Part 53: Mrs. Brixton
“Mom, the computer’s BROKEN!” Victoria yelled from her bedroom.
Ah, finally she had noticed. Mrs. Brixton had unplugged the modem nearly an hour ago and had decided to allow herself the masochistic pleasure of waiting, to accompany the sadistic pleasure of cutting off her daughter’s access to that non-renewable resource. But while the first ten minutes had been delicious, after that it had become tedious and annoying. Victoria was supposed to be addicted to her computer, incapable of going ten minutes without it: that was the whole reason this was necessary. How frustrating that she wouldn't play her part.
But now she was and Mrs. Brixton felt vindicated. It was for her daughter’s own good, really, that she was doing this. It was bad for adolescent brain development to be staring at a screen all the time, she was pretty sure she had read somewhere, the distillation of many studies with rigorous methodologies and meticulously-arranged control groups and all of that. Serious work by principled, disciplined people like herself.
She took her time approaching Victoria’s room. Now the tension could be savored. Now there was still a disconnect: she knew and Victoria didn’t. Better to appreciate it before it all collapsed into a singularity, like a Schrodinger’s cat finally deciding whether to be alive or dead when it realized someone was looking at it.
“MOM!” Victoria screamed again, impatient but lazy.
“It’s not broken,” Mrs. Brixton said, lightly pushing open the bedroom door. “I unplugged it.’
“You did WHAT? Why are you doing this to me? Ohmygod, what did I ever do to you to deserve this?"
“Victoria.”
“Don’t Victoria me! What if Hannah comes back and I’m not there to talk to her? What if there’s an emergency? What if I needed to use it for school?”
“Are those reasons in order of importance?”
“What? I don’t know!” Victoria sounded desperate, like an addict, which strengthened Mrs. Brixton’s resolve. “Just give me my computer back.”
“You can have it back,” Mrs. Brixton said in what she felt was a very matronly tone, “when you start to appreciate the things you have instead of taking them for granted.”
“How am I supposed to appreciate something when you took everything away from me?”
“Oh, come off it, Victoria, you’ve still got food and water and a roof over your head.” She started looking around the room for material to throw at her. “And a TV and an XBOX and . . . and your whole life! Don’t you realize where you could be if it wasn’t for me? I gave you your whole life and all you can think about is the one little thing I took away.”
“You can have my life back. I don’t want it anymore.” Victoria threw herself on her bed face down. Mrs. Brixton recalled Elizabeth doing the same thing once - or was it Catherine? Either way, a point for Nurture - though she certainly never intended to raise daughters who behaved like that. Something about her own nature drew it out.
“You don’t mean that.”
Victoria lifted her face from the bed. “I do. I’ve never meant anything more.” Her face went back down. “You’re a monster,” she said into her British flag blanket.
A monster, Mrs. Brixton repeated to herself, walking back down the hallway. A monster, a monster, a monster. Say it enough times and the word would lose all meaning. Monster, monster, monster, monster . . .