The Module

Sex, sex, everywhere, as far as the eye can see. Sex, sex, everywhere, and everyone’s having it but me.

Gina Wilhelm sighed. If you had asked her thirty years earlier what she planned on doing with her life, becoming a middle-aged divorcee would definitely not have been on the list. Even further off the line-up was being the single mother of a teenage boy whose stack of emotional problems was almost as expansive as his porn collection. However, becoming celibate would not even have crossed her mind. The future was supposed to be bright.

Now, staring up at the life-size poster of a nude Jenna Jameson that presided over her son Rodney’s bed, Gina wondered just where she had started to get off-track. Her thoughts were cut short, however, as she heard Rodney clattering up the stairs, subtle and unobtrusive as a drunken elephant. Not quite sixteen years old, Rod was as tall and gangly as the moniker implied. It was that height, combined with a wiry build and a vaguely tough-looking persona, that had earned Rod his current place on the senior basketball team. Unfortunately, the youth was still in the process of growing into his own body, and it was that inherent klutziness that had earned him his current position of water boy.

Conflict…wait for it…three…two…one…

“MOM!!!! What are you doing in my roooom?!?”

Right on schedule. It was almost boring, actually, these drearily predictable confrontations. Time to step into the role.

“Rodney Alan Wilhelm. Care to explain this?”

“Explain what?” Sulky.

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe the naked woman on your wall?!”

“So what? It’s natural. Not everyone is as of ashamed of their bodies as you are.”

Ouch. That one stung. “Excuse me?! What did you just say to me, young man?!”

“If you hadn’t heard me, you wouldn’t be so upset.”

Hmm. Touché. Gina sighed. “Rodney, I’ve had about enough of your insolence. I know we haven’t been getting along very well lately –”

“Yeah, yeah, but you’re still my mother and I need to show some respect and yada yada yada.”

“If you know the speech so well, why do you still need to hear it every day?”

“I never said I needed to hear it. You’re the one that keeps bringing it up.”

This wasn’t worth pursuing. “Well, anyway, nicely done…you’ve officially kissed goodbye any hopes of driving the car for the next couple weeks.”

“What?! Moooommm….that’s not fair! How come every time you can’t win an argument, I get punished?!”

Back to the same old guns. “You know what, Rodney? I sincerely hope that someday, you have a child just like you. We’ll see how well you deal with it.”

“I hope I do too! At least I’ll be able to appreciate him! Just because you think that I’m a loser and a burden and –”

Uh oh. Can’t get too close to the self-esteem cliff. Next thing you know he’ll be calling Dr. Phil up in a vengeful rage, trying to get all of North America booing my parenting skills. “Whoa now! Just you hold on a second! I never said anything about loser or burden! There you are, jumping to conclusions, when all I meant was –”

“Was what? You want me to suffer as much as I make you suffer?”

Pouty, sulky, and with every reason. Just what does every parent on the planet mean when they deliver that line? To be perfectly honest, that saying is on par with “I brought you into this world; I can damn well take you out of it!”. Perhaps parents are contributing to low self-esteem in kids these days. But what now? Back down? Admit that he’s right? Unthinkable! He may be a snivelling little such-and-such now, but at least he knows who’s in charge. Best to just change the subject.

“Rodney, I am not going to waste my time on such nonsense. You should know better than that; I only want the best for you. However, as I also care about the poor individuals being exploited in the sex trade, I must also insist that you remove that poster at once.”

“The sex trade is prostitution, not pornography. Besides, Jenna Jameson’s not being exploited; she loves her job. Haven’t you ever seen the documentary on her on W5?”

“W5 does documentaries on porn stars?”

“W5 does documentaries on everything. That’s the point of a documentary,” Rod retorts sarcastically. “It investigates the facts, then reports them. The scientific world, unlike certain relics of intolerant fear- and hatred-induced fundamentalist conservative brainwa– ”

“What. Exactly. Are You. Suggesting.” Hushed voice, gritted teeth, every word carefully enunciated, every pause strategically calculated. It was a dangerous question, but Rodney can not be permitted to win this power struggle. His ego is inflated enough as it is; it is important that the parent retain undaunted superiority.

He is annoyed. “Well I wasn’t exactly suggesting it, I was more trying to say it outright, but then I was so rudely interrup– ”

This was enough. Rrrrrrrrriiiiiiiippppppp. Pinching the crumpled, torn centrefold between her thumb and forefinger like a piece of particularly revolting garbage, Gina whirled away from her son and marched down the stairs.

“Mom! What the fuck?” Rodney pounded after her, making several unsuccessful swipes. The chase continued all the way down to the backyard firepit, where Gina quickly stuffed the damaged poster into the coals. She turned to face him, her features a mask of deathly calm.

“Why don’t you do the honours? I know you keep matches in your pocket. How else would you light all those cigarettes? Or those joints, or that pipe I found.”

Rodney’s face contorted with rage. “You fucking SNEAK! What do you do, go through my pockets and search my room? Oh wait, never mind, I know you search my room, otherwise we wouldn’t be out here, would we?!”

What an interesting idea. We wouldn’t be out here, would we. Still gazing up at Jenna Jameson, Gina abruptly changed her mind. After all, she had already gone through the entire scenario in her head; no point in playing it out in real life.

“MOM!!! What are you doing in my roooom?!?”

“I was just making sure that you had enough clothes. I know that you like doing your own laundry now, but it’s always nice to have someone lend a hand.”

Rodney stared suspiciously at his mother. “Yeah. You’re right. I do like to do my own laundry. I even make sure to check the pockets, just like you taught me.”

Of course you check the pockets. Because you know Mom does too.