I believe in the 5 P’s.

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“Prior Planning Prevents Poor Performance.” My dad would always say.

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My dad has always been one of those neat freaks. It’s where I get my OCD from, for sure. He stays organized by keeping daily, weekly, and monthly lists. Everything he does from work projects, to information about a college from me or my siblings, to family vacations, are all filed and organized alphabetically in a filing cabinet.

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My dad believes the best way to get something done is by doing it yourself. “If you want something done right, do it yourself.”He says. This belief has rubbed off on me. This led me into starting my own business and has allowed me to find my passion. It has cleared a path toward my college major and future career.

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He’s also a big believer in doing things the right way. He never does something just to get it done. “If you’re gonna do it, do it right.” He says. He also apparently believes in stealing quotes too, but that's a story for another day. My dad takes as long as he needs when it  comes to doing something the right way. This made me mad when I was younger. I hated waiting when he was doing something for me. Over the years, this taught me patience. I now find myself taking extra time to go above and beyond on things like school projects. I make sure I have done whatever task it may be, to the absolute best of my ability.

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In 2011, Hurricane Irene was approaching. The category three hurricane was predicted to hit our area, but only as a tropical storm. Reports said the storm wouldn’t do too much damage to our area. They started to keep their storm coverage further south.

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My dad being my dad, continued to prepare for the end of the world. He stocked up food, flashlights, buckets, shop vacuums, the whole nine yards. I remember my mom saying, “You act like we’re not gonna have power for weeks!”

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When the storm finally hit, we were knee-deep in water. The sump pump had failed. My whole family had flashlights strap-mounted to our foreheads as we ran an assembly line of water-filled buckets and shop vacs, to be emptied from my flooded basement, up the steps, and out the front door. My dad had already devised the plan prior to the storm.

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The storm had caused many large trees to fall around our house. Some hit power lines, some fell across roads, luckily, none hit our house, but even if one did, my dad had a plan for it. We were unable to leave our neighborhood for five days and were without power for two weeks. Thanks to my dad, we made out just fine. For once, according to my mom at least, he was right and she was wrong. No it wasn’t the end of the world like my dad had thought, but even if it was, it wouldn’t have worried me, because my dad had a plan for that, too.

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Prior Planning Prevents Poor Performance.

 

For this I believe.

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Short Story

Where’s Our Mother?

 

Brian jumped out from his hiding place behind the curtain. “You’re it,” he laughed, tagging Jon.

“Mother’s home,” the nanny called up to the boys.

Brian and Jon’s mother had been in a car accident a month prior. She spent the last thirty days in and out of surgery and recovering in a nearby hospital. She has lost a lot of weight and is hardly able to walk.

“Mommy!” Brian screams, overwhelmed with excitement as he runs down the wooden steps and gives his mom a hug.

The nanny nudges Brian away. “Easy now, she’s fragile.”

“He’s alright, I got it from here,”Mother assures. “Thank you for everything, Claire.”  

The nanny exits the house, slamming the door behind her.

“What’s all over you, mommy?” Brian questioned. “You look like one of those toilet paper guys from the pyramids.”

“A mummy? Don’t call me that. They’re bandages. I need to keep them on while my wounds heal. Now go get washed up. Those clothes are disgusting. Claire was kind enough to prepare dinner for us.”

Brian and Jon run up to the bathroom, taking turns getting showered.

“Hurry up! Your food is getting cold!” Mother calls up.

Brian and Jon rush down to the dinner table.

“Claire only prepared food for me, again.” Brian complains.

“You know why.” Mother answers.

Jon whispers in Brian’s ear. “Come on mom. Jon said he’s hungry.”

“Then why doesn’t he tell me himself?” Mother snapped and stormed out of the kitchen.

“You need to apologize to her, Jon.”

“I can’t.”

Later that night, Brian and Jon are talking while laying in their bunk beds when mother opens the door.

“The doctors said I need rest. From now on, the house is to be silent. If you wish to play, you must go outside, but do not come in the house filthy or bring in any animals or bugs. I am going to keep all the curtains closed so I can sleep during the day, too. Don’t let any visitors in. If anyone comes to the door, just tell them your mother is sick. You are to only wake me up if it’s an emergency. Goodnight.” Mother sighs as she flicks off the lights and walks out the doorway, closing the boy’s door behind her.

“Why is she acting so different?” Brian wondered.

“I think it’s just the surgeries. She’s been through a lot. I’d probably be acting weird if I went through all that.” Jon explained.

Brian woke up early the next morning. He slowly climbed down the ladder from the top bunk, trying his best not to stir Jon. Obeying his mother’s orders, he did not make a sound as he gingerly bounced on the balls of his feet down the hall to the bathroom. Brian stopped, confused, as he peered at the light shining through the crack of the bathroom door. He cautiously pressed against the door, opening it just enough to see through the crack and prevent the hinges from creaking. It was mother. She had removed her bandages from her face to apply a cream from the doctor, revealing circular bruises around her eyes, dark as night. She had large scars running along her cheeks and forehead from the surgeries.

Quickly, before she saw him, Brian made his way back to his room to inform Jon on their mother’s alien-like appearance, “Jon, wake up, it’s about mother. I saw her without the bandages.”

“I saw her without ‘em yesterday,” Jon said, unimpressed, “It’s not a pretty sight.”

That day, Brian and Jon spent most of their day exploring. They walked through the woods to a nearby farm. They watched as the farmer set the dead crops ablaze.  On their way back, they stumbled upon a stray cat.

“Mother is asleep, lets bring him back to our house, he looks hungry,” Jon convinced Brian.

Inside, Brian fixed the cat a bed, out of a cardboard box and a blanket. He retrieved some leftover pizza from the fridge and brought everything up to the room, locking the door behind him. The boys fell asleep playing with the cat, only to be awakened by mother bashing on the door, “Open up! Since when do we lock doors in this house?”

“One sec!” Brian calls back, sliding the cat in the box under the bed.

“What are you hiding?” Mother questions sternly.

“Nothing.” Brian responds.

“You wouldn’t lock the door if you weren’t hiding something.” Mother snaps back as she begins to search through drawers. “Why do you have this?” Mother questions, holding a lighter.

Brian shrugs his shoulders.

As mother continues to search the room, the cat lets out a subtle “meow.” She stops what she’s doing and checks under the bed.

“Liar! Don’t Lie to me, Brian!” She screams, grabbing Brian.

“Hey stop it!” Jon’s call is ignored.

“Don’t Lie to me, Brian!” Mother screams again, this time slapping him across the face and taking his phone.

“It was my idea!” Jon shouts.

“Yeah, it was Jon’s idea.” Brian agrees.

Mother ignored this and exited the room, leaving the cat in the makeshift bed.

Later that day, while the boys were burning ants in the garden outside, they overheard their mother’s conversation on the phone.

“I’m tired of playing along,” She said, “He needs to face it.”

Jon pulls Brian away from the window. “We should go check on the cat.”

Brian, agrees, following his brother to their room.

“He’s dead.” Jon states, examining the motionless cat, “It was mother, I know it.”

Frustrated, Brian storms into the master bedroom, “You’re not my mother!”

“What was that?” Mother answered.

“I said… You’re not… my mother!”

Mother grabbed Brian’s arm, dragging him to his room.

“Repeat after me… You are my mother.”

“No!” Brian snapped back.

“If you’re our mother, show us your birthmark!” Jon screamed.

“Yeah, show us your birthmark!” Brian seconded.

“Don’t be smart with me!” She began to walk out when she turned back saying, “I want you to promise me you’ll stop talking to your brother.”

Brian said nothing. Mother turned and left.

Brian turned to Jon, “She’s trying to tear us apart.”

“That’s not our mother. We put an end to this tonight.” Jon said grabbing some loose rope.

Mother woke, tied to the bed.

“Where’s our mother?” The boys questioned simultaneously.

“What’s going on?” Mother questioned, attempting to shake free of the knots around her wrists and ankles.

“Where’s our mother?” They repeated.

“Stop this at once. Untie me.” Mother begged.

“Who’s this?” Brian questioned her, holding up a picture of mother and a girl. “If you were my mother you’d know.”

“A friend.” She answered.

“What’s her name?”

“Go get scissors, Brian, you know I’m your mother.” She ignored the question, but this time, sounded sympathetic.

Brian paused, staring at the ground, then began to walk to the dresser, where a pair of shiny, silver scissors sat. Jon grabbed Brian by the arm.

“What are you doing, Brian? You promised me you wouldn’t believe her. She’s not our mother. Check her birthmark.”

Brian walked back, reaching for her sleeve to reveal the birthmark on her shoulder.

“Stop! What are you doing?” Mother shreaked.

“Jon, it’s right here.” Brian said, pointing at the brown oval on her shoulder.

“It’s not real. Look, it’s smeared.” Jon argued.

Brian slowly rubbed his thumb against the mark. His finger turned black.

“It’s fake! It’s just marker!” Jon exclaimed.

“They had to remove it in surgery! It was skin cancer!”

Brian stood back in disbelief.

“Grab the magnifying glass, maybe she’ll talk.” Jon suggested.

Brian opened the curtains as the sun rose.  He held up the magnifying glass on her cheek.

“Where’s our mother?” Brian repeated.

Mother did nothing but cry now.

Brian pulled away the magnifying glass and asked one last time, “Where’s our mother?”

“I’ll promise to play along,” mother cried out, “I’ll start talking to Jon again. Just please believe me. I am your mother. It’s not your fault Jon died. The accident wasn’t your fault. I’ll pretend he’s still alive, just please stop!” Tears rolled down her scarred cheeks.

“What’s Jon doing right now?” Brian asked,  

Jon pulled out the lighter and held it up against the sheets of the bed.

“Brian, please stop you know I can’t see him!”

“Our mother could see him.” Brian grabbed Jon’s hand, igniting the flame together.