The Less Interesting TimesThis is My World and You Can Pry it from My Cold Dead Fingers

2008/12/07 Parents: The Future Cop

“What did you do this week? Are you eating well? How is that friend of yours, Jack, right? Have you met anyone nice? What about that British girl you talked about? Are you feeling OK? Please tell me you weren’t involved in that big mess in Baltimore last week!”
Dexter looked up from the pudgy bowl of cereal he had in front of him. Across the kitchen table sat his mother, carefully drinking her morning tea, and his father, eating scrambled eggs with one hand because his other was holding the paper.
Being a Protector is hard enough. It wasn’t extra easy when you were fresh out of college and when things, under your supervision, tended to spiral madly out of control. The Protectors at least, gave him some slack. They were sort of a rough attachment to the International Police Group and so gave their operatives quite a free hand. They usually backed you up completely if you got the job done, no one was killed and not a lot of damage was done.
His parents, mostly his mother, didn’t relent so easily. He tried explaining it to them several times but it would either come out wrong or horribly wrong and they would pat him on the head like a good dog and go on as if nothing happened. He tried to explain it yet again. Yes, he was in Baltimore last week. He took down a giant robot on his own and the damage total wasn’t that high. He still spent the following week in debriefing until being ordered to go home for a little time off. So now he was here, stuck with the folks, for the next 48 hours. He wasn’t told when to report back to HQ but standard was 9am Monday morning and he was damned if he was gonna miss that.
“Did you hear that, Roger? Did you hear what your son has done?” His mother spoke to his father in that heightened tone of excitement, the one that brought up those ‘Go to your room’ memories and foretold of future troubles.
“Yep,” His dad said and put the paper on the table top. On the page 4 article they were still salvaging the wreckage from downtown Baltimore. That tank looked better when he was there.
“Hey Dex,” His father said and Dexter gave up trying to split the bulk of cereal in two. “Did you do all this?”
“Yes, dad,” Dexter sighed expecting the reprimand.
“Good job!” His dad smiled. “The tank looked like it could have done a lot of damage.”
“Say what?” Dexter said. His mother also said that last word but with a higher pitch.
“I bet the Olympic Committee is eating their own hats right now.”
Dexter and his mother sat there speechless, he with a spoon hovering above the bowl and she with a clear glass of tea and a saucer held precariously above the table.
His father simply picked up the paper and continued reading.

Posted in From the Writing Desk by Eran with 5 comments.