The Onset

Part 8(Michael's POV)

August 26, 2015. We left the house at 10:30 am. It was a smooth trip to Massachusetts. Mom gave me control of the car stereo throughout the whole ride. I chose to play my Richard Wagner collection of compact discs, of course. He was Friedrich Nietzsche’s contemporary and one of his closest friends. I don’t know much about music composition. But I’ve always noticed there was something about Wagner’s work that seemed to go hand in hand with Nietzsche's writings. Not like peanut butter and jelly. Not complimentary like that. More like the meats in a hot-dog. One had revolutionized music, the other, philosophy. And both had nourished my intellect. It was so fateful. To top it all off, the Massachusetts countryside was so pristine. As we were coming into the campus, the Tristan and Isolde suite was the current track playing. “Who composed this?” my mom asked. I told her who did. They were two of the very few words I had said to her during the whole ride.

“It’s very nice.” she said.

Meanwhile, in the back seat, Malia was listening to her heavy-bass popular music nonsense on her phone. She bobbed her head to the melody with her eyes closed. Batta-bum, batta-bum, batta-bum. She played it at an unhealthy volume. Both mom and I were able to discern the lyrics. Someday she’s going to be deaf. Suddenly, the music from her headphones stopped and she stuck her arm out in front of me with the phone in her hand.

“Can you plug it in, Genius? My phone’s outta juice. Thanks.” I took the phone from her, got the car adapter out of the glove compartment, and plugged it in. I looked in the rearview mirror and saw that she had contorted her face, as if tasting something extremely bitter.

“What’s wrong with you?” I asked.

“Oh my God! What are ya’ll listenin’ to?” I pronounced Wagner’s name as having the ‘W’ sound at the beginning instead of the ‘V’ sound as I usually do. Pronouncing it ‘Wagner’ instead of ‘Vagner’ is orthographically incorrect in the German language, but I just said it that way so she could understand.

“Richard Wagner.” I said.

“Who?” I spoke a little louder this time:

“Richard Wagner!”

“Richard Wangster? What kind of a name is that?” Now I became angry. What a nitwit! Then, the shouting contest began:

“RICHARD WAGNER!”

“OKAY, YOU AIN’T GOTTA YELL!”

“WELL IF YOU WEREN'T SEMI-DEAF FROM ALL THAT LOUD CACOPHONY YOU LISTEN TO, I WOULDN'T HAVE TO!”

“WHAT? WHAT THE HELL YOU TAWKIN’—”

“—ALRIGHT!” my mom yelled. We were hushed for a good moment.

“Mom, what does the GPS say?” my severely un-cultured sister asked her.

“We’re just two miles away. We’re almost there.”

“Thank God.” she said as she sighed of relief and reclined in her seat. “If I had to listen to just ten minutes of this stuff I would die!” This caused me to simmer, but I didn’t say anything.

My mom and I walked into my dorm room with the luggage. It was a little stuffy, so I went to the window and opened it halfway. I sat at the desk in the corner. My mom set the bag she was holding down in the other. We looked at each other for a while.

“Well, I guess this is it.” she said.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

She stared at the floor for a while. I just looked at her. I’m not good at words of parting either. There was a long uncomfortable pause. Finally, she picked up her head and said something:

“Michael, I hope you don’t think I was too rough with you. I’m just really concerned, you know. I’m your mother. Just try your best not to be...not to do something that attracts negative attention.” I knew what that stammer meant. To her, I was already an erratic nut. I didn’t know how to tell her this, but I don’t know how to suppress it. That feeling keeps coming back. The feeling of being watched. Just as I opened my mouth to say something—I don’t remember what-—everything started to reverberate. I covered my ears. It was abrasive to my senses. I looked out the window. Outside, Malia was leaning against the car, bobbing her head while loud popular dance-hall music blasted from the car stereo. Passers-by covered their ears as well. Even though it wasn't very sunny, she had put on the largest, most obstructive sunglasses. Maybe to make herself look chic? Mom said something in anger, but I couldn’t hear what it was since it was muffled by the loud music. She kissed me on the cheek then quickly made her way out the room. Moments later, through the window, I saw her hasten to the car, and turn the car stereo off. They got into a loud argument. Many angry gesticulations. Malia answered back a lot. Probably making excuses. There is really no excuse for that girl’s behavior.

Mom commanded her to get in the car. They drove off. At last, it was alone time. But it was a little sad, though. I took out my laptop and set it on the desk. I thought I heard something behind me. I craned my neck. Turned out it was nothing.