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camwynbut I wound up unable to start it the way I was supposed to. Just consider this a clip from the hard SF stuff I'm working on - and a way of warding off the occasional mood swings I get when I don't do anything properly creative.
"… that's right, Constable." God. Ira had said it so many times his jaw was starting to hurt.
Constable Griffin sighed and nodded. "That's it, then," he said, tipping the recorder towards himself. "I think we have everything we need. The interview is over." With that, Griffin clicked off the device. Ira relaxed fractionally. "Young man," said the policeman, "you aren't being charged with anything, like I said before, but-"
"'I wouldn't go anywhere if I were you,'" Ira parroted. "Yes. I know."
Griffin scowled a touch, but nodded. "Someone from the RCMP will be in touch," he said as the transcript started to spill out of his recorder on faintly curling paper. "This is your copy of the transcript- here, let me-" Crimping the official seal at the bottom of the paper took just a moment. "That'll do in a court of law, your lawyer will agree."
"I thought you said he wasn't going to need a lawyer!" came a woman's voice, alarmed. Ira sighed, shoulders slumping.
"Mom," said Ira grimly, "he also said I didn't need you here."
"That's nonsense - a boy too young to vote ought to have someone around-"
"No, Mrs. Dayan," said Griffin. "Not when he's not being charged with anything."
"He's not?" came at the same time as "there, you see?"
Griffin nodded. "Not at the moment," he said, "although the results of the analysis on the rocket might change that." His tone suggested it was unlikely. "I really do suggest you get a lawyer, if only to make sure everything goes smoothly, but right now it looks as if your only crime was failing to account for a few variables."
Ira grinned inwardly. Outwardly he kept the same concerned look he'd worn all during the interview. "Thank you, Constable," he said. "I won't-"
"Launch any more giant rockets?" asked the Constable shrewdly. "I should hope not. You could've taken out a Cessna with that thing."
"Not planning to, no."
"All right, then." Griffin stood up, smiled politely, and tossed off something like a salute. "That's it for now. We'll be in touch, like I said. Thank you for your cooperation."
Ira's mother was at the door almost as soon as it shut behind the Constable. Peering through the peephole into the Nanaimo street, she said, "That was very lucky for you - Ira, I can't believe you did something like this!"
"Like what, Mom?" The teenager pushed himself away from the kitchen table. "Kenny and I do this every weekend. It's a hobby, you know? What you've been saying all along I should get?"
She whirled on him, mouse-brown hair following half a beat behind the rest of her. "I meant a safe hobby! Something sociable, where you'd be -"
"Hockey's sociable. Lots of interaction with other people in hockey."
"Something that doesn't put you in the dentist's office-"
He knew he shouldn't, but he said it anyway. "Like soccer?"
"Or the emergency room!" The exasperated look she gave him was its own reward, but he kept going anyway, hiding the inner smile.
"Like rocketry."
"No!" She threw up her hands. "Ira, I mean something normal boys your age do!"
"Um, that'd be hockey, Mom."
"Normal boys who can stay out of the penalty box for an entire period! Ira, you know what I mean!"
"Actually, Mom, I don't." He crossed his arms over his chest. "First I wasn't doing well enough in school, so you said I should be spending more time on my studies. Then I got into Mrs. Ranvier's French class and started getting A's in all my other classes, and you said I wasn't being sociable enough. Then I got onto both the hockey and the soccer teams and you said it wasn't right to be spending so much time doing something so violent and physical. So Kenny and I did model rockets, and now you're saying that's no good either?"
"Ira, you just spent the last two hours talking to an RCMP Constable without even a lawyer. You've been in trouble with-"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Mom - I am not in trouble with the police, okay? He said so himself. Not being charged, remember?"
"People who aren't in trouble don't spend two hours being interviewed." She started to pace restlessly across the living room. "I can't believe you did this. I can't believe you and Kenny caused this kind of a- this kind of thing."
"Yeah, well, believe it, Mom."
"Don't you talk to me that way, young man."
"What way?"
"You know what I mean!"
"Mom, we just did this part, okay? Maybe if you could figure out what the hell I'm supposed to be knowing, I could figure out how to do it."
"Ira!"
"Every time I get in trouble it winds up like this, you know? Every time. You keep saying I should know what I'm supposed to do or what you're supposed to mean, only you never say it, and I never seem to get it right." His eyes narrowed, scanning over his mother's shocked face. "Is that why Dad left?"
Shocked wasn't the word for it; she looked suddenly like a fish out of water, gasping at the sudden lack of air. All right, thought Ira, maybe that was a little too far… He couldn't quite bring himself to feel guilty, though. It was always like this. His mother never could quite bring herself to say exactly what he was supposed to be doing or saying or thinking, and he was tired of taking the blame for it. He turned and stalked away, finding a measure of niggling satisfaction in the fact that she wasn't following.
"… that's right, Constable." God. Ira had said it so many times his jaw was starting to hurt.
Constable Griffin sighed and nodded. "That's it, then," he said, tipping the recorder towards himself. "I think we have everything we need. The interview is over." With that, Griffin clicked off the device. Ira relaxed fractionally. "Young man," said the policeman, "you aren't being charged with anything, like I said before, but-"
"'I wouldn't go anywhere if I were you,'" Ira parroted. "Yes. I know."
Griffin scowled a touch, but nodded. "Someone from the RCMP will be in touch," he said as the transcript started to spill out of his recorder on faintly curling paper. "This is your copy of the transcript- here, let me-" Crimping the official seal at the bottom of the paper took just a moment. "That'll do in a court of law, your lawyer will agree."
"I thought you said he wasn't going to need a lawyer!" came a woman's voice, alarmed. Ira sighed, shoulders slumping.
"Mom," said Ira grimly, "he also said I didn't need you here."
"That's nonsense - a boy too young to vote ought to have someone around-"
"No, Mrs. Dayan," said Griffin. "Not when he's not being charged with anything."
"He's not?" came at the same time as "there, you see?"
Griffin nodded. "Not at the moment," he said, "although the results of the analysis on the rocket might change that." His tone suggested it was unlikely. "I really do suggest you get a lawyer, if only to make sure everything goes smoothly, but right now it looks as if your only crime was failing to account for a few variables."
Ira grinned inwardly. Outwardly he kept the same concerned look he'd worn all during the interview. "Thank you, Constable," he said. "I won't-"
"Launch any more giant rockets?" asked the Constable shrewdly. "I should hope not. You could've taken out a Cessna with that thing."
"Not planning to, no."
"All right, then." Griffin stood up, smiled politely, and tossed off something like a salute. "That's it for now. We'll be in touch, like I said. Thank you for your cooperation."
Ira's mother was at the door almost as soon as it shut behind the Constable. Peering through the peephole into the Nanaimo street, she said, "That was very lucky for you - Ira, I can't believe you did something like this!"
"Like what, Mom?" The teenager pushed himself away from the kitchen table. "Kenny and I do this every weekend. It's a hobby, you know? What you've been saying all along I should get?"
She whirled on him, mouse-brown hair following half a beat behind the rest of her. "I meant a safe hobby! Something sociable, where you'd be -"
"Hockey's sociable. Lots of interaction with other people in hockey."
"Something that doesn't put you in the dentist's office-"
He knew he shouldn't, but he said it anyway. "Like soccer?"
"Or the emergency room!" The exasperated look she gave him was its own reward, but he kept going anyway, hiding the inner smile.
"Like rocketry."
"No!" She threw up her hands. "Ira, I mean something normal boys your age do!"
"Um, that'd be hockey, Mom."
"Normal boys who can stay out of the penalty box for an entire period! Ira, you know what I mean!"
"Actually, Mom, I don't." He crossed his arms over his chest. "First I wasn't doing well enough in school, so you said I should be spending more time on my studies. Then I got into Mrs. Ranvier's French class and started getting A's in all my other classes, and you said I wasn't being sociable enough. Then I got onto both the hockey and the soccer teams and you said it wasn't right to be spending so much time doing something so violent and physical. So Kenny and I did model rockets, and now you're saying that's no good either?"
"Ira, you just spent the last two hours talking to an RCMP Constable without even a lawyer. You've been in trouble with-"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Mom - I am not in trouble with the police, okay? He said so himself. Not being charged, remember?"
"People who aren't in trouble don't spend two hours being interviewed." She started to pace restlessly across the living room. "I can't believe you did this. I can't believe you and Kenny caused this kind of a- this kind of thing."
"Yeah, well, believe it, Mom."
"Don't you talk to me that way, young man."
"What way?"
"You know what I mean!"
"Mom, we just did this part, okay? Maybe if you could figure out what the hell I'm supposed to be knowing, I could figure out how to do it."
"Ira!"
"Every time I get in trouble it winds up like this, you know? Every time. You keep saying I should know what I'm supposed to do or what you're supposed to mean, only you never say it, and I never seem to get it right." His eyes narrowed, scanning over his mother's shocked face. "Is that why Dad left?"
Shocked wasn't the word for it; she looked suddenly like a fish out of water, gasping at the sudden lack of air. All right, thought Ira, maybe that was a little too far… He couldn't quite bring himself to feel guilty, though. It was always like this. His mother never could quite bring herself to say exactly what he was supposed to be doing or saying or thinking, and he was tired of taking the blame for it. He turned and stalked away, finding a measure of niggling satisfaction in the fact that she wasn't following.
