The Carbon Copy

by Christopher R. Martin

Chapter 3 – Putting aside my hesitation


I have faced many adversities in my life, from a forty-foot T-Rex to an army of cannibals to a swarm of hostile turtles to my own family. I've faced them and conquered them, and I'm very certain that there will be more of them to come in the future. When they do, I'll conquer them too.

What I'm not sure I can even conquer is all this university work, these textbooks laid out in front of me on the dinner table. I'm pouring my eyes over every last textbook in a timely manner while snappily taking down notes in my notebook. They are coming at me without any sign of relent; each book is either as thick as the last or thicker. Calculus. Chemistry. Biology. One assignment is finished, and another takes its place. The process goes on in a seemingly endless cycle, its duration dictated only by the hands of the clock in front of me ticking with the seconds that fleet by.

All I have to keep me going is my reminder of you can pull through constantly sounding in my mind like a music track on repeat.

For the most part, I am content with my lot in life. I have no regrets with the choices I've made, as difficult or foolish as they were at the time. As many have always said, all things, the good and the bad, work together in the end. Marrying my husband, bearing and raising my own children, and having neither too much nor too little, that's my definition of a worthwhile life.

Yet there are moments where I wish I could undo aspects of my life. Moments where my choices come back to bite me. I was young, wild, headstrong and stubborn, but as inevitable as that was, I find myself wishing I had the wisdom that I have now.

The University of Elmore is a prestigious institution that's paved the way for students in both academic and creative fields. Graduates there would go on to chase their aspirations, be it as a lawyer, engineer, businessman, director, producer, performer, entrepreneur and so on. I thought that becoming a student there would be the perfect way to close those patches I'd left behind. To tie those loose ends that have been left dangling for so long. University was part of my parents'—my mother's, anyway—aspirations for me, and I never told them this, but it was also a part of my aspirations.

But my studies are not for them. They're for my sake. Mine and my family's sake.

That reminds me… What have they been up to lately? If they're even alive at all… I'm not saying that I'd be overly thrilled if I find them standing on my doorstep. I can't explain this curiosity, it's just there.

I'm not missing them, am I? Even just a little? I can't be. I severed those threads long ago. There's no way.

A vibration runs from the pocket of my skirt along with a catchy xylophone jingle. I pull out my phone to see who's calling me. Great. Just great. It's her again. And here I was just thinking about her. About burning that bridge, severing those threads. Now her name's showing on the screen of my phone. It's only her surname, not the whole thing; like I'd ever bother to put her entire name down on my contact list.

This is only the fifth time today that she's tried getting in touch with me, and it's started since last week. Put the phone down, Nicole, I instruct myself silently. With a shaky paw, I touch the red icon and set the phone aside next to my Biology textbook.

It doesn't ring until five minutes later, at which point I growl in anger and almost throw my school supplies to the side. Though I relent from my typical fit of rage when I see the name and picture of the caller. My blood stops boiling. This is a call that I take with no hesitation.

"Hi there, Yuki," I speak into the phone, taking a well-earned break from my studies and lounging on the sofa.

On the other end of the call, Yuki notices my dry yet pleased way of answering her because the tone she takes up is a remorseful one. "Oh, did I call at a bad time? Sumimasen."

I roll my eyes from her insistent propriety and say to her, "Don't apologize. What's going on?"

"Not much. I'm just calling to tell you that my husband and I have a dinner scheduled for Saturday night, and I'd be very happy if you and Richard could make it. You two always know how to make a formal event a little less stuffy, and I figured a little excitement would do all of us some good."

"Yuki, I… I don't know what to say," I reply as best as I can, taken by surprise by the offer. "I'm not sure if I can even accept something like that."

"Oh, of course you can. Nicole, I insist, really. There are—how do you say it? No strings attached?"

Her butchering of the idiom has me giggling to myself, covering my mouth so that she doesn't hear it. "Well…alright. I'll run it by Richard later. Just one thing, Yuki."

"Hai?"

"Why are you doing this?" I cross one of my legs over the other, lie down on the sofa and stare at the ceiling.

"No reason. I just want to pick up where we left off. Have a fresh new start. Don't you want that as well, Nicole?"

I hesitate on my answer for a few seconds and ponder. People have told me before that my drive to come out on top, my resolve to be better than everyone else at what I did, is one of my greatest qualities. What they never knew is that drive, that resolve, was more of a double-edged sword than anything. I strove for greatness and attained it, but there was always a price.

One of the steepest prices I had to pay was jeopardizing my friendships, if not throwing them away. One of them was with Yuki. Defeating her in that final match at that kumite was the burning of a bridge that has endured for a long time. It was one of few mistakes that I could not live with. That I would undo if I were given the chance. I never got that chance. Until now.

"I do. I'd like that very much," I say softly over the phone, rolling my head to the side. Smiling.

"Great. It's settled. This Saturday, seven o'clock sharp," says Yuki enthusiastically, like a fangirl. "I look forward to it. Don't forget to put on your best dress."

"I'll remember that. Bye now," I say, staring absently at the television screen.

From her end, Yuki hangs up after saying her own goodbyes. I put the phone on the coffee table and rest both my paws on my chest.

I then rise from hearing the front door opening and seeing Gumball walking in. He puts his backpack down next to the staircase and proceeds to the kitchen.

"Hi, honey. How was school?" I ask him, adjusting the collar on my shirt and then my skirt.

"Alright, I guess. Nothing out of the ordinary happened," replies Gumball as he moves past the kitchen and into the laundry. "Hey, Mom, did you touch my gi yesterday?"

Lifting an eyebrow, I follow my son to the laundry to find out what he's planning. I see him peering into the washing machine, and I say to him, "It's on the clothesline outside. What are you going to do with it?"

"I'm going to use it again."

With those words, all the color in my complexion flushes away. My eyes dilute, and my mouth hangs open like a door left ajar.

"Mom, please. This isn't going to be like last time. This time, I'm gonna take it seriously."

"Gumball, slow down," I say, stopping him by putting my paws on his shoulders. I get down to my son's level and look straight at his face. "Let's take it from the top. What exactly is going on?"

"Miss Simian's making us do stuff outside of school. I wasn't that into it at first, but I thought to myself I've always wanted to go back to learning karate. What do you say, Mom? Can I?"

Gumball clasps his hands together as he asks me this. But instead of putting on a pouting face, there's a familiar flash in his eyes. I recognize it as I've had it before. A flash of determination. I can't really put my finger on it, but something about it is different from when I used to have it.

He genuinely wants this. He wants this so much. He wants it as if it's the last of a certain toy in a department store, and he'd lose his mind if he doesn't get his way.

But I've raised him better than this…

Standing up, I put on a cold expression as I brutally, bluntly, say to him, "No."

Devastation takes the place of my son's determination. His arms dangle lifelessly as he hunches forward, mouth and eyes agape in disbelief.

"Why?" asks Gumball, feeling betrayed.

"Because I said so." I turn my attention to a laundry basket overflowing with dirty clothes. I guess while I'm here, I should get all this cleaning out of the way. I stash each article of clothing into the washing machine, leaving the topic to dissipate by itself.

"That's not fair," Gumball continues, raising his voice.

"If I always gave you what you wanted, that would only spoil you. You should know that by now. And don't you use that tone on your mother, young man."

Gumball is still standing there, staring at me with a piercing gaze. Affirming his stance on this matter. "I wouldn't have to if you let me have some say in this! I'm sorry, Mom, but you're not the only one who can make decisions in this family. I'm pretty sure that I'm capable of making my own choices."

"And I'm telling you now to make a different choice." One last pair of pants to put in the wash, and I grab the fabric softener and laundry detergent and pour just the right amount of them.

"No, Mom. I won't." Has he ever been this difficult? I don't think so.

Either way, my blood is starting to boil. I glare at my son, and it changes the look on his face, from a brave one to a fearful one. "Gumball Watterson, I am warning you once and only once. You do not, I repeat, do not question my authority. Karate is not meant for everyone, and it's not meant for you. Forget about it. I'm ordering you now: forget about it." I turn the washing machine on and close the lid before the water starts running.

Clenching his fists and his teeth, Gumball shuts his eyes and averts his straining face away from me. His lips quiver and a tiny drop sneaks through the corner of his eye. Eventually, he turns at me fiercely, and he shows me an expression that I've never seen from him.

"You once told me that I can be a winner," he screams at me, his lungs threatening to rip out of his body. "You told me that there was no such thing as a loser, only people who refuse to be winners or even call themselves winners!"

"Gumball, what are you—" I'm flabbergasted by this. Not by my son, my own flesh and blood, lashing out at me, but by the point that he's trying to make. He's a wildfire. Once he got started, there was no hope of ever putting him out.

"After seeing what you could do, what you were really capable of, I finally understood what you meant!" Gumball carries on, fortifying his stance like a band of soldiers fortify a stronghold. "You always wanted me to respect myself better. To respect myself in a way that I want others to respect me. Well, here's my chance, Mom. I can be the winner you want me to be. If you'd let me…"

I lean on the washing machine and fold my arms. I look away from my son and close my eyes.

Darn it! Darn it all. I can't believe he remembers those words that I told him. Moreover, I can't believe that he took it to heart. I should have known better than to plant that seed in his head. Now here I am, reaping what I've sown.

When I told him that he can be a winner, when I drove him to be more than he was then, there was a point where enough is enough. Plenty of points, even. Forcing my son to stand on our roof with a golf club in the middle of a thunderstorm, stranding him in the middle of a desert, I should have stopped then and there. What was I thinking? What possessed me to do what I did, anyway?

Or perhaps I wasn't possessed. Perhaps I'm more of a chip off the old block than I'd like to admit, just as Gumball is one himself. Thinking about it makes me want to throw up. That toxicity is part of the Watterson name. That it flows in the blood of anyone bearing that name.

No matter what I do, there are just some things I can't escape from. No matter how far I run, what measures I take, whether I like it or not, this devious, wretched little monster will always be around following me wherever I go.

Though that may be the case, I can at least put that monster down. Come out on top. I've done so many times in the past, so why stop now?

Reaching a decision, I sigh and move off of the washing machine. I crouch down to Gumball's eye level once again and put my paws around one of his. What I am about to do next will be going against the virtues I've upheld as a mother. All I can do is trust him. Trust that he can indeed make his own decisions. Live with them without any regret.

That he can be what I could not… Hm. Maybe there's one virtue I'm not going against.

"Alright, Gumball," I say hesitantly, enduring this bitter pill to swallow. "You have my permission."

Gumball's eyes light up into unfiltered joy. He smiles at me brightly and lunges at me for an embrace. "Thanks, Mom."

I briefly repay his hug before gently pushing him off of me. "On one condition. You're not going to karate lessons at all."

Understandably confused, Gumball quirks his eyebrows and looks at me weirdly. "How am I supposed to learn karate, then?" He shrugs at me.

"Your gi should finish drying up in"—I pass a short glance at my phone to check the time, and it is now three forty-five in the afternoon—"fifteen minutes. When it's done drying, take it, put it on and come to the tool shed at five o'clock."

"Why the tool shed?"

"Just trust me." As I'm trusting you now, I add inside my head. "Can you do that?"

"I can." Gumball nods at me and leaves the laundry, his motivation blistering as the sun.

I smile at him while he leaves my sight, but that joy is momentary and gradually dissolves into nothing. Taking a deep breath, I tilt my head down and hold both sides of my hips.

Please don't make me regret this, Gumball.


Author's Note:

There will be a poll on my account very soon. Feel free to cast your vote on it.