Author's Note: Ficlet for ff_friday. Subject: right and wrong. Length: 906 words. Whew, just under the limit!
Life Lessons
By Trisana McGraw
His mother was closing the corral where the cattle milled about when he came limping home from school. Hearing his footsteps, she turned to greet him, but upon seeing his face her radiant smile was instantly replaced with a look of concern.
"Malcolm, what happened to you?" she cried, dropping to her knees and taking his face in her hands. Soft, cool fingers brushed over the purpling bruise on his cheekbone, his black eye, and his puffy lip. "Inside, young man, right now." Taking him by the hand, she noticed that his palms were scraped as well.
She forced him to sit in a wooden chair by the table as she went to get some disinfectant and bandages. Malcolm sagged back into the chair and sighed, wincing as he prodded his left eye with one grimy finger and received a jolt of pain.
His mother returned with a damp cloth that she used to wipe the dirt off his face. "What happened?" she repeated.
Mal sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. "I got into a fight," he muttered sulkily.
"A fight?" his mother cried, which was the reaction he had been both expecting and dreading. "Son, you shouldn't fight with other boys. It won't do you or them any good." He sighed again and turned his body to gaze out the window.
Her eagle eyes noticed that he grimaced when he shifted one leg. "And what happened here?" she asked, rolling up his pant leg. She gasped when she saw a long, bleeding gash on his shin. "Malcolm, did those boys do this too?"
He shook his head, sending his light brown hair flying from side to side. "No, Mama. On the way home, I tripped and scraped my leg on a rock." He pouted. "Today didn't go smooth."
She couldn't help but laugh a little at her son's solemnity, even at eight years old. "Apparently it didn't." She soon grew serious again and asked, "Now, Mal honey, why did you get into a fight?" He was silent, so she pressed some disinfectant over the gash, which made him gasp and sit up straighter. His eyes met hers, and some of the defiance – much like his father's, she reflected sadly – melted away.
"One of the boys at school was insulting you," he said. "He said you were a weak woman – which I know isn't true, `cause I bet you've done more work than he's ever done in his life – and he called you a whore, `cause Dad left and `cause you have all the men staying here helping out. But I didn't believe a word of that, and I didn't want him sayin' bad things about you, so I punched him. Only thing was, he punched me harder."
His mother shut her eyes for a long time and drew in a deep breath. She caressed his face again, her hands gentle even though they were covered with callouses. "Thank you, baby, for defending my honor. But I don't want you getting hurt because of a few untruths being spread about me. It's not worth you getting beaten up to the point that you can't move – or help around the ranch, for that matter." Mal nodded sheepishly, remembering that his duties to his home mattered above all.
"But I want them to shut up," he protested.
"I know," his mother sighed. "But there are going to be people out there who won't shut up, who will keep fighting for what they believe to be right. Just like you."
"But I know that they're wrong."
"You and other people may feel that way, but those other people might think that they're doing the right thing, and that you're wrong. The world isn't all black and white, Malcolm, as you'll probably learn sooner rather than later." Though he didn't understand how colors fit into it, he listened attentively. He believed everything his mother told him.
She placed a bandage over his leg and then set to putting disinfectant on his palms. "Everyone's defending the cause that they believe in, and some of those people will stay rooted to it for the rest of their lives, if they put enough faith into it. And yes, maybe they're wrong, but maybe you are too. No matter what, you have to fight for what you believe to be right."
"Like Jesus?"
A smile curved her lips. Mal seemed to find a way to bring God into everything. "Yes, honey, sort of like Jesus. He believed in bringing the word of God to his people, which was the right thing to do, but many other people believed that Jesus was wrong and decided to kill him. But he died for what he knew to be right, and he allowed each and every one of us to be alive today.
"Now, let's get you some raw meat for that eye. You're going to have a shiner for sure."
Her words stayed with him for years and years after that day. Defend what you believe in, and you'll know you're right, even if nobody else does. So when the disagreements between the Allied Planets and the slowly-growing Independents developed into riots and skirmishes, and when both sides declared war, Mal knew without a doubt that he would fight for his rights. And even if all those rich folk didn't understand, there were plenty of Browncoats who did, and that was all he needed.
