Suitable Behavior

The years have passed, I kept some of the pictures of mom and dad. Their younger selves still smile at me inside the frame next to the stairs leading to my old bedroom. I moved into the master since I reside alone.

I go outside and see my neighbor, and we exchange pleasantries. I have learned that these meaningless conversations are important, but to me, they have remained stressful. I use one of my dad’s old expressions about the early bird catching the worm. My neighbor smiles at hearing it. He says it reminds him of my father.

I catch the train and see the people around me. I observe the schoolgirls going to school. Today is a busy day, and the train is full. I can't make out what people around me are saying, but the girls must be talking about some boy. They are giggling and showing each other something on their phones, a photo maybe, or a text message, who knows.

I keep in my seat and let the waves of people come and go. You can tell a lot about people from their appearance. I know society wants to make you believe otherwise, that each person's story is complex and you have to get to know someone deeply before being able to understand them. But the truth is that life is not made up of those complex, deep intellectual thoughts people believe make up their true essence. Rather, life is mostly made up of everyday, mostly unconscious choices and actions. So yes, the white shirt with a slight discoloration around the hems and strong perfume does tell me who you are as a person and probably reflects your true self better than some idealized self-reflecting monologue you might spew if I ask you what truly matters to you.

As the train ride moves along, more waves are leaving the train than entering, and the level of noise subsides. I stare at my reflection in the window across from me. It is dark enough outside that I can see myself quite clearly, with some distortions making me look a bit longer and thinner than I actually am. The rhythmic sound of the train wheels gliding on the tracks and the minty scent of the chewing gum fading away in my mouth, I put it in when leaving the house, remind me of a faraway past. As I stare at the long and thin guy looking at me through the glass, I let myself be transported to that place. I have a couple more stops to go.

-

Keeping up appearances is the most important thing. You never know when it counts. You might be brushing your teeth and thinking the wrong thing. You don’t want to be caught doing that. You don’t know how they know, but they do, and it will bite you in the ass if they find out that you have not been behaving according to the rules.

I stare at my warped reflection in the metal mirror, the eyes staring back at me seem void of any consciousness, as if they are trying to make out something really far away but fail to find the correct distance. The cheap artificial taste of mint invades my mouth, and the foam from the powdered toothpaste drips from my lips into the sink. As I spit it out, my mind wanders back to the day ahead, mom and dad will come pick me up. I put on my clothes laid out on the bed and look at myself in the mirror. The white shirt, black trousers, and black shoes make me look older and a little bit like a waiter, but I think it suits me.

I practice smiling for a moment. The left side of my mouth rises slightly faster than the right. I correct it and try again. Better.

As I walk down the windy wooden stairs from the boys' dorm room, the door to the right of the bottom of the stairs opens.

I stop my descent as Father steps out of his office and sees me dressed in my formal attire. He wears his usual black gown, but the stubble that usually creeps up from his neck and reaches the top of his cheekbones has vanished. His freshly shaven appearance makes him look thinner, his cheeks hollow, and his grey eyes seem to glimmer deep from within the sockets of his skull.

“Hello Daniel, your parents have just arrived” he exclaims. I continue my descent towards him as he waits for me, hands clasped together behind his back. His eyes are scanning my attire, and I feel nervous even though I made sure that I look presentable, my collar straight, socks pulled up, and cuffs pulled down. The children at Elysium have learned to fear his stare. To outsiders, his thin frame might suggest brittleness, but beneath the black gown, something tightly wound seems to hide. Like a green branch bent too far back, waiting to snap forward.

“Hello Father, blessed be the day.”

I have reached the bottom of the stairs and stand in front of Father on the white marble floor. I reach up to his mid chest and my blond hair and blue eyes are a stark contrast to his grey and black appearance.

He nods, acknowledging my salutation, and reaches down to straighten my collar.

“Your parents are inside. They’ll be taking you home.”

As he straightens up he looks me over again. Apparently, now satisfied, he turns around and reaches for the door of his office, which he just came out of. He halts his hand on the doorknob.

“I’m counting on you to be on your best behavior, don’t forget what was taught to you, and make us proud.”

Mom and dad are seated with their backs to the door. The morning sun is shining into the office, and they cast long shadows over the carpet and onto the old wooden floor. Dad is clothed in black and mom is wearing a green dress. As I enter, they turn around. Dad has short cut blond hair and blue eyes like me. Mother has brown hair and blue eyes. They both smile upon my entrance and welcome me with a smile. I see excitement as well as weariness in their eyes as Father exchanges a few words with them. I keep by the door as I wait for my parents to get up.

My suitcase is already in the trunk of their car. I sit in the backseat as dad drives out the gates onto the town road. They pass by acres of cornfields before the gravel under the wheels changes to paved cement, the rumble and slight shaking of the car replaced by steady movement and silence. I keep my hands clasped between my legs and take a deep breath. I play the next couple of days in my head. Its not my first time being brought back home, but I always slipped up, displayed behavior that was deemed unfitting and had to return to Elysium. I stay calm, look down, and wait for my parents to speak to me first as we were taught.

As I enter my room, I let out a deep breath. Going home is always stressful.

Mom and dad look pleasant enough though. They take care of themselves. Their clothes are neatly ironed, and dad is freshly shaven except for the trimmed moustache framing his lips that almost seem permanently curved into a polite smile. Mom shows more emotion. Her eyes even turned glossy when she saw me, and she smells faintly of sandalwood and roses.

I will have to observe them longer before making a proper judgment, but they will do. They have to.

They are my ticket out of Elysium.

It is not a bad place, but it is not somewhere you want to remain forever. We are expected to integrate before our eighteenth birthday and become functioning members of society. I have failed before. Displayed behaviors that were deemed concerning. Unnatural eye contact. Smiling at the wrong moment during conversations. Answering questions too quickly, before they had fully been asked. Once, I repeated back an entire discussion word for word three days after hearing it, including the exact pauses and intonations.

These types of mistakes send you back.

As I walk down the stairs from my room to the kitchen, I take in my surroundings once more. The living room is decorated with landscape paintings, mostly hillsides and forests, except for a painting of a sunset beach hanging near the kitchen entrance. Pictures of my parents stand on shelves and beside the stairs. They look younger and happier in them. The interior is kept mostly in greens and blues, and the furniture is made mainly of old wood. Overall, the living room and kitchen match the house, old but well-maintained.

Mom and dad are already seated at the kitchen table when I enter. Something heavy simmers on the stove, some kind of meat stew from the smell of it. Steam gathers against the kitchen windows while the last light of evening settles over the room.

I sit down across from them and fold my hands neatly in my lap.

Our first dinner together.

I will find a way to become part of this family. My parents might not know everything about me, but then again, what parents truly understand their teenage son?