The Findings of Michael Bennet

#1: SOMETIMES, THINGS DON'T WORK OUT THE WAY YOU'D WANT THEM TO.

The only light in the room was the big, four-shaped, lit candle, white with a red border, nestled into a seemingly homemade but carefully and lovingly decorated rectangular birthday cake, with whipped cream and fruit and lettering in red icing.

Little Michael clung to his father’s arm, who hoisted him up so he could look at his cake with a marveled look on his face, while his small family sang and clapped. Ben, his brother two years his senior, purposefully sang the wrong parts of the song, wearing a mischievous smile. Their dad waived at someone holding a shoulder-held video camera, prompting Michael to do the same. At the climax of the song, his father dipped him so he could blow out his candles. In a short minute of darkness, everyone cheered, his father kissed him on the cheek, and he clapped his chubby hands with joy at all the happiness and attention.

While someone turned the lights back on and his dad put him back on the ground, his mom carefully cut the cake into slices, put them onto disposable paper plates, and passed them around. She gave him the biggest one with a loving smile. It spelled his name, which he couldn’t yet recognize, in red icing, with a big yellow store-bought rose made of sugar.

Sitting in his little child-sized plastic chair, his plate on his knees and his fingers bringing pieces of cake into his mouth, Michael was feeling so happy he decided to do something good for someone he liked. He spotted his grandmother sitting on a couch in the corner of the room, away from everyone else. Despite how tenderly she had spoken to him before, she looked solemn, and coughed into a handkerchief every now and then. Feeling a surge of affection towards his grandma, Michael grabbed the sugar rose that had been on his cake and marched over to her like a little man on a mission. He hid it behind his back, spoke in his usual tone adults found adorable, and offered her the rose. The lady looked touched and thanked her grandson. She accepted the sugar rose. Then she brought it to her lips and bit into a sugar petal, not noticing the look of horror in the boy’s eyes. He started to cry, the noise gradually getting higher until several people were around him, asking what had happened, including his grandmother. He merely pointed at her between sobs.

“Grand…grandma ate the rose!”

Everyone looked at said grandma doubtfully, while she looked surprised. The mother came over and pulled him into her arms, shushing that everything was going to be okay.
He was placed on his bed so he could take a little nap. Everything was not okay.

Little Michael offered his grandmother his heart, and she ate it up.

He had wanted to give his grandmother a pretty rose, like he had seen daddy give mommy on special occasions. She seemed to like it, so he assumed grandma would to. When had someone not liked something he did? Even if he wasn’t being intentionally cute, whatever he did was never repelled. Ever.

Why had the world changed without him noticing?

His mother later explained how the rose was meant to be eaten, and how his grandmother was so sorry. After his short nap, he was brought to the party again, and accepted the heartfelt apology. His family did their best to make him smile, and eventually succeeded like nothing had ever happened.

#2: LIFE CAN BE CUT ABRUPTLY SHORT.

Predictability opposes change.

Days and days go by, days in which we do precisely the same things, usually in the same order, usually in the same pattern. The things that aren’t a part of a routine either become a part of it, or are stored in the unpleasant memory cabinet in the back of your mind.

And whether we like it or not, we strive for a routine. It’s effortless and natural, but the desire for it is real. It’s easier not to challenge yourself everyday; if you did, you’d probably be disappointed with what you really, truly are.

So it’s easier to pretend you’ll live forever, playing Lego’s with your brother, having your mother feed you, and being overall praised for things you’re not really responsible for. It’s easier than knowing someday everything will go black, and in the three seconds before you realize that, you are going to feel the worst kind of regret for not having been the person you wanted.

If you faced that truth, where would you start?

But this isn’t what four year old Michael really thinks. Not yet, anyway. Like everyone, he doesn’t see his life having an end, but only because life is being pretty good to him. The sugar rose incident had been stored in the back of his mind, so the concepts of hardship and injustice were still beyond him.

You were alive, and people cooed over you. Every day, forever and ever.

Until one day like any other, when he and Ben were playing in the living room, mom and dad came in, wearing sullen faces and remains of wiped out mascara-ed tears, in mom’s case.
“Boys, we have something to tell you. Granny Bella died.”

Michael could almost hear the joy being sucked out of the room. This feeling…it was a bit familiar. Like when grandma had eaten the rose. Like what you wished would last forever came with an interlude. A very bad interlude that maybe, just maybe, didn’t make up for the rest. Died?

“Does this mean she’s not coming back? We’re never seeing her again?” Asked Ben. Yes, Ben would understand it better – he was older and knew lots and lots of stuff.

“No, honey. She’s gone to a special place. A better one. But she’ll always be around, if you don’t forget her.”

A special place? Like she’d gone on holiday? Mom was crying fresh tears and Michael didn’t want to upset her more. Later, when alone with Ben, he asked him what grandma being dead meant.

“Someday, when you’re old and get really sick, you close your eyes like you’re going to sleep and you don’t wake up anymore. That’s dying.”

Michael felt chills. Never playing with Ben, or seeing mom and dad, or eating cookies and banana yogurt? Never ever again?

“Can you dream? And what’s the special place dad talked about?”

“It’s in the clouds. When you die, you go up to the clouds and you stay there forever. And you get to see angels, and god, and everyone that died before you. But you can never come back here.”

“Who’s god?”

“He’s an old man who made everything. Plants, animals, the sea, people. He’s like everyone’s other father, aside from the one you already have. When you die, you get to see him in the clouds.”

The boys were silent for a while. They were in their room, each one lying on his bed. It was past the time for them to go to bed, since they had waited for mom and dad to turn off the TV and go to bed.

“Ben?”

“Yeah?”

“How do you know this stuff?”

“Sunday school and movies, duh. Now go to sleep.”

“’Kay.”

#3: PEOPLE, EVEN THOSE YOU CARE ABOUT, CAN BE BEYOND STUPID.

An almost five year old Michael woke groggily and alarmed to his dad’s voice, screaming. Ben had already gone to school and mom was working. Deciding to walk towards the screams, he found dad standing at the door, holding it open just enough to let his face be seen. His face was contorted in anger. Upon seeing him, dad softened and ordered him to go back to bed, but Michael managed to catch a glimpse of who he was screaming ugly words at.

It was the young couple who lived in the floor above theirs, who wore weirdly colored clothes and hair. He had always thought they looked funny, like cartoons he liked to watch, and they were nice: in spite of not speaking much to him and his family, last Christmas they had given him a handmade doll made of cloth with nice smelling flowers on the inside. He had never played with dolls, nor had he ever seen one like it, but he liked it immediately. People who were actually able to make toys and not buy them seemed almost magical in his eyes.
He went back to bed and tried to muffle out dad with a pillow over his ears, and succeeded. Sometime later, dad woke him up, asking if he was okay.

“Yeah, but why were you screaming daddy?”

His father seemed tired and still a bit tense. He explained that the couple had been doing something they shouldn’t have if they had any respect for the other people in the building.

“What was it?”

“They were…using something they shouldn’t be, because it can get to other people who don’t want it.”

Little Michael raised his brow. He didn’t understand any of it, but dad seemed to be beating around the bush.

“What waaaas it?”

Dad rubbed the back of his head in clear frustration.

“Look, it’s like this. They were lighting something on fire, and this thing lets out smoke. They want that smoke, but other people may not. And the smoke comes into their house through the windows. And because we’re in the middle of August, there’s no way you can close the windows. I was just letting them know it’s rude and disrespectful.”

“By screaming at them?”

He had never seen dad that angry before; the closest was the few times he or Ben did something bad. And when he scolded them, they would cry sometimes. It was scary…mom never screamed or scolded them. She just spoke to them normally, and made Michael feel like he really shouldn’t be doing whatever he had done. He loved his dad, but with dad, he felt bad for not pleasing him. He didn’t understand why anyone would get angry at someone else, when it did no good.

“…you’ll understand these things when you become a man.” Upon saying that, his father ruffled his hair and got up to leave his room.

“But da-aad?”

“What?”

“Why do they want smoke?”

“Well…because…some kinds of smoke can make you feel…funny…like those pills you took when you broke your wrist, remember?”

The boy nodded thoughtfully.

“Yeah but…that was a good thing.”

Dad grabbed the door handle, bent on leaving the room.

“You’ll understand these things…someday…”

Those pills made him feel like he was having a really happy dream. Why get angry at someone who was, indirectly, doing you a favor? For the first time, Michael thought maybe dad didn't always know best. And for some reason, this made him feel bigger.