My mother came into the house last week, and she wasn’t happy.
She saw someone had pushed the air conditioning unit off its pad, and she wanted to know how it happened.
I couldn’t tell her that my best friend had a motorcycle, and I broke it. I broke the motorcycle when I ran into the air conditioning unit and pushed it off its pad. Mom finally looked at me and said I looked like the guilty one. Instead of asking me if I broke the AC unit, she asked if I could explain how I broke the AC unit? I was all ready to give her a long story and throw in a few lies, but she was looking at me too intensely. I was sure she would know if I even deviated from the truth. I took a deep breath and told her how I drove the motorcycle into the AC unit, but I didn’t have time to finish. As soon as she heard the word motorcycle, she went ballistic. She had warned me not to even bring a motorcycle home. It wasn’t my motorcycle, which made her even angrier. She asked why I was on a motorcycle when I was only fifteen, and whose motorcycle I was on? I tried to tell her, but she called my friend’s mom and talked to her. Five minutes later, he and his mom were in my living room. His mom offered to let her son pay for half the damage the motorcycle had caused. She also said the motorcycle was going to go away forever, and my friend was now angry with me.