Gabriel went up to his room, looking forward to devoting some time to the thing he loved most, carving. He'd just gotten a new piece of wood, and was anxious to see what inspiration it might provide. Ignoring the entire mess that constituted his bedroom, he went straight for his work bench, the only place that was clean and orderly. He grabbed a carving chisel and turned the piece of wood before him, trying to get a sense of it. He had no doubt that inspiration would surely come to him, for it had been a good day. Actually, it really had been more of a victorious day. And to his way of thinking, victory went hand in hand with inspiration.
He rubbed his lip thoughtfully and rose from his work bench, confident that if he viewed the piece from a different perspective, he would be carving within minutes. But nothing came to mind. He sighed, sat down, and stared at the piece, which seemed to dumbly stare back at him. So this was the way it was going to be. Well, so be it. He'd already experienced victory this day, it could happen again. A sudden lightning bolt of anger flashed through him, and he backhanded the piece, sending it flying across the room. It smashed against the wall and with an awful racket, clattered across the floor. Startled, he waited for the inevitable question to come floating up from the parlor.
When all remained quiet, he walked over to the piece of wood. Aghast, he knew that if it had been damaged, it might be rendered useless. On the other hand, he was secretly hoping he'd at least splintered part of it, and gotten some of his own back. But it remained obnoxiously in one piece without a bit of damage. It didn't matter. Knocking the thing across the room felt good, it felt victorious. Now inspiration would certainly come to him. But still it eluded him and from his point of view, he felt as if he were being mocked from afar. Infuriated, he flung the chisel as hard as he could. It rocketed into the wall, spattering the floor with plaster shards. In its wake, an unsightly eye glared at him balefully.
"Gabriel, what's going on up there?"
He rolled his eyes. Now he'd done it. Here it was, the inevitable question from his mother, floating up from the parlor. Annoyed, he chose to ignore her.
"Gabriel?"
Wisely, he reconsidered, for in a moment she'd be up there, pestering him. Then she would see (and know) all. He had to think fast. Within seconds, a plan sprang to mind. The first thing he needed to do was to respond. Maybe that would placate her.
"Nothing!" He shouted.
His denial came out sounding a little more excited than intended, and he knew from past experience she'd never believe it. But it might buy him some time.
She'd have to think about it first and then make the move to investigate.
The second part of his plan involved removing all evidence to eradicate suspicion. He quickly cleaned up the plaster shards, but where he could put them so they wouldn't be spotted? A gust of wind blew through his open window and gave him the hint he needed. He tossed the shards outside.
Now there was the problem of the unsightly blemish in the wall. Even though his room was a complete mess, he knew she'd hone in on the damage if he didn't camouflage it somehow. She had an instinct for routing out the unusual. He quickly scanned the room and spotted his old toy box in a distant corner.
It would be useful to his purpose!
He pushed aside several piles of dirty laundry to make a path, and then pulled the toy box from its corner. He winced as it scraped across the floor in protest, but there was no time to worry about that now. He quickly slid the toy box against the wall and stood back to view the results. It wasn't half bad, he had to admit. It didn't completely cover the accusing eye, but he was satisfied, for now it was not as conspicuous.
Finally, he had to maintain interest in something that didn't interest him at all. He knew that if he started carving, she might figure out that it was one of his carving implements that hit the wall and would search the room for the anything that was out of order. Instead, he grabbed a book. His mother's suspicious nature would focus on him rather than the condition of his room. He sat at his workbench and pretended to be absorbed in his reading when she came into his room.
"What happened?" She asked. Her suspicion was palpable, but he dared not look up.
"Nothing," he replied, and continued feigning interest in his book. It was then she took him completely by surprise.
"Oh, my word!" She said, her voice rising. "What have you done?"
Panic and guilt quickly flashed alternately across his face and he cursed himself silently for his miscalculation. How could she have found out so soon? He buried his head in the deeper in his book and quickly composed himself before looking up at her.
"What?" He asked, pretending a calmness he didn't feel.
"Look at the condition of this room!" She commanded, and made an exaggerated gesture to encompass it with her arm. "It's a disaster! You should be ashamed of yourself, Gabriel."
Shame was the last thing on his mind and he almost laughed out loud with relief. She hadn't mentioned the hole in the wall! So she hadn't seen it. Well, time to turn her attention back to him.
"I don't think it's so bad," he said. The words were uttered quietly and he was staring into his book, but the tone caught his mother's attention.
"What did you say?" She asked.
"I said," he emphasized loudly, slamming the book shut, "I don't think it's so bad".
Surprise flickered across her face, but it was of no concern to him. He shrugged and turned from her, his icy blue eyes casually scanning the room to drive home his point. But he knew instantly that he'd made a serious blunder. Nonchalant nature aside, his eye had unintentionally fallen on the obstinate piece of wood that still lay on the floor. To make matters worse, his chisel had managed to roll out of the clutter into plain sight on the opposite side of the room.
None of this was lost under his mother's watchful gaze, and she had that, "is there anything you'd like to tell me?" look on her face.
"It's my room," he answered defiantly. "I should be able to keep it the way I want to."
Mother and son stared at one another in silent standoff.
"Well," she said, breaking eye contact after an endless amount of time, "we'll see what your father has to say about that!" She vanished, slamming the door behind her.
Her actions were meant to be foreboding, but to Gabriel they were anything but. His father rarely bothered with him these days, and any words between them would be immediately forgettable. He would once again be ignored and things would go back to normal. Even better, his mother would no longer be a bothersome annoyance. He smiled to himself and touched his lip thoughtfully.
Yes, it had been a victorious day. He tossed the book on the floor, rose and picked up the piece of wood and his carving chisel. Inspiration had finally come to him at last.