Prompt and Circumstance

Hobson's Choice

'Champion' (August 12-14, 2016)

"It'll be an albatross around your neck for a long while," she'd said, "but lighter... and one day it won't matter nearly so much as it does now."

"An albatross?" I'd said. "That's a bird, isn't it?" She nodded and before she could answer, I said, "Around my neck? What the heck (phew, that was close!... ) are you talking about?"

I mean, she's a great Mum, uhrr... some of the time. Especially like right now when I need her most, but this was when I first found out; when I first had to make the decision. Huh! Hobson's Choice, I reckon they call it. When there's really no choice at all. That's when she talked about that albatross stuff.

She told me about 'The Rime of the Ancient Mariner', a poem by this Coleridge dude. Geez... someone couldn't spell even back then! She said there was this sailor who shot and killed an albatross and that was like the worst bad karma for the whole ship they reckoned. So the poor devil's punishment was to be chained up with the dead albatross tied around his neck. Don't know how long for, but can you imagine the stink? So what did this have to do with me? Be damned if I knew.

So she tells me that the way it's always used now, is to mean its some unholy burden some poor devils have to carry, or bear. Yeh well, she got that one right. But only for a while? Even if it's a long one of those amazing 'whiles'? I'd have said like – forever. My heart sank even deeper that day - IF that was even possible. My mind kept wandering back to lazy summer days in the holidays, surfing and sunning on the beach all day. And the chicks! Oh man! Helluva toss-up sometimes between the next great wave and the possibility one of those gorgeous bronzed girls would look my way. The things I planned to do with those chicks some day is NOT anything I'd share with my Mum.

And tennis, and high jump, and better than any of these... football. Man, I love my football. And I couldn't string the next words together in my mind, let alone in my mouth. Mum knew, and hugged me tighter. She had tears in her eyes, too.

We both know the 'real' stuff. I mean, it's all hunky-dory to show the likes of that hero - whats-his-name - Oscar Pistoff guy, blade-running all over the world (until he got in trouble). He's rich, for chrissake. But me? What the hell will I do with JUST ONE LEG?

Too late now – all bridges burned. Better my leg than my life. I know. I KNOW. But it doesn't make it any less shit-awful . I hear the last words Mum whispers in my ear before they wheel me away.

"C'mon darlin'. You've been my little champion from the day you were born. You got through that one despite the odds. You'll do it again." And out loud, "I love you, champ."

I'm getting so groggy I don't even feel embarrassed about that love bit. Mmm... f-u-n-n-y th-a-a-a-!