“Cynthia was asking about you,”
I sat hunched down obsessively scrolling on my Galaxy S4. Going grocery shopping with Mom is like going to the dentist; A painful experience that seems to never end. Her Honda Odyssey pulled up to the last traffic light near the Walmart parking lot.
“Why.” I flatly responded.
Sensing contempt in my voice my mom lifted an eyebrow and glanced at me, “Don’t be like that, why don’t you like Cynthia?”
My muscles tightened with anger. No length of time would ever heal this wound. I swiveled in the passengers seat to face my mom and answer sternly, “She. Took. MY. TV.” Simply speaking the word revitalized that age-old offense.
In fifth grade my love for videogames reached a peak. I poured hours into GameCube classics like Super Smash Bros. Melee, Dragon Ball Z Sagas, Spider-Man 2, and Pokémon Colosseum. For my birthday that year that most incredible thing happened! While visiting my dad in New York he gifted me a 13-inch Emerson tube television.
My eyes shined brightly at the marvelous TV set before me. To say I was the happiest boy alive would be a vast understatement. I easily was the happiest boy in the universe! Maybe in all of time!
Finally! Now I can play whenever I want!
When I returned to Pennsylvania my mom did not share in my excitement. “Patrick don’t get any funny ideas, you are going to share that TV with your siblings.”
What? NO? THIS IS MY TV. MY dad gave it to ME!
I feigned compliance. There was no way in hell I was sharing MY television.
Over the next three years my excitement toward that TV never faded. Everything I could ever want or need came from that TV. Our relationship grew into something special. She was there during my first all-nighter. She stood by me as I struggled in difficult boss battles. My friends loved her and frequently come over to play split screen co-op. That television held my heart from the day we first met.
In late spring of eighth grade I scrambled off the school bus to get home. It was a weekend, which meant after finishing my homework and chores my mom allowed us to play videogames! My brother and I itched to play the new Teen Titans game. Homework and chores were completed in record time. We raced downstairs to the basement to fire up the GameCube.
Oddly enough my TV wasn’t downstairs. For the next hour, I wildly searched the entire basement, pantry, drawers, cabinets, closets, bathrooms, garage, bedroom, attic, mailbox, patio, garbage can, front yard, and backyard for my TV. No luck. Panic began to set in.
Where in the world is my TV?! Did it break or something?!
Finally, I decided to ask Mom about the missing television.
“Oh yeah! I forgot to tell you, I gave it to Cynthia. She didn’t have a TV so I gave her yours.”
The casualness of statement sucked punched me. A sting of betrayal pulsated through every fiber of my being. I must have been in shock because I just stood there fuming angrily in disbelieve.
Your joking right? You didn’t really give away my TV, right?! RIGHT?
Tears began to well up in my eyes so I ran up to my bedroom. I cried for at least twenty minutes. I should be illegal to separate a boy from his tv.
I still want my TV back – Barry