Best Friends?

What Do You Want To Do?

Luke

I slammed the door behind me as I stomped into the house. Again, ignoring the calling of my name, this time from my mother.

"Not now, Mom," I eventually replied, "I'm not in the mood."

She sighed loudly, obviously not happy with my response, and said, "Lucas Andrew, we need to speak."

I stopped dead in my tracks. As much as I didn't want to, I knew if I didn't after hearing my middle name, there would be serious repercussions. I turned around to face her, seeing the angry, yet levelheaded, expression she had.

"Yes?" I asked quietly, slightly irritated.

She straightened her stature, smoothing her hair and skirt, and replied, "Please, sit with me." Trying not to roll my eyes or refuse, I hesitantly obeyed and sat at the kitchen bar. "So, dear, tell me. What do you plan on doing after high school?"

Wait what? Did my mother, of all people, just asked me what I was planning to do with my future? Like she didn't already know... Wasn't it obvious I had no other choice?

"Umm, go to college and double major in government and economics, minor in political science-"

"That's not what I asked, Luke," she interrupted abruptly, "What do you plan on doing after you're through with school? What do you want to do?"

I was shocked, to say the very least. I was dumbfounded that she would actually ask what I wanted instead of the constantly recited answer I was forced to give every time I was asked that same question.

"Why would you ask me that?" I said, still not fully gathering what she wanted to hear.

She smiled. A real smile, not the one she gives the public when her husband, my Dad, makes speeches and gives awards and all the other stuff he does instead of being with his family. It was genuine, kind, and beyond loving. It was the mother I remembered having when I was little. Whenever I learned to ride a bike, when I learned my first word, when I spelled my name for the first time, when me and Mazy would go play outside all of the time, this is the smile she gave me. Lately it had been tired, worn, almost forced. You could tell she was exhausted from all of the years of campaigns and laws and taking care of everyone but herself. It made me smile to see her smiling like that again.

"I want to entertain people, Mom," I finally replied honestly, "I want to sing. I want to play and make music, but most of all, I don't want to do what everyone expects me to because I am not Dad. I never will be. I don't want to be."

She nodded understandingly, "I know you don't. You shouldn't be anyone but yourself, Sweetheart. All I want for you is to be happy with whatever you choose to do. I know me and your father don't ever show that, but you need to understand. No matter how much we want you to inherit this island, we want you to enjoy your life even more."

"You might, but I doubt Dad does."

"He wants what's best for you, Luke. He may not know it yet, but doing what you want is best for you. You need to tell him that, explain how you feel about this entire situation. The only one that can control your life is you. Not even your Father can control what you do when you're grown and gone."

She's right. He doesn't control my life anymore than anyone else. That doesn't make the thought of telling him what I want any less frightening. It's still something I need to do regardless of my fears. He needs to know that I am not another version of him.

"I know that isn't going to be easy," she continued, "but it is the right thing to do, and you know it, son." I nodded in agreement.

I slowly stood as I replied, "I will. I promise, but I just don't have it in me to argue at the moment."

"Is something wrong?" she asked as she met my level.

"Well," I started, "me and Mazy aren't exactly on good terms right now."

"And why is that?"

How did I answer that? Should I tell her how screwed up her own flesh and blood is? Should I tell her that I'm with someone I hardly care about, watching the girl I've always been in love with be happy with some guy she just met almost a month and a half ago? How do you explain that to your Mom? Everything that came to mind just seemed so uncomfortable to say...

Nothing seemed to fit, so I settled for, "I'm an idiot." I looked at her face once more and turned to the staircase before she could say anything.

I closed my bedroom door behind me, sat on my bed and reached underneath for the only thing I knew would help. I opened the black casing and took every ounce of emotion I had out on my guitar, thinking of Mazy the entire time... until my pain became a song.