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+--- Thread: Racism and Relocation (/showthread.php?tid=19620)
Racism and Relocation - Flynn Andrew Cole-Ericson - 04-20-2015
Laguna Beach, California
Casa Del Cole-Ericson
"Mom, Dad, it's time."
"Time for what dear?" My Mother asks curiously.
"Time for me to move out." I quickly respond and then brace myself for their responses.
"What are you talking about son?" My father chimes in, his face not actually focused on the computer screen that the conversation is being held on.
"I'm talking about me getting a place of my own in the city. Los Angeles to be specific."
"How about we talk about this when your father and I come home?"
I figured she would pull that card. A stall tactic if there ever was one.
"Do you guys happen to remember the last time you were both home together?"
I bet they don't.
I stare at the screen on my computer waiting for either of my parents to offer up an answer but neither of them do. I can practically see the gears in my mother's head spinning as she tries to come up with a date. My father on the other hand, he's moved on to things he deems more important. Like his job.
"Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?
"The answer is June. 10 months ago, for my graduation party. If I was to wait for both of you to be here at the same time to have this conversation we'll most likely be talking about what nursing home to put Dad in. No, I made my decision and I'm moving out. The place is not far from Dad's office actually. And don't worry it won't cost you guys anything. A bro of mine has this sweet compound that he bought, he invited me to live there. I said yes."
"A compound? I don't like the sound of this Flynn." Mom says with a hint of concern in her voice.
"It's not like that mom. He doesn't run a cult, as far as I know anyway. He's a guy I met at my job."
I wonder if I can toss that in there casually without her even picking up on it?
"Job? You have a job? Doing what?" Mom says as she awkwardly shifts her weight from one side of the chair to the other.
Guess not.
"I'm a professional wrestler mom. For a company called the Xtreme Wrestling Federation."
I stare at the computer screen as my mother's face turns a rather radiant shade of red. My father, he's still plugging away on his keyboard. Clearly he has moved this conversation into the background. Literally.
"A professional wrestler? Matthew are you hearing this?"
"Yes dear." Dad says as he types something into what looks like a calculator.
"Do you have anything to add?" She says more so as a directive than a question.
"Great job son."
"Matthew!" My mother shrieks as she pounds the top of her desk with both fists.
"What? What?" Dad instinctively responds as his head whips around to the computer screen.
For the first time in a few minutes my father has actually turned his attention back to the camera and this conversation and all it took was a worried shriek from my mom.
"I was telling mom that I got a job as a professional wrestler and that I'm moving in with a buddy of mine in L.A."
"That's great Flynn. Taking initiative like that."
"Thanks Dad." I respond with a half hearted smile.
"That's all you are going to say to him? What if he get's hurt?"
"Well Mom that is extremely likely. Especially in a place like the XWF. If you only knew half of the..."
You know what, she doesn't need to hear this.
"Should we get you some protection or something?"
"Protection? What are you on about Elizabeth?"
"I'm saying maybe we should get Flynn a bodyguard or something."
"I have one actually."
"You do?" Mom asks surprised at my previous response.
"Yes. His name is Henry. Nice guy, you'd like him. Maybe I'll invite him over for our next family dinner. In 2021."
"Henry? How do you even know this man? Did you run a background check on him?"
Is she serious?
"A background check? I'm not the Police mom. But he's a white guy if that makes you feel any better."
Something you should probably know about my mother. She is not exactly the most accepting of other cultures. I blame that on my grandfather who was right off the boat from Italy and Italians if you didn't know are fairly racist. A trait that my mother seemed to adopt for her own.
"What is that supposed to mean Flynn? I am not racist."
"Ok mom."
Awkward pause...
"Flynn, don't react but you need to call the police. There is a man burglarizing the house."
"What?"
I turn turn around in my seat and see a large African American man walking past the room and outside. The back of his shirt reads "J.D's Speedy Movers."
"Mom just because you saw a large black man walking through the house holding a flat screen TV does not mean we are being robbed. That's one of the movers. I paid him to be here."
What was that about not being racist?
"Oh."
Another awkward pause...
"Ohhhhh. So you are moving today?"
"That's correct." As I look around the room to see a team of movers taking boxes of my things out of the home.
"Do you know anyone in L.A?"
"Besides Dad. Yes, a few guys actually. Some friends of mine that I met through the XWF.
"That's not all actually. I am also enrolled in classes at U.C.L.A. starting with the upcoming Summer Semester."
"Really? That's fantastic honey." My mom says with some joy in her voice for the first time since this conversation began. "Isn't that great Matthew?"
"Absolutely. What are you going to be studying? Architecture like your dad?" He says half serious.
"Biochemistry actually."
If only they knew why. What was it Jesse Pinkman used to say on Breaking Bad? "Science bitch." You wanna grow your own herb? Better learn as much as you can about the science behind it otherwise you'll be growing the same garbage on the streets that everyone tries to pass off as good bud.
"Biochemistry? How did you settle on that?" Mom asks with a genuine curiosity.
"It just seems interesting. I like the idea of knowing the science behind things and I believe this degree will help me learn that."
"Well that sounds great sweetheart. This is a lot to process but it sounds very positive. Will you be around later? I should be home in time for dinner. It would be nice if we could sit down and talk about this a little bit more face to face rather than over the internet. Matthew when you will be home?"
"It will be a late night honey." Dad says without breaking stride.
"Actually mom I'll be heading to L.A in a little bit to get settled in at my new place. Maybe we can set something up when I get back? Which should be sometime Thursday. Would that work for you?"
Before responding my mother starts flipping through a small book on her desk, presumably a calendar or appointment book of some sort. She looks it over for a ew seconds and then looks up at the screen.
"Thursday should work. The afternoon would be best."
"Ok mother. I will give a call Thursday morning to try and get something on the books. Will you be joining us Dad?"
"I'll try but I can't guarantee anything."
A stock response from my dad. I wonder if he has these things prerecorded and he just hits the corresponding button when the time comes?
"Ok Dad. I'll be sure to let you know whatever Mom and I set up. Anyway as much as I'd love to stay and chat I really should get going. Thanks for everything. I really mean that. You two have given me everything I ever needed. Not many people can say that. So thanks." I say, truly meaning every single word of it.
"That's what parents are for sweetheart."
"Talk soon."
I close the screen to my computer effectively ending the call. I slip the laptop into my bag and slide it over my head and rest it on my shoulder. I look about the room and see that most of my belongings have been loaded onto the large moving truck and that the team of movers are all outside taking a quick break. I take stock of the house for a second and then head outside.
Once there I approach Cliff, the man who introduced himself to me earlier as the person leading this particular moving effort. Cliff is leaning against the truck taking a large gulp from his purple Gatorade.
"That looked like everything right bro?"
"That's right. We're ready to go."
"Awesome bro. You mind if I ride with you guys? I don't have a car of my own."
"That's fine. We should have room in the cab of one of the trucks."
"Thanks bro."
Cliff signals to his guys and they immediately begin piling into the two moving trucks. I look at the outside of the house that I grew up in one last time before climbing into the passenger side of one of the moving trucks.
To L.A. To begin the next chapter in the story of Flynn Andrew Cole-Ericson.