Last Words

Prompt: A character breaks a rule they swore they’d never break. What happens next?

Last Words

I was not in the greatest frame of mind that day when I lashed out at my mom shortly after she had reprimanded me. In my opinion, it should not have been a big deal when I offered my rebuttal at her accusatory words. Nevertheless, it was a costly error. I found myself without my phone, my TV, and most importantly, my weekly allowance for a month. Her chastising words were,

“Your tongue is not an asset. One of these days your words will be your ultimate downfall. You always feel you have to get the last word in. Your words are not the gospel truth. This time it cost you a whole month of your personal happiness.”

I countered by saying, “Mom, it is in my nature to react and provide additional insight. That is what comedians do. They unleash small quips and anecdotes in response to a situation or stimulus. Consider my tongue as the tool of my future trade. Do you have to come down on me so hard?”

I could tell my mom was now infuriated. “First of all, you are not funny. I would highly recommend you find a more lucrative career to set your sights on. Your humor lacks one thing: H-U-M-O-R. Your response to me was appalling. The punishment stands.”

“I am funny! No free tickets for you when I become a famous comedian,” I spurted out at her.

Mom walked away. I did get the final word in again. I was bewildered that my words were the proverbial straws breaking the camel’s (my mother’s) back. My mom seemed hypersensitive. But she was right. I had to get my mouth under control.

Two weeks ago, at school, Butch, my arch enemy and renowned high school bully, beat the daylights out of me off campus. He ambushed me from behind as I walked home from school in the early evening. It all had to do with me pushing my limits earlier in the day. We had a squabble and my closing words were,

“Butch, no girl in school likes you. You’re ugly as sin and you smell and look like a porky pig. Oink, oink.”

Just as I finished the bell rang. The hall monitors directed us to our classes before the skirmish escalated and any more venomous words were said. Yeah, I was saved by the bell but only to get pummeled by Butch later that day. Amazingly, the dude did not leave a mark on my body. My body ached for days afterwards. My friends asked me why I was walking hunched over like an ogre.

My last word response was “I am practicing for a role as the Hunchback of Notre Dame. It pains me that I am only ugly and not hilariously funny.” They all laughed. I grimaced at my inward agony, but relieved I still had my sense of humor.

So, Butch’s beating and now my mom’s tortuous punishment compelled me to instill a safeguard for my existence. I resolutely made the decision to follow this principle or rule:

“Under no, and I mean no circumstances am I to offer the last words in any conversation, reckless banter, or argument. I am not to push the envelope of words no matter how accusatory, demeaning or raunchy the words directed at me would get. In other words, I would hold my tongue, keep my big fat mouth shut, and refrain from any parting digs.”

I actually jotted this down on a piece of paper signing and dating it. I would have notarized it but without my weekly allowance I could not afford it. I felt like a new man. A man with principles for cleaner and safer living. I made a personal vow that I would keep this rule for righteous living throughout my life from this day forward.

I had to test it out, but not in an obvious way. In the classroom I was a saint. Teachers loved to call on me because I never gave them any lip or sarcasm. I answered the question. Whether right or wrong, I stopped short of getting in the last word.

Sooner than later, I ran into Butch. He seemed satisfied that his beating of me would satisfy his blood lust. So, when we saw each other in the hallways I politely nodded as he walked by me. There were no vocal utterances from me and no threats emanating from Butch. However, when he had passed me at some length, I turned around. Holding my arm at the elbow, I gestured a thrusting, upward motion with the other. Several people witnessing my display giggled but thankfully did not alert Butch. Gesticulations of the body are free game for me and are independent of my guiding rule (a loophole which gave me an outlet for my inner angst).

At home my mom was duly impressed with the change in my character. No more sassy mouth from her boy. I listened. I obeyed. I spoke with respect and dignity honoring both parents. I was the model “son.” No more back talk; no more last words.

Wondering what else I had to gain from this? That is a fair question. I wanted a fan base. I desired people who liked and respected me enough to come to my comic routines later in my career. Naturally, it included my parents. I also hoped they would be a source of financial assistance as I entered college with a minor in the laughable arts (aka, the theater and performing arts).

Yet do you know who else stood to gain from my reformed behavior? Yeah, my girlfriend Evelyn. I was her diamond in the rough. She knew I would need a little polishing to bring out my luster. My romantic words would titillate her heart and add sparkles to her eyes. Even when we disagreed on things I would never push the envelope by getting in the last word. Eventually Evelyn, however, saw through me. She accused me of hiding my true feelings. I was not man enough. Our relationship teetered on the brink of failure when she labeled me as a pansy and a wimp with no backbone. I did not defend myself. This holding back on the last word was killing me. We ended our torrid love affair. Actually, it was Evelyn who came to a screeching halt on the romance.

Nonetheless, I stuck to my guns holding onto my rule through college. My parents did pay for my education and at the time they had no problem with me majoring in the performing arts. Before I graduated, I sent several applications for theatrical roles on the Broadway stage in New York. Dozens were sent to theaters in Los Angeles as well. Time passed. Graduation came and went. I had no job. No potential auditions for any play, any gig, or any musical. I was dismayed but not defeated. My parents, however, were annoyed that nothing had materialized. My mom laid into me saying,

“Hmm. Not a good choice for a profession. I am not sure why your father and I agreed to pay for an education in the performing arts. You need to get some kind of job. We can’t support you for the rest of our lives. Is there anything you can do with or without your degree that is honorable and allows for you to provide for yourself?”

The inner angst I was feeling after hearing her was building up inside me. I was so tempted to get in the last word. But I refrained. Still, I was boiling but not spilling out of the pot. I had to let things simmer down for a while. I did a deep dive into my consciousness. What was my heart calling me to do?

My funny bone was broken. I lost my sense of humor as I progressed through my performing arts curriculum. Friends and colleagues no longer thought I was funny. If I had to be a performer I had to do it the old-fashioned way. I had to audition my talents as few as they were. My lilting, strong voice was still my best attribute. Unfortunately, humor was no longer an option for me. It seemed that I would no longer have any last words. My verbal roles were scripted. I still could elocute flawlessly. Words flowed like a river out of my mouth but eventually were stopped at the dam (the end of my speaking part). I was still stifled in what I could say. Critics were scrutinizing me like an eagle homing in on its prey. I needed an outlet. I needed a way to showcase myself in the public domain. It was time to end my self-imposed rule on having the last word. The cycle of silent restraint would come to an end.

Eureka! The internet would be my salvation! I thought why not use my gift of words for a completely different audience. I would construct a vlog, a video blog. I scoured the internet for options to channel my urge to talk. Nothing seemed to scream out to me. Yet then I came across a pot of gold. Then the proverbial light bulb flashed over my head.

“This is it!” I exclaimed, feeling renewed and full of passion. Why not find resources to become an ordained minister? They seem to have unrestricted control over the airways all in the name of religion. These televangelists seem to have the last word. I would deliver impeccable sermons. My ego would be propped up. It would be an opportunity for me to amass hordes of followers to my site. After some scrutiny of the internet, I discovered an online program where I could become a legally ordained minister. Oh, this seemed so easy, like child’s play. No training was required. I registered at the site for a mere $499.99, guaranteeing an initial ten thousand viewers for my first broadcast.

It was only a few days before Easter when I received my instructions in the mail for my first broadcast. The instructions were to follow your heart on a particular reading assigned to me. After a few more vlogs in the weeks ahead, I would become an ordained minister for the Church of the Word. Perfect! It was so fitting because I love words. I would be in control of them. My viewing audience would be on the edge of their seats listening to my words. I had an outline for my first broadcast pertaining to the Gospels of Matthew and John, chapters 27 and 19.

The broadcast was now live. I read aloud the readings:

“So, Pilate released Barabbas to them. He ordered Jesus flogged with a lead-tipped whip, then turned him over to the Roman soldiers to be crucified. They stripped him and put a scarlet robe on him. They wove thorn branches into a crown and put it on his head, and they placed a reed stick in his right hand as a scepter. Then they knelt before him in mockery and taunted, “Hail! King of the Jews!” And they spit on him and grabbed the stick and struck him on the head with it. After they had nailed him to the cross, the soldiers gambled for his clothes by throwing dice. The people passing by shouted abuse, shaking their heads in mockery. “Look at you now!” they yelled at him. “You said you were going to destroy the Temple and rebuild it in three days. Well then, if you are the Son of God, save yourself and come down from the cross!” The leading priests, the teachers of religious law, and the elders also mocked Jesus.” (Matthew 27: 26, 28-30, 35, 39-41 (NLV=New Living Translation)

“Jesus knew that his mission was now finished, and to fulfill Scripture he said, “I am thirsty.” A jar of sour wine was sitting there, so they soaked a sponge in it, put it on a hyssop branch, and held it up to his lips. When Jesus had tasted it, he said, “It is finished!” . Then he bowed his head and gave up his spirit.” (John 19: 28-30, NLT)

So when the centurion and those with him, who were guarding Jesus, saw the earthquake and the things that had happened, they feared greatly, saying, “Truly this was the Son of God!” (Matthew 27:54, NLT)

As I read these verses my heart ached. Tears trickled down my face. I gasped. My mouth was dry. I fumbled for words. I inhaled and then announced to my viewing audience my last words:

“Jesus is no longer in the tomb. He has risen! He has risen indeed!”

-END-

Author: Pete Gautchier

Acknowledgement:Reedsyprompts.com