Work Text:
It’s Christmas morning, and Abed’s just unwrapped his plush dinosaur. There’s a green, shiny ribbon around the T-Rex’s neck, making it look like a prize poodle. If the dinosaurs were still with us, would they be shown off and get prizes on TV? Abed wonders this as he reads the ribbon's words: “From Baba: To Abed, with love”.
Baba isn’t anywhere to be seen at the moment. He had left five minutes ago to “shovel snow”, but Abed knows that isn’t the real reason. It’s Christmas, and Christmas means a visit from mom, and mom will always be a walking reminder. Abed’s father says his hellos to her every December only out of necessity, because he knows Abed is watching, and the boy is only eight years old. He needs to protect the innocence that still simmers in his eyes. Enough damage has already been done.
Still, there’s only so long someone can go without a break. And so, mother and son sit in front of a tree already starting to shed its needles. Abed holds up his stuffed toy to his mother. She’s checking her watch.
“Hey mom, doesn’t he kinda look like the tyrannosaurus from Jurassic Park?” he asks. No response. Maybe she’s just sleepy? “I watched the behind-the-scenes thingy about that movie, and the T-Rex was like, a big puppet, but they used computer stuff too. Did you know that?” Abed says, bouncing up and down like a rubber ball.
His mother looks down at him, her eyes clouded with something Abed can’t label. He tries to remember the pages in his “faces book”. Smiling means happy, crying means sad, scrunched eyebrows means angry…but it can also mean confusion. Plus, some people cry when they’re happy…oh, why can’t it just be simple!
“Abed, are you somewhere else again?”
Abed’s attention turns back to his mom’s now disapproving face. “Sorry mom, I got distracted. I spaced out, like an astronaut” he says, giggling after his attempt at a pun. His mother takes a sip of her hot cocoa.
“Well, anyway, Jurrasic Park was filmed in Hawaii because of the pretty nature, I heard the second Karate Kid movie was filmed there too, have you seen it? Baba bought the VHS, it’s not as fun as the first one, but-”. Before Abed can finish, his mother gives him that look, the one that means “be seen, not heard”.
Abed lowers his head, and everything is quiet for a while, save for the sound of yuletide tunes playing from a nearby radio. Then, Abed’s mother starts to pull him into a hug. Abed squirms at first, but he stops when he sees that disapproving look come back.
Be a good son, won’t you?
Abed’s mother holds him, and he reminds himself to not shake her hand off when she strokes his hair. She gently smooths down his bedhead, but her embrace is limp, and Abed feels chilly in her arms. She gently rocks him side-to-side, and this, this is something Abed likes.
He’s so young. He won’t realize until many years later that this, too, was only done out of necessity.
Abed’s mother sighs.
“Son, your father and I really worry about you. You’re going to be an adult someday, and you can’t always be so silly when you’re all grown.” she coos. Abed’s heard this tone from mothers in sitcom after sitcom, but her softness feels so hollow. Like it could turn cold any second. “How will you make friends if you only talk about the TV? Not everyone lives in their head, myszko.”
Her hands have stopped stroking Abed’s hair, her fingers now wrapped around her cup of cocoa. Abed looks up at her, his eyes wide and anxious. “But mama, talking about movies makes me feel better, I always know all the facts, so I don’t sound dumb when I talk about them, and sometimes people are even impressed…”
Abed soon quiets down when he realizes his mother isn’t really listening. For someone who lectures him on eye contact so often, she always turns her head away when he truly needs her to be there.
“Mama, are you angry?”
Abed’s mother looks back. “No, no, don’t be so silly! Haven’t you been reading your faces book?” she says, a soft smile plastered on. She pulls Abed closer, and Abed’s cheek rests dully on her shoulder.
“Sometimes mommies have to be hurtful to their babies, because it helps them grow” she mutters. Abed wants to speak up, because he can’t see how that adds up. His mother’s words always make him feel so small. And how can such things hold love?
Suddenly, he hears the front door opening and sees his father walking in. Quick as a flash, Abed wiggles away from his mother and runs up to his baba. He hugs him (well, his leg anyway) and looks up gratefully. His dad isn’t perfect…but at least he isn’t so confusing.
Behind Abed, his mother stands up. “Well, I can see who his favorite is today” she notes with a huff. She walks out the room, taking the cup of cocoa with her.
And so, it’s just father and son. Abed looks down. He can feel a lump in his throat. As his father pats his head, one fact rings through his mind.
A mother’s love is not unconditional.