"Terrible idea," his father mutters, half-heartedly throwing one of Abed's shirts into a box. He's moved past the yelling phase and has now entered the quieter, more repetitive phase. He's muttered that exact phrase twenty-two times while they've been packing and Abed's sure there's much more to come. Abed knows it's because his father wants to make it clear that he is not in support of this decision. Or, rather: that he is in anti-support of this decision.
"Terrible idea." Yet, the box of shirts is full. Abed takes it without comment. He would say thank you, but he knows that would bring back the yelling phase, and there's actually something unexpectedly calming about the muttering phase -- it's soothing background noise, the white static of channel 1.
Abed doesn't know what he would do if his father ever thought something was a good idea. That would be disquieting on several fronts, like going to press the right-hand channel-changing button and finding out that instead of it changing channels, it now has the power to transmute televisions sets into large, floppy-eared rabbits. Ultimately pleasant (because who doesn't like large, floppy-eared rabbits?), but initially deeply unnerving.
Abed loads the last box into the trunk of the car and his father shuts it with an air of finality. Abed debates whether this is more of a Moesha coming-of-age moment or a Boy Meets World coming-of-age moment. Initial evaluation would give the latter a better chance of success, but Moesha makes a surprisingly strong case. There's also the surprise contender of Growing Pains, and of course Sister, Sister has to be given its due consideration.
By the time he's decided that the emotional tenor of their relationship calls for the heavy-handed but not entirely oversentimental approach of Step By Step, his father's already in the driver's seat. Abed hurries over just as he starts honking.
Stoicism and silence triggered by overwhelming protectiveness that's too intensely emotional to articulate, Abed thinks, nodding to himself. He can work with this. It's a staple of the genre for a reason.
*
It takes four hours to unpack. If there's supposed to be an awkward period of settling into his new environment, Abed bypasses it; as soon as he sits on the couch and picks up the remote everything clicks into place, literally and metaphorically.
It wasn't that he hated living with his father. He's also pretty sure it wasn't that his father hated living with him. They love each other. It's an established fact. It's just that they're uncomfortable inversions of each other -- when one is waking up, the other's going to bed; when one's eating sugar-encrusted cereal, the other's eating things that required pots, pans and other assorted culinary items to prepare; what one calls important, the other calls a waste of time. There was always an essential disharmony in the setup that couldn't be avoided.
He catches Saved By The Bell mid-episode; Zack is arguing with Mr. Belding, which feels like an appropriate completion of the day's moral trajectory. He chews on a green gummy bear and thinks that things will be different from now on. He will miss the background static; maybe his father will miss Abed's PowerPoint analyses of Lost. Well, probably not. That's okay, though.
The couch is comfortable and he's looking forward to the semester. Maybe it's a sign that he's growing up, but listening to their repartee, he can't help but think that Mr. Belding makes some valid points. The somewhat humanized antagonists are always the most compelling.
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branchandroot
Fill: Community, Abed Nadir, moving out of his Dad's house
Date: 2011-05-10 10:52 pm (UTC)"Terrible idea." Yet, the box of shirts is full. Abed takes it without comment. He would say thank you, but he knows that would bring back the yelling phase, and there's actually something unexpectedly calming about the muttering phase -- it's soothing background noise, the white static of channel 1.
Abed doesn't know what he would do if his father ever thought something was a good idea. That would be disquieting on several fronts, like going to press the right-hand channel-changing button and finding out that instead of it changing channels, it now has the power to transmute televisions sets into large, floppy-eared rabbits. Ultimately pleasant (because who doesn't like large, floppy-eared rabbits?), but initially deeply unnerving.
Abed loads the last box into the trunk of the car and his father shuts it with an air of finality. Abed debates whether this is more of a Moesha coming-of-age moment or a Boy Meets World coming-of-age moment. Initial evaluation would give the latter a better chance of success, but Moesha makes a surprisingly strong case. There's also the surprise contender of Growing Pains, and of course Sister, Sister has to be given its due consideration.
By the time he's decided that the emotional tenor of their relationship calls for the heavy-handed but not entirely oversentimental approach of Step By Step, his father's already in the driver's seat. Abed hurries over just as he starts honking.
Stoicism and silence triggered by overwhelming protectiveness that's too intensely emotional to articulate, Abed thinks, nodding to himself. He can work with this. It's a staple of the genre for a reason.
*
It takes four hours to unpack. If there's supposed to be an awkward period of settling into his new environment, Abed bypasses it; as soon as he sits on the couch and picks up the remote everything clicks into place, literally and metaphorically.
It wasn't that he hated living with his father. He's also pretty sure it wasn't that his father hated living with him. They love each other. It's an established fact. It's just that they're uncomfortable inversions of each other -- when one is waking up, the other's going to bed; when one's eating sugar-encrusted cereal, the other's eating things that required pots, pans and other assorted culinary items to prepare; what one calls important, the other calls a waste of time. There was always an essential disharmony in the setup that couldn't be avoided.
He catches Saved By The Bell mid-episode; Zack is arguing with Mr. Belding, which feels like an appropriate completion of the day's moral trajectory. He chews on a green gummy bear and thinks that things will be different from now on. He will miss the background static; maybe his father will miss Abed's PowerPoint analyses of Lost. Well, probably not. That's okay, though.
The couch is comfortable and he's looking forward to the semester. Maybe it's a sign that he's growing up, but listening to their repartee, he can't help but think that Mr. Belding makes some valid points. The somewhat humanized antagonists are always the most compelling.