disclaimer: not mine, don't sue
SHE
She sits in the corner of the loud gym, on the end of the bleachers where she can see everything. She is so unlike the other mothers packed into the loud area. The mothers who are talking with each other, watching their sons, watching their other children (they always seem to have infants), swapping clothes that have since been grown out of, calling each other by their first names… She is so unlike them, those mothers in their jeans and sweatshirts. Their makeup-less faces, their simple ponytails. She sits up straight, hoping to retain some dignity. It looks as if she is stuck up, but in reality that is her way of coping with insecurity. She knows that she is truly no different than these moms, who's very existences seem to revolve around their children. She wonders if she should feel sorry for those mothers, who lead such single-viewed lives. Then she wonders if she should feel sorry for her son, who's mother has a life quite separate from his own.
A buzzer wakes her from her deep thought. Another thing her son lacks… a mother who can pay attention at his basketball games. How can these other women, who have so many other things going on, still manage to cheer and know what is going on in the game? She was not, by any means, challenged in multitasking. Her husband usually came to these things. But she had gotten off of work early today, and she had insisted that she could go by herself. And he let her. She was independent. And she hated that she didn't spend as much time with her miracle son as she wanted.
"Mom!" she is startled again, this time by her son. There are a bunch of little kids calling out for their moms, but she can always tell which is her son's voice. It's one of only two voices that can make her heart melt into a puddle. He's huddled around a bench with his teammates, looking very intent on what his coach has to say. More likely than not, they are words of encouragement. She knows the most important thing is for them to have fun, and she can appreciate that.
"Hi Willy!" she mouths from where she sits, waving. He looks so happy. He's so proud of himself, having his mom watch his game. She can tell he's been trying hard for her, even though she doesn't know that much about basketball. Since she works a lot, maybe he feels as if he has to earn her time. She hopes he doesn't think that. She hopes he knows she would drop everything in a second for him. She hopes he knows she did once.
"Are you William's mother?" she is asked by a friendly voice as her son and his team go back out on the court. She feels somewhat uneasy before she turns around because for so long, friendly questions from strangers did not end in friendly answers from her, or vice versa. She has to remind herself that she is not that woman anymore, and she turns back to look at the source of the voice.
One of those mothers. She had a small baby in her arms, and another young child was sitting next to her. She didn't have any makeup on, her hair was in a ponytail, she wore jeans and a sweatshirt…
"Yes, I am," she answers, trying to push everything she is thinking back in her mind.
"Hi. I'm Rachel Graveny, Tyler's mom," she says, pointing vaguely in the direction of her son. She pretends to recall his name, perhaps from a conversation she had with her own son.
"Oh, yes. Will's told me about him," she smiles.
"Really? Oh, Will's such a sweet kid. He's so smart, and so polite," Rachel compliments. She is surprised that this woman knows not quite intimate details about her son, but certainly things that she would not have learned just by looking at him.
"Oh, thank you. I'm sorry, but I can't recall Tyler being over," she says truthfully.
"I believe your husband said that you were working the midnight shift at the hospital when I brought him over last Tuesday. Will and Tyler have just started having play-dates. He's been over to our house twice, I believe," Rachel explained, and she immediately felt stupid having a woman she just met telling her where her son had been and how many times. She, once again, pretended to know what was going on.
"Yes, I remember the last time he came home from your house. He just couldn't stop talking about how much fun he had. It was so cute," she said, making Rachel blush.
"Well, he's a joy to have over. I'm so glad I finally had the chance to meet you," the woman says, and she suddenly wants to end the conversation. She does so by nodding politely but not saying anything. They sit in an almost-comfortable silence, watching the six-year-olds run about the court. She hoped Rachel didn't think she was stuck up, because in reality, it was only her way of dealing with her discomfort.
Not much longer and the game ends. She gets up and adjusts her fitting green sweater and brushes her hands across her black slacks. She is so unlike these mothers, who have juice stains and cracker crumbs on their clothes and even in their hair. She picks up her Coach purse. They pick up their diaper bags.
"Hi Mom!" her son exclaims, running up to her in the bleachers because she is being careful to walk down them in her boots. They are not boots, like the other mothers' boots.
"Willy!" she says with as much enthusiasm, kneeling down to meet her son in the biggest hug a six-year-old can give. He nuzzles his tiny face deep into her shoulder, and she feels the need to say something.
"You did such a good job out there, Buddy. I'm going to have to come to more of these!"
"Really, you will?" William asks in disbelief. This hurts her heart. Her own son didn't even believe that she wanted to be there.
"Of course, Baby. I always like to see you have fun," she assured him. They stand up and she tucks him under her arm, knowing how her husband feels when he walks with her. The height difference between them isn't as large as between her and her son, but it is not far off. She is a small woman, but she is not small.
She helps him get his clothes and coat on, and helps him get everything into his bag. She watches as he says goodbye to his friends; she is not sure if one of them is Tyler.
"Ready?" she asks him as she puts on her own coat, a tan pea coat that compliments her creamy skin. He gives her a solemn look.
"They have snacks over there. But we can go," he says, putting his head down.
"No, Will!" she says as if getting those snacks was the most important thing in the world, "You've earned a snack. I'll come with you."
Will smiles and his eyes glow. He has her eyes, but when he smiles they glow like his father's. She has never seen such beautiful eyes.
"What are you doing?" she asks as he grabs her hand and pulls her toward a group of adults sitting around a cooler.
"I want you to meet my coach, Mommy," he tells her, still pulling. Before she can say anything, they are there, and he is talking for her.
"Coach Steve, this is my Mom," he proudly introduces. A tall dark man stands up and takes her hand. He is bald, and the lights shine off his head brilliantly.
"Hi Mom," Coach Steve says, smiling as they shake.
"Hi," is all she can say. She sees who walks up behind the man.
"Steve, this is Dana Mulder. She's Will's mom," Rachel says, the baby now in a carrier and her two older children fighting over a juice box.
"Yeah, Will was just telling me. Awesome game tonight, Kiddo," he kids with her son, ruffling his hair. She can tell Will admires him because he bites his cheek and looks down after that. Does his father make him feel like this? she wonders. Do I make him feel like this?
"Thanks Coach Steve," he smirks, then goes to get his snack.
"Where's Mulder tonight?" the coach asks, and she knows that her husband has formed somewhat of a bond with this man.
"He's at home. I got off work early today and decided to go to the game."
"Tell him he's gotta work on Will's three-point shot," he laughed. She didn't get the joke, but laughed along with him and the other adults that had heard. Apparently, not just the kids congregated around the coach after the game.
"But, seriously, Will's a great player."
"At home, he and Mulder are always outside shooting baskets. That is, when it's not too cold," she smiled, hoping that settling into talk about the weather would ease her somewhat. She didn't know anything about basketball and didn't want to embarrass herself.
"Ahh, it's been brutal lately," the coach shook his head, taking a nice long swig from his bottle of water. He had been sweating as much as the kids. It was kind of hot in the gym, under the lights, she noticed.
"Will," she called, seeing her son participating in a game of sort-of tag away from the cooler. The kids couldn't really run with their treats, but they were trying. He instantly looked up and scurried over to his mom, not afraid of her, but afraid that he would miss her. Afraid that he would disappoint her.
"Yeah?" he asked, taking a bite out of his granola bar.
"Are you ready to go? Daddy's making spaghetti tonight."
"Yeah, I'm ready. Bye Coach Steve. Bye Mrs. Graveny," he says, throwing out the wrapper of the granola bar in the trash and taking his mom's hand. She loved it when he held her hand. He tried to be protective and confident for her, like her husband. But he was, after all, a little boy. It was her job to protect him.
"Bye Will, bye Dana," she hears as they walk toward the doors. She doesn't want this. She doesn't want to be called by her first name. She hasn't regularly been called "Dana" in such a long time. At home, he still calls her "Scully." Occasionally, he reverts to her first name, but those times are rare and usually dramatic. After the wedding, she took his name but at work she kept her maiden name to make things easier. At the hospital it is "Dr. Scully." Her brothers don't visit much with their families, but her mother comes over often and those are really the only people she would be comfortable calling her "Dana." She does not want these mothers, who are so unlike herself, calling her by her first name. But they don't know it is reserved for special people. Maybe she is stuck up.
"Willy," she starts once they are in the parking lot. While those mothers pull out the keys to their minivans, she pulls out the keys to her new Lexus.
"Yeah Mommy?" he asks, giving her his full attention.
"I didn't know you had a friend named Tyler," she says, pretty much summing up her feelings from the whole night. He looks at his feet again, ashamed, almost.
"Yeah. He's cool," Will says quietly. She didn't want her son to think she was mad at him for not telling her who his friends were.
"Is he? Do you have a lot of fun at his house?" she asks, trying to lighten the mood.
"I like it when he comes over to our house."
"And why is that?"
"Because I don't have to leave Daddy. And maybe I'll get to see you."
"Sweetheart, do you wish I was home more?" it pains her to inquire but she has to know. They are at the car now, and he slides into the back. She reaches in close to buckle him in his booster seat, but it feels good to be near her son again.
"Yeah," the boy remarks. She knows he feels bad because he knows she likes her job. But she has to let him know that she loves him more. She hates herself because he does not know that by now.
"Willy," she breaks down. Few people ever get to see her cry, but she cannot hold her tears back this time. And because Will doesn't know why his mom is crying, he starts crying too. He possesses the ability to make everything his fault, just like his father.
"I'm sorry, Mommy," he whimpers, brushing her hair back and kissing the side of her head. Her face is buried into his soft coat. She wants so badly to let him know what a miracle he is… what his birth meant to her. She could never tell him, though. The English language did not have words to express the kind of love she had for her son.
"Don't apologize, Sweetie. It's not your fault," she tells him, brushing away his own tears with her thumbs and kissing his runny little nose.
"I made you cry."
"I made you feel like you weren't important to me. You are important to me, Will, more important to me than anything. More important than being a doctor."
"No, Mommy, I don't want you to stop being a doctor," he fears. She grips his hand.
"I'm not going to stop being a doctor. But I am going to spend lots more time with you. I love you."
"I love you too, Mommy. Does this mean that you're going to be at more of my basketball games?"
She laughs, "Yeah, Baby."
"And you can meet my friends?"
"Every single one."
"And we can get a puppy?"
"Hold on, there, Will. One thing at a time, alright? Puppies are a lot of work," she tries to say sternly, but she cannot help but smile at his question. One thing she did know about her son was that recently, he had been pestering them for a puppy.
"Okay," he says, relishing in the promise that his mother was going to be around more. As long as he had that, a puppy could wait.
"Okay," she tells him, giving him a long, loving kiss on the cheek. The drive home seems long, and by the time she pulls up to the house, Will is fast asleep in the back. Luckily, Mulder is waiting for them at the door.
"Rough game?" he asks her.
"I think it got worse after the game," she explains to him, but he is puzzled. She decides to wait to explain until after they have put him to bed. He'll wake up, and then he'll get a bath and eat dinner, but for now, they let him sleep in his room full of boats and aliens and other things that he doesn't know he's connected to.
"Okay, tell me what happened," Mulder asks when they sit down to eat their dinner. Since Will was asleep, they decided to dim the lights and set out candles. Glasses of wine sat next to their plates, and soft jazz music played in the background. She loved that her husband was not clueless like other husbands. He knew what romance was, and he knew what she liked. Not only that, but he could tell when something was wrong. He had always been able to.
"Mulder," she says, getting choked up again, "a woman at Will's basketball game came up to me. She introduced herself as Rachel Graveny. She said her son and Will were friends."
"Yeah, they are. Tyler Graveny is the coaches son. He and Will get along really well," Mulder explained, confused as to why this would upset her.
"Mulder… I didn't know who she was! I didn't know who Tyler was! I didn't even know that my son had been over to their house and he's been over here! I felt so stupid and out-of-tune. I felt… I felt like a bad mom."
This is the point where he gets up from his seat and kneels in front of her, taking her small hand and kissing it. Then he reaches up and wraps his arms around her tightly. She doesn't have to say anything else, he knows what she is feeling. He knows that she has felt that way ever since she went back to work.
"You're not a bad mom, Scully," he whispers into her hair.
"I'm always at work, Mulder! I never get to spend any time with you guys. Will must think that I don't love him!"
"Will knows you love him. And he loves you, with all his heart. He understands, Baby," Mulder tried to reassure her.
"When I was little, Mulder, my dad was always gone with the Navy. I hardly ever got to see him, and I promised myself that if I ever had a child, I would always be there for them. I wouldn't put them second to my work. I've become what I promised myself I wouldn't!"
"You save people, Scully, just like your dad did. You didn't hate your father because he was always gone. You loved and admired him, Scully."
"I didn't hate him because he was always gone, but I did hate that he was always gone. I knew he loved me, Mulder, but I didn't know if he would give up his job for me. I was always uncertain of that. I was so uncertain that when he died, I had questions about whether or not he was proud of me at all. And I don't want our son to ever question that."
He kisses her again and they sit there for a minute, soaking up everything.
"Sweetheart," he has trouble finding the words after such a weighty confession, "I'm not saying that you spend a sufficient amount of time at home. You don't. Sometimes I feel like I have to fight for your time. I will say, though, that our son does not hate you, just like you didn't hate your father."
"How do I make it up to him?" she sobbed into his shoulder.
"You know how, Baby."
like? i know it's long.... review and tell me what you think!