mumumumumumumumumumumummmmmmmmmmmmmm.”
Anita orders a Chicken Little value pack, which has a plastic toy and burger and fries and soft drink and is packaged precisely in a cardboard box sporting colourful images of the franchise’s trademarked cartoon characters.
“You know what it is, that awful shit that you are eating, Tyson? Factory-killed hens, fattened up so big that their legs break right underneath them. By making me buy you that meal, you are indirectly supporting torture, murder and the deforestation of the Third World for intensive factory farming.”
They continue driving, out of the city and into the suburbs. Anita thinks about smoking a cigarette but then thinks about Tyson and mouth cancer, and abstains. She thinks about drinking coffee and tea and various alcoholic beverages all at the same time and how content that would surely make a person, any person.
Anita stops the car and calmly takes off her seat belt. She climbs over the seat and sits next to Tyson, who is seated on a booster-chair.
“I don’t know how to talk to you,” she says. “That’s a frank admission. It’s not just you – maybe, I don’t know. I am afraid that you will end up hating me one day, for messing you up. I am afraid that you will one day know all of my secrets and will use them against me to blackmail me or pit me against your father for some reason. I am afraid that you will not accept me as a person and will make me feel unworthy for even existing.”
Anita climbs back over the seat and starts up the car again. It revs quietly and then starts to accelerate. There is only silence in the car. Tyson is eating his chicken burger noiselessly.
“I am going to act differently towards you from now on,” Anita says when they arrive at home, as she is unstrapping Tyson from the booster-seat. “I am going to pretend that I exist only for your benefit, and that I am your slave. I am going to be subservient to you, and only talk to you when you address me first. I don’t know why, but I think that this will make me feel better.”
Anita carries Tyson into the house and sets him up in front of the television. Anita cleans up the toys Tyson has strewn across the living room and says “I am happy” in her head and then says “I am happy” out loud.
Owning a television was on the list, the list of things Anita would never do. Owning an air-conditioner was on the list. Owning a big house with a big kitchen was on the list. Having a desk-job was on the list. Wearing makeup was on the list. Saying “I am happy” out loud was on the list, maybe. Pant-suits were on the list. Having children was on the list. Living past twenty-four was on the list. Hair dye was on the list. Plastic-wrapped foodstuffs were on the list.
There was a lot on the list.
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