What are you willing to do -- or say -- to get what you want?

Grawlixes
by Angela Rasch

“*%#$*@,” he snarled at his video game.

At first, I thought the foul language might be the audio track from Call of Duty, which Josh played sporadically. Most of his screen time was devoted to his favorites: Candy Crush and The Sims. It took me several moments to believe my sweet son even had those words in his vocabulary. “#” was a four-letter word that started with a “C” -- vulgar slang for a woman‘s genitals.

What’s eating him? I snapped into standard “Mom” mode. My viselike forefinger and thumb latched onto his right earlobe and spun him around to face me.

“$%#@*, that hurts,” he sputtered, but failed in his attempt to wriggle out of my grip.

“Josh!” I admonished. “What’s gotten into you?” I released his ear. “Turn off your game. Meet me at the kitchen island for a serious chat.”

Lately he’s been anxious, distressed, showing signs of depression, and seemingly has a negative self-image. I’ve been thinking of taking him to a psychologist. Nonetheless, his language is too much.

***

Josh’s demeanor while he sat on his stool, told me plenty. As I would’ve expected, a red face indicated considerable guilt. He’s having trouble looking me in the eye. Thank goodness his general good nature is still in command. His mouth is acting up -- but his body language is still respectful.

“Explain yourself,” I demanded.

“Explain what?” He parried; his tongue an epee.

He covered his mouth. He does that when he’s stretching the truth. “We need to get to the bottom of why my son’s suddenly spouting vile words.” Omi gosh! That look. There must be a YouTube video devoted to teaching boys his age the sneer-of-pure-contempt. Not just boys. Six years ago, just after her thirteenth birthday, Hannah pulled that same face on me. She was a year younger then -- than Josh is now. . . but emotionally about the same age.

He stared sullenly at a spot several inches below my eyes.

“Hannah had a potty-mouth for a while -- a few years back,” I started.

His eyebrows shot up.

He worships his sister and emulates her as much as possible. “I didn’t have a clue what to do to get her to stop.” When the U.S. government gave me the flag from Josh’s father’s coffin ten years ago, they failed to include a How to Be a Single Parent Guidebook.

“You don’t have to ‘do’ anything,” he asserted. “Kids like me say shit like that. They’re just words. They don’t hurt anyone.”

I shook my head. His voice sounds weird -- like he’s trying to sell me something I don’t want or need. “Some of the words you said are just plain hurtful.”

His mouth puckered. A tear formed at the corner of his eye.

I smiled to soothe him. “When Hannah went through her foul-mouthed phase I tried a lot of remedies. I first went with what my mother did to me. I washed out her mouth with soap. Then Hannah showed me a study that said most soaps are poisonous, so I never did that again. I researched the topic of foul language and discovered that what Hannah really needed was more self-assurance. I enrolled the two of us in an extended mother/daughter class that taught her social grace and charm.”

“Fuck you!” His eyes became gigantic. “I’m not going to some sissy finishing school.”

I gasped. “Josh! There’s no excuse for what you just said.”

“There sure as fuck is! I’m the youngest kid in my class and I’m also by far the smallest. Noah is 6’2” and I’m just barely five feet tall. If word got out that I was going to some sort of charm class, I’d be finished.”

That f-bomb had slid easily out of his mouth. I have to take action, immediately. This doesn’t seem like Josh!

He went on the offensive and pointed a finger at me. “It’s all your fault. Some of the guys say I’m trans. It’s because I don’t have a male influence in my home. I do things that are feminine because that’s all I know. You should have gotten married, again.”

“I. . ..” I started to offer the excuse that Chuck had been a louse, who was after my money -- and Joey had nearly wore out his fingers on Zoosk -- to make sure he never slept alone. “Don’t you dare blame me for your swearing. You’re using foul language to be rebellious. A little mutiny is okay – but you need to understand there are better ways to be independent.”

He folded his arms across his chest.

When he had his brush with the law nine months ago, the judge warned me that what he did might be a singular occurrence -- or the start of something. I needed to be vigilant to squelch any anti-social behavior. “You could be simply trying out new words. But that doesn’t explain your easy use of the f-word.”

I thought back to the many hours of therapeutic discussions Hannah and I had participated in, with experts at the behavior modification school. “Some swearing is impulsive . . . you need to learn better alternatives.”

The corners of his mouth were turned down and his lips drew tight.

I closed my eyes and sighed. “Swearing is often a teenager’s effort to act more mature. We’ll work to help you understand that using bad language is an immature action.”

His posture read unbridled anger. “There’s no reason for you to send me to some fucking girl-training school! You’re a #%$*&.”

My head shook after his verbal assault. “I won’t send you to girls’ classes . . . unless I absolutely have to,” I stated firmly. “However, if you don’t fully cooperate with me, for however long it takes for you to stop swearing, I will always hold that open as an option.”

He opened his mouth as if to start an argument.

I held up a finger and motioned for him to follow me. “Let’s go down to my office.”

I had been in real estate before getting married. After my husband was accidentally killed during his military officer’s training, I went back to marketing houses full-time. I sold an average of thirty-five mid-ranged homes a year, which allowed us to live very comfortably and for me to pay exorbitant college tuition for Hannah. We lived in a highly desirable part of town -- with a great school -- in a five bedroom/four bath Tudor. “You and Hannah aren’t wired all that different. After she went through the course, she never swore again -- at least not in my presence.”

“Hannah doesn’t swear,” Josh allowed.

I opened the third drawer down of a four-drawer cabinet and pulled out a six-inch thick folder. “As you can see, the course was quite comprehensive. When we went through it, I was struck by how much was non-specific gender-oriented. Maybe I was subconsciously preparing myself for today.”

“Hannah had to do a lot of girly things,” he argued. “I watched everything you two did.”

“I’m willing to go easy on the ultra-feminine parts of the course. However, when a thirteen-year-old son calls his mom the things you’ve called me during the last fifteen minutes, all bets are off.”

He closed his eyes and rocked on his stool.

“If you show steady improvement in removing those words from your vocabulary, I don’t see how sticking closely to the curriculum should be a problem. Today’s the fourteenth of June. You don’t have a summer job. You’re not playing soccer or baseball anymore. . ..”

His eyes blazed. “Just because I don’t like soccer, you think I’m a girl. You’re as big a “dick” as those @^$#& at school.”

I shrugged. “You seem to have forgotten that I was captain of my college soccer team. Whether or not you play sports isn’t a gender determinant. I’m merely pointing out that since you don’t have practices and games to attend you won’t be coming into contact with your male friends.”

“So?”

“Some of the curricula does involve doing things that might cause embarrassment -- if you were playing baseball or soccer.” He’s really fidgeting.

“I won’t do it,” he vowed. “You can’t make me. You should just trust me to stop swearing.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You will do exactly what I say -- or prepare yourself for the consequences.”

“What ‘consequences?’ Nothing you can do to me would be as bad as the sissy stuff Hannah had to do.”

I shook my head. “When you and your two ‘friends’ stole those twenty-seven cartons of cigarettes, you committed a felony.”

“I know. I’m sorry. It was a stupid, one-time thing.”

His face shows real atonement. Maybe all those tells that indicate he’s not being honest are coincidental. “Larry and Zack are in the residential training facility. They each were sentenced to eighteen months.”

“They both had prior offenses,” he explained. “I had no idea Zack would be carrying a gun.”

I nodded slowly. “You were let off with probation because your actions were so far out of character. Your school records and those glowing letters from your teachers allowed the judge to give you two years’ probation. But – if you violate probation, the judge will make you serve eighteen months.”

He frowned. “So what? I haven’t done anything wrong.”

I grimaced. “You haven’t done anything wrong -- until today. Under the terms of your probation, the use of obscene language is considered a violation. If you don’t take the necessary steps to correct your delinquency, I will report you to the judge and you will spend considerable time in a correctional institution.”

Josh’s eyes teared. “That’s not fair.”

I set my jaw and allowed our conversation to marinate before going forward. “I’m not going to argue about what’s ‘fair’ or ‘necessary.’ What is, is. You will do as I say, or you’ll pay the consequences for the crime you committed.”

“My life’ll be ruined,” he whined. “I’ll have a criminal record. You must really hate me.”

“You know I love you.” I sighed. “And, you won’t have a record, if you do as I say. I can’t take the chance that your crude language is a precursor of worse things to come. I promised the judge I would do my best to keep you on the straight and narrow -- and I’m going to do just that.”

“What kind of mother threatens her son with jail?” He moaned.

“The kind that can’t stand to see him going down the wrong path.” I bit my lip. “It won’t be so bad. Hannah actually had a very good time once she got into it. It didn’t turn her into a girly-girl; it just polished off the rough edges.”

He looked at me in disbelief. “When do we have to start?”

He’s giving in a little too easily. “Immediately. I have an open day today. Tomorrow, I have a showing at 11:00 and an open house from 2:00 to 5:00. The time available should allow us to get through the first two exercises.”

“Immediately? What’s the first thing we have to do?”

I opened the thick file. “All of the exercises are meant to help you learn how to feel good about how you are presenting yourself to the world. The first exercise is called ‘Squeaky Clean.’”

“I’m clean,” he stated firmly.

“Barely,” I countered. “When’s the last time you used deodorant?”

He smelled his pits. “I don’t always remember,” he admitted quietly.

“This program is all about developing healthy habits. Instead of always taking showers, you’ll be taking some bubble baths.”

He wrinkled his nose. “I don’t want to smell like a flower.”

“The intent is to have you smell clean. All of the products we’ll use will have a very subtle scent that someone would have to be standing right next to you -- to smell.”

“And – if I don’t do everything you say -- I go to jail?”

I nodded. “It’s your choice, but it should never come to that.”

He didn’t look convinced.

I held him in a stern gaze. “Now that you realize that you have body odor, you want to fix it. Am I right?”

He nodded -- reluctantly.

“You’ll feel good about how you smell. Your hair will look nicer. You will have less acne. By using the right lotions -- your skin will be healthier.”

“It doesn’t really matter, since I have no choice,” he sulked.

“Have it your way!” He’ll come around. “Go up to Hannah’s bathroom. Take along a clean change of clothes. Tee, shorts, underwear, socks, and shoes. Take a shower first to clean the oils off your body. Then we’ll start a bath -- and you can jump in. I’ll come up with what we need.”

“I’m capable of bathing myself,” he snarled.

“The ‘Squeaky Clean’ curriculum is a hardcore activity that requires two participants -- and I’ll be your constant helper.” I glared to cut off the debate.

He shrugged his thin shoulders, turned, and then left in the direction of the stairs up to Hannah’s bathroom.

***

“All of the scents we’ll use are subtle,” I promised, again, a few minutes later. “Hannah was very adamant about that. You don’t remember Hannah wearing perfume that was over-powering, do you?”

He’d been soaking in the bubble bath for ten minutes. I had been using a loofah to exfoliate. After his initial embarrassment, he seemed to luxuriate in the attention he was receiving.

“Hannah smells nice all the time,” he admitted.

“The goal is to make you self-assured so that you don’t feel you need to compensate for imagined personal faults, by swearing. Earlier today, I asked you if you had used deodorant. You couldn’t remember clearly if you had or not. That sort of lackadaisical approach to your health regimen will naturally cause you to have anxiety. If you have a well-developed cleanliness habit, it’s one less thing you need to worry about.”

He actually smiled. “So, this isn’t just you punishing me for using those forbidden words.”

“Not hardly.” I grimaced, remembering the $4,500 fee I had paid for putting Hannah through the program. “Maybe we should FaceTime with Hannah -- and she can tell you what she thinks about the program?”

“NO!” He stated, without equivocation. “You’ve got to promise me you won’t tell her what I’m doing. . .at least not right away.”

“I don’t ‘got to’ do anything,” I stated. “But as long as you cooperate and keep your language civil, we’ll keep this between the two of us.”

He stared sourly at the wall.

“Lighten up,” I said with a smile. “You might just learn something”

“Like what,” he snarled, “that my body can smell like a fruity tree?”

Me thinks he doth protest too much. “You smell a thousand times better than you did earlier today. But there are things to learn. For instance, never put the bubble bath powder in the tub, get in, and start running the water. The bubble bath can create a harmful solution when it isn’t combined with enough water. That caustic solution could burn your skin.”

“Are you sure?”

I nodded. “Your Cousin Angie got a burn when she was a baby. Despite warning labels -- babies are often burned by unaware mothers.”

He sighed. “Bubble baths are nice. I’m going to enjoy these at least once a week from now on.”

I didn’t say anything about him having to take bubble baths in the future. “A lot of what Hannah was required to do will be fun for you”

His face remained calm. “Like what?” he asked quietly. “What did Hannah like best?”

I grinned. “Hands down -- she preferred the section on shopping.” She absolutely loved the hours we spent together combing the malls.

“I like shopping.” He added more hot water to the tub and laid back contentedly.

I bit my lip. He’s so relaxed. I hate to get him riled again. “To shop properly within the constraints of the program, you will need to be dressed properly and act like a girl.”

He giggled.

Giggled?

“Gosh, Mom, I assumed that. I only have two requirements. 1.) We have to go to malls far enough away so that we don’t run into anyone we know. And, 2.) The shopping can’t start until I’m far enough into the program to easily be taken for a girl.”

What is going on here? He sounds like he’s looking forward to going to malls with me. “You will have to wear a skirt or a dress in the stores I have in mind.”

“That’s not a problem. Hannah has lots of things in her closets that fit me.”

How does he know Hannah’s old things fit him? I picked up the loofah and worked to remove dead skin from his feet. His skin is amazingly soft.

He blinked. “I mean. . .. If it’s a choice between going to jail and wearing a dress, where’s the decision? Mom . . . I know you’re just trying to be a good parent.”

“I’m serious,” I said. “When we get to the part about removing unwanted body hair, I don’t want an argument.”

“No problem. I’m not very hairy as it is.”

Something isn’t adding up – or maybe it is. “You do know that Hannah had to have her ears pierced?”

“I’m sure she did. Wearing earrings is part of the total package. She always wears earrings.”

They still make clip-ons, but I’m not going to argue with him. “You’re going to have to wear the proper undergarments full-time, during the entire course.”

He nodded. “Hannah told me they aren’t really uncomfortable -- if the fit is right.”

“A big part of the program is voice training. Hannah had the hardest time with intonation and vocabulary.”

“I can do it,” he vowed. He concentrated for a moment, and then said, “I think the whole program sounds deliciously wonderful.”

“Omigosh!” I gasped. “You sounded just like Hannah.”

“Emily,” he countered softly in that same feminine voice, “I sound just like Emily.”

“Who’s Emily?” I asked.

He blushed. “I am. You told me that had I been born a girl my name would have been Emily.” A tear escaped his right eye. “I’m Emily.”

She rose out of the tub, and then I hugged her with a towel. “You little scamp. You could have found a way to tell me without all that swearing.”

She shrugged, leaned into my embrace, and grinned. “But it ‘fucking’ worked – didn’t it?”

The End

I have donated a group of stories to BC to help generate revenue for this site. Erin has said that these I have donated a group of stories to BC to help generate revenue for this site. Erin has said that these stories have raised tens of thousands of dollars in revenue for BC. I don’t receive any of that revenue.

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Stories available through Doppler Press on Amazon:
Shannon’s Course
Peaches
Sky
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Ma Cherie Amour
Molly
Texas Two-Step
All Those Things You Always Pined For
Uncivil
Swifter, Higher, Stronger
Basketball Is Life
Baseball Annie
The Girl Who Saved Aunt T’s
Her
She Like Me
How You Play the Game
Hair Soup
Perfectionists
Imperfect Futures
Minnifer
Voices Carry
Andy and Dawn
The Handshake That Hides the Snake