Manuscript #2

The Talk

By David Guerreva

 

            The sun was beginning its daily descent along the ridge of the Santa Monica Mountains over the Palisades before extinguishing itself into the edge of the Pacific Ocean.  Some days the sun would paint the clouds a radiant blend of amber, purple, and pink, but not today.  A fog bank had crept into town around noon blanketing the entire Westside in a haze, which was out of character for the middle of May.  Enjoying sunsets from his Miracle Mile high-rise corner office was a way for Jason to keep his sanity after putting in long hours at the office.  Graham & Lubbock, LLP recently promoted Jason to junior partner, but ever since the promotion he had kicked his work into overdrive feeling the need to validate his ascent.  Jason ducked into his office hoping to catch a calming glimpse of the sunset before disappearing into the cave of the boardroom to discuss the important Stabbone Case.  Seeing nothing but the murky haze, Jason sighed and groused, “ugh, it’s going to be a long night,” before heading off to meet with the other partners in the executive conference room.

*

            Ring-ring.

            “Jason Seaver’s office, how may I help you?”

            “Hi, Carol.  It’s Maggie.  I tried reaching Jason on his cell phone, but I got his voicemail.  Is he in a meeting with a client”

            “Hi, Dr. Seaver.  No, but he’s in the boardroom with the other partners.  Did you want me to pass him a message?”

            “Yes, please.  Tell him that I have a meeting with an important school donor after tonight’s Open House, so I won’t be able take Michael home from baseball practice.  He gets out at 7:30, so if he can pick him up from the varsity baseball field behind the high school that would be great.  If not, then call him on his cell phone and tell him to find a ride.”

            “Okay, Mrs. Seaver.  I’ll go slip the note to him right now.”

            “Thanks Carol, bye-bye.”

*

            Ping!  “Way to barrel it!” Michael’s batting coach yelled.

            Ping!  “Too much top hand there!  You’re rolling over.”

            Ping!  “Come on!  Dig deep now, kid.  Just a few more hacks and you’re done.”

            Michael was laboring to get through the last of his “rapid-fire” sets with his batting coach.  His arms felt like jello and his shoulders burned and felt like they were going to fall off.  It wasn’t just his body that was tired; his mind was fatigued as well.  It had been a long week of baseball practice since his call-up to the varsity team for the playoffs.  Combined with his piano recital two days earlier on Wednesday and stressing out over his Chaucer presentation in English Honors earlier that afternoon, Michael was beginning to have difficulty bringing the necessary intensity to thrive in all his pursuits.

            Michael couldn’t ask for it, but he wanted a break, a reprieve not just from the drill, but from honors classes, piano lessons, and year-round baseball.  He saw how hard his parents worked to provide him the best possible life, but he was beginning to feel burned out from his activities and his life – what glimpses he had of it anyway.  His life was programmed; a routine process that you could set your watch to: Mondays through Fridays he awoke at 6:00, ate breakfast and was ready for school by 6:45.  School didn’t start until 8:30, but getting to school early was an unwanted perk of being the dean’s kid.  After school Michael would have study hall until baseball practice at 4:30, and he was on the field until 7:00 or later if the coach wanted to bloviate about baseball, life, and the confluence of both.  After practice he was either picked up by whichever parent was least busy to do it, or if he was lucky, he got to walk home from the field.  It wasn’t a long walk by any stretch, but Michael enjoyed the alone time he had with his thoughts to ruminate about life, girls, sex, the future, and the teenage issue du jour.  Sometimes, his teammate Luke, who lived a block behind Michael’s row of cookie-cutter tract mini-mansions, would walk home with him if he was stranded by his parents too.

            “Good job, Michael.  Way to finish strong!”

            “Thanks, coach.”

            “Boys, gather around and take a knee.  We had a great week of practice.  We start the playoffs next Friday, so have a great weekend and I’ll see you on Monday ready to work even hard and win the whole God damned thing!  ” the coach yelled trying to imbue some enthusiasm on the exhausted heap of teenagers. 

            “Can you believe this guy?” Luke muttered to Michael.  “This isn’t football.  He’s going to wear us out before the playoffs.”

            “Yeah, no kidding.  I’d be excited for baseball season to end, but I know I have club season right afterwards.  I need a break from baseball… from school… from life.”

            “Oh yeah?  I’ve got a little something.  Are you getting picked up or are you walking home after practice?” Luke asked. 

            Michael thought about it for a second, “You know what?  I don’t know.  I should call my mom.”  Before he could take the phone out of his backpack, it started ringing.

            “Oh.  It’s my dad.  What does he want?” Michael wondered aloud.

            “Hello, Dad?”

            “Michael, sorry I didn’t call sooner, I was stuck in a meeting.”

            “Don’t worry about it.  What’s up?”

            “Mom has a meeting after Open House and won’t be home until later on tonight.  I’m going to be at the office late as well working on the Stabbone Case.  Can you get a ride, or are you okay to walk home?

            “Don’t worry about me.  I’ll just walk home.”

            “All right.  Just be safe okay, and don’t get into any cars with any strangers.”

            “I know, Dad!  I’m not freaking eight years old anymore.  I’m FOUR-TEEN,” Michael exclaimed emphasizing each syllable of his age to make a point.

            “I know, son.  Just making sure, you know?  There are leftovers in the fridge, and if you’re not feeling that, then order a pizza and use the money in the cookie jar, okay?  Love you.”

            “Okay.  I’ll see you later.  Love you too.”

            Michael began thinking of the walk home and smirked.  Although he knew that a couple hours worth of English honors homework awaited him when he got home, he began musing upon the sign that hung above Mr. Dewey’s desk that read: “What matters is the journey, not the destination.”  He thought it was cliché that Mr. Dewey championed such philosophical tripe because he needed it for motivation.  After all, he spent all those years in school just to end up teaching English to freshmen who thought Moby Dick was either a porno or a techno deejay.  It didn’t help the situation that Mr. Dewey expected to be appointed to the Dean of Students vacancy last year.  Michael felt that Mr. Dewey held it against him that his mother leapfrogged over him for the appointment. 

            “So I take it you’re walking home?” Luke asked.

            “Yeah, I am.  My dad’s going to be late at the office, and my mom has a meeting after Open House tonight.  Why what’s up?”

            “Perfect.  Hurry home and I’ll meet you at your place around quarter to eight, all right?”

            “Okay, I guess.  You better be bringing girls though.”

            “Ha!  I guess I am… kind of.”

            “Nice!  You better be bringing two.”

            “Don’t worry; there’ll be enough for the both of us.” 

*

            Open House at the high school was winding down, and Maggie was being as courteous as possible answering each and every question the inquisitive parents threw her way.  Being the new Dean of Students of the prestigious Getty Prep meant she had a significant role in the discipline of the student body, so she expected a barrage of questions from the over-involved parents.  Unflappable and poised, Maggie handled the zealous throng with the composure of a veteran.  It was hard to believe that it was only her third year as a member of the faculty. 

            She arrived at Getty Prep three years ago to teach History after being a stay-at-home mother for most of Michael’s childhood.  After earning her PhD. in History from UCLA, she was poised to embark on a career in academia.  She was handpicked by the chair of the History Department of Whittier College for a teaching position, but a year later she moved to Santa Monica College after getting pregnant.  It was only supposed to be a temporary move so she could be in closer proximity to her doctor and their Westside home, but that first year back in the classroom was incredibly trying on her emotions.  She persevered through the separation anxiety for a year, but realized for the time being, her career was being superseded by a more important duty: motherhood.  With Jason scaling the ranks of his law firm, Maggie decided put her career on hold so that Michael could have a strong parental presence during his formative years. 

            When Michael graduated elementary school, Maggie thought it was time to resume her career.  She had various professorship offers from several area universities and junior colleges, but one position, in particular, piqued her interest: Getty Academy.  Getty Prep, as it was colloquially referred by the haute-monde of the Westside, was considered the Philips-Exeter of the West Coast.  Accepting a position at an elite preparatory school meant a more significant workload with a ten-hour, five-day workweek not to mention parent and student conferences.  Originally, she planned on teaching three classes a couple days a week at a university, but Getty coveted her enough to offer Michael a scholarship when he was of admission age.  Jason and Maggie could not pass up an opportunity to send their son to one of the premier and incredibly expensive prep schools in the nation for free, so she accepted the position.  Maggie brought vigor to the faculty and immediately rose to prominence with raving reviews from students and parents alike for her method, energy, and dedication.  She was voted “Teacher of the Year” after her first year by her peers, and was on the fast track to an administration role down the road.  After receiving her second “Teacher of the Year” award the following year amid several academic successes, she was appointed Dean of Students after her predecessor retired after fifteen years.  The Dean of Students at Getty Academy did more than just discipline the students.   The Dean was also the Chairperson of Academic Affairs, who acted as the liaison between the faculty and the school’s Board of Trustees. 

            With both Jason and Maggie entrenched in their respective careers, they devised a regimented schedule of activities for Michael to keep him on track and out of trouble.  Maggie never felt completely comfortable with her diminished time with her son.  She was disappointed that most of the time they spent together consisted of car rides to and from school, the occasional passing in the halls, and brief meetings in her office before study hall.  Maggie was hoping the situation would improve once he enrolled at Getty, but she was always swamped with work.  That afternoon she had to rush Michael out of her office because she was late for a meeting.  Even those daily afternoon chitchats had become more and more infrequent.

            After wrapping up the Open House in the school auditorium, Maggie made her way to her office for her 8:00 P.M. meeting with Mrs. Malone, a local philanthropist who wanted to donate new computers for the school technology lab.  She sat back in her chair and stared at a picture of Michael above her computer monitor.  The picture of a five year-old Michael making sandcastles at Hermosa Beach was still in the macaroni frame Michael made as a kindergarten project. 

            Ring-ring.

            “Hello, This is Dr. Seaver.  How can I help you?”

            “Hi, Maggie.  It’s Christine Malone.  I’m sorry I couldn’t get a hold of you sooner, but there’s been a family emergency, and I’m going to have to reschedule.  I’m really very sorry.”

            “Don’t worry about it, Mrs. Malone.  I’ll call your secretary next week and reschedule with her.  Bye-bye.”  Maggie glanced at Michael’s picture and smiled to herself because if she hurried she might be able to have dinner with him.  She packed her briefcase with some files to read through over the weekend, grabbed her purse, and took off for the parking lot.

*

            Ding-dong

            The baritone drone of the doorbell reverberated off the marble floors and through the nearly empty house startling an unsuspecting Michael, who was surfing porn sites on his computer.  Michael had forgotten about Luke, but quickly remembered when he glanced at the clock on his computer.  It was 8:00 sharp, and Luke’s punctuality caught Michael by surprise.  He remembered Luke saying he was going to bring a girl, so he anxiously hustled to the front door.  He peeked through the peephole but could only make out a solitary figure, Luke’s.  Downtrodden and dejected, Michael opened the door.

            “Luke, you disappoint me.  Where’s the girl?”

            “Smile, bucko!  I’ve got something else for you.  You said you needed a ‘break’, and I’ve got something that’ll make you chill out.  It’s not really a girl, it’s Mary Jane.”

            “Mary Jane?”

            “Marijuana!  Weed.  Pot.  Herb.  Dank.  Chronic.  Cannabis.  Indo.  Hydro.  Ganja.  Kush.  Come on, Mikey boy!  Don’t act like you don’t know.”

            “How did you get it?  You don’t just walk into a CVS pharmacy and ask for weed.”

            “I stole it from my sister’s stash in her nightstand.  I think she gets it from her boyfriend who gets it from some guy in his dorm at USC.”

            “Shit, man that’s crazy.  I don’t know, dude.  If my parents catch me, they’ll KILL me. 

            “How would they know that you’re high?  My parents never suspect my sister even though she comes home late high as a kite and raids the fridge with her bloodshot eyes.” 

            “You think my parents are straight-edge because my dad’s an attorney and my mom is the dean?  They may not look it, but my parents were pretty wild back in the day.  My aunt tells me stories about my mom and dad back when they were in college,” Michael relayed to Luke reeling him in like a fish.  “One night, I was having issues with my computer so I asked my dad to use his laptop to do homework.  I had writer’s block so I started digging through his files to find inspiration,” Michael said with his voice trailing off for effect.  “Remember that poem I read in class about those drugged-up ravers who fell in love?”

            “Yeah, that was a pretty interesting poem,” Luke answered.

            “You think?  It’s a true story!  It’s my parents!”

            “SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

            “I swear to God.”

            “Dude, that’s crazy,” Luke gasped as he shook his head in disbelief.  “Mrs. Seaver was a raver?”

            “See what I mean?  I think they’d know if I was high.  Besides, my mom believes she has a special supernatural intuitive connection with me.”

            “Of course she does!  She was a fucking raver!  She probably tried all the good stuff: ecstasy… acid… mushrooms… maybe all at once!  I wouldn’t worry about it though.  You said they aren’t coming home for a while so you’ll be fine.  We’ll just toke inside the garage so the neighbors won’t see, and we’ll leave the side door open so it airs out.  When your parents come home, just pretend to be asleep to avoid them.  It’s all covered, all right?”

            “I still don’t know.”

            “Stop being a bitch.  Why don’t you break from your program and live a little?”

*

            Halfway between Getty Prep and the Seaver house on the Coast Highway was Ben’s Diner.  It was a family-owned establishment that the Seavers frequented because Michael could never eat enough of the country-fried steak and potatoes.  Maggie decided to stop by on the way home to pick up an order to surprise Michael.  

            As Maggie arrived home and pulled into the garage she noticed the light had been left on and the side door was left wide open.  She found it strange and began to worry.  She parked her car, took out her can of pepper spray, and cautiously opened her car door.  She stepped out and took a whiff of a familiar aroma.  It was pungent like skunk but not as offensive.  To the untrained nose it might have been mistaken for skunk, but Maggie knew exactly what it was, and she knew the smell was still fresh.  Maggie paced around in her garage for a few minutes trying to compose her thoughts.  She deliberated whether to storm into the house with accusations and threats while grasping for his neck, or to take a calm, civil, and understanding approach, after all, she was a wild child herself in days gone by.  She decided to call Jason to discuss a course of action.

            Ring-ring.

            “Hi Hon, what’s up?”

            “Jason, how much longer are you going to be at the office?”

            “I don’t know?  Another hour, maybe two, why?  Is everything all right?”

            “No.  Michael is experimenting with drugs.”

            “What!?  What kind of drugs?  It isn’t cocaine or meth, is it?”

            “No, nothing like that.  It had a strong odor with a bite like an indica or sativa strand.  I don’t know where he could’ve gotten it though.  None of the kids at school could score quality pot like this.”

            “Thank God it’s just pot.  Don’t do anything drastic until I get there.  Let me finish up here and I’ll be on the road in fifteen minutes.  Love you, bye.”

            Maggie took a deep breath and walked into the house.  The click-clack of her heels on wooden floors alerted Luke to Mrs. Seaver’s premature arrival.  Maggie began walking toward Michael’s room but stopped in the kitchen to gather her thoughts again and reassess how she wanted to start the conversation. 

            Inside the room Luke was panic-stricken.  He fumbled around trying to find any semblance of normality, but he was so stoned that he had forgotten what normal was.  Luke, who had been lying on the floor trying to make imaginary cloud figures in the texture coating of the ceiling, sprang up and was vainly forcing his shoes onto the wrong feet.  Michael was so far gone off his rocker that he was in his own world laughing hysterically at classic DVDs of The Chappelle Show.  He was completely oblivious to what was going on outside his room.

            “Michael!  Dude, your mom’s here!   I have to get out of here.  I’m going through your window.  You better not rat me out to your mom if you get caught!”

            Whatever it was that Luke was babbling about, it wasn’t registering with Michael who was transfixed on the TV.  “What?  You’re talking too fast.  I can’t understand you,” Michael slurred ever so slowly.  “My mouth is so fucking dry.  Do you want something to drink?” Michael asked.

            Luke grabbed Michael by the shoulders and shook him violently.  “Listen!  Don’t go out there.  Your mom is home, and I’m bailing through your window.  Don’t rat me out!”  Luke said as he stumbled over the windowsill and disappeared into the backyard. 

            Michael had a jolt of reality shock his system as he realize the kind of predicament he had gotten himself into.  His heart raced and his breaths shortened.  His hands began shaking uncontrollably as he lost control of his body and his mind as paranoia set in.  He ran to his bathroom to compose himself.  He stared at himself in the mirror trying to rehearse giving the “sober” look.  He noticed the stench of smoke on his breath and started brushing his teeth to try to mask the smell. 

            Knock-knock.

            “Michael, honey?”

            “Mom, hold on.  I’m brushing my teeth.”

            “Oh did you eat already?  I brought home country-fried steak and potatoes from Ben’s.”

            “Oh yeah?  I can eat again!” Michael exclaimed as he enthusiastically threw his bedroom door open.  Avoiding eye contact, Michael grabbed the bag from Maggie’s hand and took it to the kitchen.  Wary of being cornered in the one spot, he danced like a boxer retrieving the silverware, then a plate, then a napkin, and finally a giant glass of water. 

            Maggie chuckled to herself when Michael spilled water as he struggled pouring it into the glass.  Even though Michael was noticeably avoiding eye contact, she saw his bloodshot eyes.  Michael may have loved Ben’s country-fried steak, but he was attacking his food with the ferocity of a hungry wolf, and he was chugging water like it was going out of style.  “Hey, save some water for the fish,” she chided him.  “Are your allergies with your eyes acting up again?”  She inquired.  “Why are your eyes so red.” 

            “Yeah.  My allergies have been killing me,” Michael replied.

            Maggie gave Michael a half smirk before going on.  “Uh huh.  I thought you said you ate already?  Didn’t you get full or do you just have the munchies?  She asked.

            Michael gulped and answered, “I’m hungry again.”

            Maggie tried keeping her suspicion discreet, but his obviousness made it difficult.  “Your eyelids are droopy.  You must be tired.  And that dry-mouth really sucks doesn’t it?  After your dad gets home tonight, I think we should have a little chat.” 

            Silence.  Michael didn’t know what to say.  He knew that she knew what was going on.  “Yeah, sure.  Oh crap, I left my computer on in my room.  Let me shut it down.  Don’t want to waste energy, you know?”  Michael ran back to his bedroom knowing that he was in it deep.  He couldn’t believe his terrible luck getting caught the first time he ventured off the straight and narrow.  Now, it was only a matter of time before his father would get home and he’d receive the full parental onslaught.  Punishments didn’t really bother Michael so much as the talks as getting lectured by a lawyer and a principal did a number on the teenage psyche.  Desperate and backed into a corner, Michael reached for his last resort trump card.

*

            Jason was back at the office rushing to finish his work before leaving to take care of the situation at home.  He was overcome with guilt for all the time missed working when he should have been spending more time with Michael.  He just grew up in a blink of an eye.  In the back of Jason’s mind Michael was still the eight-year old kid in the framed Little League picture on his desk.  He couldn’t believe he didn’t see the signs that Michael was at that age when experimentation was on a kid’s mind.  Jason was actually younger than Michael was when he first experimented with marijuana, but to him it was a different time back then.  He never had the drug talk with his parents, but then again, he was never stupid enough to get caught doing it at home.  He couldn’t help but ponder which situation was more ideal: catching Michael and bringing the issue out in the open, or being blissfully ignorant like his parents were with him.  “Oh well, we’ve already reached the bridge, now it’s time to cross it,” he thought.  As he was closing out the briefs he was working on, he received an email alert.

            You’ve got mail.

            “Who’s emailing me now?” Jason thought to himsef.  “Michael?  What’s going on here?”  Jason saw that the subject line of Michael’s email read, “WAIT: Before you kill me” and knew something devious was afoot.  He opened the email and began reading:

            Dear Dad,

         You’ve probably already talked to mom.  I have one thing to say: let          he, who is without sin, cast the first stone.

-       Michael

            Jason couldn’t believe his son’s audacity, “Who the hell does he think he is quoting Jesus Christ?  He better have found religion because I’m about to send him back to his maker.”  Then Jason noticed an attachment at the bottom of the email.  He clicked on the attachment which opened up a picture slideshow of photos that Jason thought he had hidden deep into the recesses of his hard drive.  They were pictures of Jason and Maggie at a rave when they were in college.  They looked like clowns wearing bright fuzzy pants big enough to fit two people, neon yellow and orange t-shirts, colorful beaded bracelets half way up to their elbow, and they were both sucking on pacifiers.  They had haggard looks on their sweaty faces when they weren’t making funny faces at the camera or sucking each other’s face for the picture.  The last picture featured Jason, Maggie, and two other people sitting in a circle passing around a joint with Maggie tossing her head back in laughter as it appeared that she was about lie down on the dirty floor.  Jason was mortified.  He quickly grabbed his cell phone and frantically called Maggie.

            “Maggie!!!!!  Did you confront Michael already?”

            “No, I told you I’d wait for you.”

            “Well, Michael must sense his pending doom.  He knows you’re suspicious.  I just got an email from him, and he figures something’s up because he suspected you’ve already talked to me.”

            “That paranoid little stoner!” Maggie exclaimed.

            “Well honey, there’s more.  He found some old pictures of us.”

            “WHAT?!?!?!  What pictures?  Not the…”

            “No, Hon.  Not those ones.”

            “Oh, thank God,” she sighed with temporary relief.

            “He found some old raving pictures of us.  He sent an email saying ‘let he, who is without sin, cast the first stone’ and even created a slideshow with the pictures.  I’m beginning to regret getting him that MacBook for his birthday.”

            “I regret sending him to Catholic school if he’s just going to turn scripture against us.  What are we going to do?  This throws a huge monkey wrench into my plans now.”

            “Really?  What were you going to say?  I was stumped.  My parents never had the drug talk with me, and honestly, I was hoping we’d have a couple more years before having to talk about it.  Come to think of it, we haven’t even had the sex talk with him yet.”

            “I didn’t have the drug or sex talk with my parents either, and we turned out pretty well for ourselves, didn’t we?”

            “I’d have to say so.  We never thought we’d be where we are now back when those pictures were taken.  All I cared about was partying, having a good time, and getting into your pants.”

            “Shut up, Jason!  This is a serious.  How are we supposed to have a discussion about drugs with our teenage son when our position of moral authority has been completely compromised?”

            “Honey, I’m a lawyer, remember?  Moral authority is a relative term.  If I can talk circles around the district attorney, then I think I can handle our 14 year-old son.  Besides, I was fourteen once too, and I bet Michael hasn’t done half of the things I had done at that age.” Jason thought about what it was like to be fourteen again and had an epiphany about how to talk to Michael.

            “That’s what scares me, Jason.  I don’t want him doing half the things you did!”

            “Well excuse me, Dr. Seaver.  Do I have to remind you that you are speaking to a junior partner of the Graham & Lubbock law firm?” 

            “Yeah, yeah, yeah whatever.  I hope you’re on the road because he might pass out soon.  He was smoking some potent stuff because it absolutely reeked in the garage, and you should’ve seen how he was devouring his food.”

            “I’ll be home in ten minutes.  I think I know how to approach this to put him in his place.  To drive the lesson home, we have to make this experience as unforgettably bad as possible so he’ll never try it again.  When I get home, just follow my lead, okay?”

*

            Maggie heard the whir of the garage door and went to meet Jason in the kitchen.  She had been pacing in the home office and had grown exceeding anxious about the pending confrontation.  Jason entered the kitchen from the garage with a distinctive smirk on his face that disarmed Maggie’s anxiety. 

            “What’s going on Jason?  What’s with the silly grin?”

            “You’ll see.  I’m going to call Michael out here for a talk, and I just want you to follow my lead.  Remember to think ‘uncomfortable’ and ‘awkward’ because tonight has to be the most unforgettable night of his young life.”

            Jason and Maggie walked out of the office and down the long hall to the living room.  Instead of knocking on Michael’s door to tell him to come out, they took a seat on the sectional leather sofa and called him on his cell phone.

            Michael was in his room playing video games thinking his last ditch effort to save his skin had worked.  He was still stoned out of his wits, but he was proud of how he outsmarted his parents. He felt like he had them on their heels regarding this “after-school special” he had gotten himself into.  “This stuff doesn’t fry your brain,” he thought to himself.

            Ring-ring.

            “Dad?”

            “Michael, we need you to come out to the living room.”

            “Okay.  I’ll be right out.”  Michael slowly opened his door and began his death march down the long hall to the living room.  He tried to infer his fate by deciphering the tone of Jason’s voice, but there wasn’t a lead to go on.  As he approached his parents who were seated at the opposite end of the sofa, he tried to discern their mood by the expression on their faces.  Maggie had the stern face of a dean.  Her eyes shot spears straight into Michael’s heart reviving childhood memories of getting caught playing in the game room when he was supposed to be napping.  He knew that look all too well, and it never failed to reach into the depths of his heart causing an excruciating shame for disappointing her.  Jason, on the other hand, had a smirk on his face like a hot shot lawyer with a surprise witness.  This was most unnerving for Michael, who believed he had played the ultimate wild card with the preemptive email.  Michael’s mind was racing as to what trick his father had up his sleeve, and then his father stood up and began to speak.

            “Michael, we noticed that you managed to unearth some compromising pictures of me and your mother when we were in college.  Since you’re older now, and obviously not oblivious to the world around you, we think it’s time we had a talk about what’s going on in the pictures.”

            Michael began to brace himself for the cliché spiel about the dangers of drugs and how they could derail a young person’s life.  He expected his parents to give the “do as I say, not as I do” excuse because the “times are different now” or whatever other unsubstantiated reason that precluded him from trying pot, but not them from enjoying it when they were young.   But all the batting practice over the years couldn’t have prepared him for the curveball Jason had in store.

            “Those pictures that you found bring back a lot of old memories.  I had just finished my junior year in college, and some of my fraternity brothers decided to go to a rave.  I hadn’t been to one before, and everyone went through this ritual of getting ready and dressing as outrageously ridiculous as possible.  I was having a fun time when I noticed this girl across the dance floor that I took Freshman Composition with.  She was dancing up a storm wearing these white pants that looked like they were painted onto her long legs and round, perfect ass,” Jason described extending his hands out with his palms up and motioning like he was grabbing something firm and supple.  “Those pants were see-through in the black light and revealed the outline of a hot pink thong.  Her top flowed like a reed in the breeze as her breasts bounced with each step,” he recalled sticking his hands out in front of his chest with his palms out making the same grabbing motion.  “I was craning my neck hoping to catch a glimpse of an errant nipple when those effervescent blue eyes caught my stare.  This beautiful creature hypnotizing me with her swaying hips entranced me and motioned with her finger to approach her.  You know who that girl was?”

            Michael leaned in closer with burning curiosity.  “No, who was it?” Michael asked.

            “Your mother.” 

            “WHAT?!” Michael yelped while choking on his breath.

            “And I spent the rest of the night trying to get into her pants.”

            Maggie’s eyes opened to the size of saucers.  She was shocked speechless at first.  Jason’s brilliant plan was to give their son carnal knowledge of their first sexual encounter?  He mentioned that he wanted to make Michael feel uncomfortable and awkward, but his thinking was completely out of the box with this.  The more she thought about it though, the more she began to see Jason’s train of thought.  It wasn’t just that Michael was experimenting with pot, but he was snooping through private material, and he had the gall to try to extort them.  Jason was taking off the gloves in the realm of psychological warfare, and she wanted a piece of the action.

            “You should’ve seen your father back then, Michael.  He was ripped like a bodybuilder.  While we were dancing I had my hands all over his body feeling those rock-hard muscles with my hands.  Your father’s hands had a way of wandering too.  It got so hot and heavy on the dance floor that the people dancing around us stopped to watch.  We didn’t want to give a free show so I grabbed a firm grip of his throbbing fantasy-maker and pulled him to a dark corner of the club where we went at it like wild animals kissing, rubbing, moaning, screaming… ”

            Michael’s jaw hit the floor along with his stomach and the color in his face.  He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.  This wasn’t what he was expecting.  He emailed those pictures to demonstrate his awareness of his parents’ past dalliances with drugs; he didn’t want to hear of their coital conquests of each other.  He knew they had a sex life, but what the hell kind of games were they playing with his head?  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Michael stammered.

            “Michael, Michael, please.  Your email screams that you need attention, and you needed to have ‘the talk’ because you’re already fourteen.   My, how time flies.  We’re sorry we didn’t bring this up with you sooner, but we figured that you learned about sex in school.  We realize you’re more curious than that or else you wouldn’t have made that slideshow.”

            “You know Michael.  You can talk to us anytime about anything, especially sex,” Maggie interjected.

            Just the word “sex” coming out of his parents’ mouths made Michael’s skin crawl.  He knew they had a sex life because they were still in their 40s, and they were attractive for old folks, but they were good about keeping it to themselves.  He had never walked in on them or even heard them through the walls.  What made him exceedingly uncomfortable was that even though Michael was still a virgin, he had become something of an internet porn addict and was constantly thinking unsavory thoughts about any girl who looked half-way decent.  Now, he couldn’t stop envisioning his parents interlocked into all those positions of the Kama Sutra.  He tried with all his might to imagine the porn he was watching earlier of Kayden Kross and Lela Star, but his mind always came back to Mom getting railed by Dad.  It got worse as Jason and Maggie kept laying it on sparing no intimate detail about that first encounter at the party and the following four-week long sex-a-thon that ensued.  Michael reached a point of apoplexy as Jason and Maggie kept hammering him with sordid detail after salacious tid-bit.  Some parts made him want to throw up.  Other parts made him want to rip his ears off his head to spare his imagination.  His high had become an all-time low, and he felt an immense weight in the pit of his stomach, an absence where his heart used to be, and a pulsating sensation in his skull.  By the time they were done with him, Michael had retreated into the fetal position on the sofa. 

            “… It’s a good thing you didn’t delve further into my hard drive looking for pictures because you might have found some pictures you could never un-see,” Jason quipped.

            “Dad, I didn’t have to see much to know that I’ve seen enough, heard enough, and imagined enough for my lifetime.  Are we done?”

            “One more thing, Michael, just so we’re clear.   Don’t experiment with drugs and think you can get over on us.  Mom and I aren’t square poindexters who were born yesterday.  We have both been through too much in our lives for you to think you can get away with anything.  If we ever catch you with drugs, we will fuck with your head in such a way that you’ll think tonight was a birthday party.”

            “Now go to your room and let this simmer for a while.  We’ll discuss your punishment tomorrow after we have the drug talk,” Maggie said.

            Michael began trudging back down the hall to his room in a daze.  He got to the kitchen, stopped, and turned around, “I am so sorry, Mom and Dad.  It was so stupid of me.  Everything I did was so stupid.

            “We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” Jason replied.

            “Any talk will be better than tonight,” Michael muttered to himself as he walked into his room.

            “Good job, counselor,” Maggie said while patting Jason on the back.

            “You did quite well yourself, Dr. Seaver,” Jason said patting Maggie’s butt. 

            “Jason, I have to ask.  How did you think of this as a way to handle the situation?  I would’ve never in a million years thought of the ‘shock and awe’ approach.”

            “It’s the 21^st century now.  I’ve resigned myself to the fact that we can’t be at Michael’s side 24/7.  We’ll have the drug talk tomorrow, so tonight we’re going to have to think of a way to seriously discuss it.  As for tonight, I just wanted to remind Mr. Seaver over there that my curveball is devastating, and I can sit on his and hit it out of the park.” 

            “Jason, just to let you know, he may have found the pictures, but he didn’t find our stash.”

            “Perfect!  How about you put on your raver outfit, and we meet on the balcony in an hour for a smoke and some fun?  The night isn’t over so let’s be really loud and give him nightmares.”