Page 1 of I'm So Mega
“This doesn’t makeany sense, Mega. I don’t understand why you are so calm about this.” Ruth and I were on our way to our eight-year-old identical twins’ school. We got a call about fifteen minutes ago that they were in trouble.
My hand rested on her thigh as it had been for over fourteen years now.Wow! I’ve been with, happy, and in love with the same woman for over fourteen years.My eyes flicked to her for a quick moment before they went back to the road. “Baby, we don’t even know what they did yet. Can we find that out before we assign a level of frustration? I told you when they were babies that they were bad as hell.” I mumbled the last part.
When I told her that years ago, she claimed they were boys being boys. I loved my boys, Matthew and Joseph, but theirbutts were bad as hell. What made it worse was that they were slick with it. You didn’t realize they had done their bad ass thing until much later most of the time.
Her body shifted in her seat to face me.Yeah, she’s about to tell me off. She might even use a curse word.As the years passed and our kids got older, we had to pull each other back to the cross from time to time. Look, a nigga was saved, but a nigga still struggled and always would. Don’t let that fool you, though, because that vengeance was still in there and could get active if it was necessary.
“Megatron Loric Manfield, let me tell you something. Those bad ass boys are nothing more than Mega replicas. Oh, if you don’t think Mama Goldie didn’t tell me the stories about you when you were a kid then you’re wrong. On top of the stories, she provided proof.” The pause was real, because what kind of damn evidence did my mama have? “Yeah, nigga, I saw the damn progress reports with the teacher’s notes.”
Why Goldie had progress reports behooved me. I shouldn’t have been surprised because she still had hand turkeys that I made. “I’m not going to go as far as to say that they are replicas. The Big G only made one Megatron, Ruth. I will say that they have a lot of my qualities. I’m not ashamed of that, because I’m awesome. We just need to direct their energy better.”
She had me messed up with the thought that the Big G could ever make a replica of me. It was like He made me with a special formula, then threw the ingredients away. One of a kind was what I was.
“Okay, Mega, I’m going to direct some energy when we get home. The energy of my belt to their asses is a good redirection,” she said with a tight face. It never mattered how mad or tight her face was, she would always be beautiful.
It took us another ten minutes to get to the school. Like she always did when she was in her little feelings, my lovely wifetried to open her own door. I locked it back before she could open it. “Don’t play with me, Mrs. Manfield. Tighten up.”
She huffed but she didn’t open that door. When we walked into the front office, the judgmental stares that fell upon us made me chuckle. I’d never deny my sons were bad, but not to the point that I was raising little criminals.
“Mr. and Mrs. Manfield, we can talk in the conference room,” the principal suggested when she came out of her office. Mrs. Carson was an overly sensitive woman, at least in my opinion. The fact that she was a Caucasian woman who was the principal of a predominately African American school in the country could have been a small factor.
Our sons sat next to their teachers at the conference table. Neither of them lowered their heads with any kind of shame because they’d gotten in trouble. I taught my kids to never be ashamed of what they did, regardless of whether it was good or bad. They all took heed in that lesson. It was a lesson that had proven to bite me, their mother, and their third-grade teachers in our asses.
From the moment that our kids started school, we made it very clear that we did not want them in the same classes. We knew that they were hell together. We thought separating them would help the teachers handle them.
The principal started to talk as soon as our butts hit the seats. “Mr. and Mrs. Manfield, the last time we spoke, it was an outstanding report about the improvement of Matthew and Joseph’s grades. We all were elated about their test scores.”
“Yes, we remember,” Ruth responded. “We are very proud of them. They both worked hard.”
I wasn’t about to say anything because I knew it was a setup. Ruth should have known that, too, but yet and behold, she wanted to be overly friendly with these folks. When they dropped the whammy on us, she would feel stupid. Not me,though. I know those brown-skinned, witty boys of mind had masterminded something that had every white face in the room red.
“I’m not sure if I would say that it was because of their hard work,” Mrs. Carson said with a little smirk.Here it comes.“We discovered that your sons have been trading places.”
Ruth leaned forward with her forearms on the table. “Excuse me? Run that by me again.”
Matthew’s teacher, Mrs. Zeppid, cleared her throat. “Well, on the days that Matthew has spelling tests, Joseph takes his place. On the days that Joseph has math tests, Matthew takes his place. The kids know what time each subject is taught. I teach spelling before lunch, and Mrs. Waters teaches math after lunch. They trade places during lunch, depending on the schedule of the test.”
I tried to hide my amazement at their plan, but it was hard. Yeah, it was bad and mischievous, but the brilliance behind the plan couldn’t be denied. I would never say that out loud though. My boys, to this day, were hard as hell to tell apart. Most of the time, identical twins had something distinct about them. I felt like our boys were the exception to that rule. Everything from their haircut, height, and body build were the same.
“How did y’all find out that they were switching places? How long have they been switching places?” I asked. I always liked to know how great plans fell apart.
Mrs. Water’s finally spoke up. She side-eyed the boys. “Today, they forgot to change their shirts back.”
Damn!That was really unfortunate. I was in no way condoning their action, but still, damn. “You haven’t told us how long they were trading places for.” I wanted that answer.
“Does it matter?” the principal asked. “I think what we are focused on is the behavior. That is what we want to focus on.”
Ruth sat up. “That is understood, but their father asked a question that is valid. Based on your answer, it seems like you don’t know the answer.” She lifted her finger. “Let me ask you this. What are you going to do about their test?”
“From the start of the improvement in their scores, we plan to zero out?—”
I shook my head. “Absolutely not . . . You can’t even tell us how long they were trading places. Their behavior today was deplorable. My wife and I have hired tutors that they have been working with. My suggestion—wait, no. What you are going to do is allow them to take those tests over. That will tell us whether or not they truly were trading places for test purposes. All I hear is a lot of theories, but I need proof that they were in fact trading because of testing.”
I took a moment to address my sons. “I don’t know why you two were switching places, but what I do know is that we are going to find out if y’all have been playing in our faces after we paid all that money for tutors.” I turned back to the three red faces in the room. “You can supervise their tests. Let us know how many tests need to be retaken.”
I didn’t have to tell my family to get up when I stood. They knew what it was. My sons walked around the table and stood next to their mother. I looked down at the smirks they wore. “I don’t know what those smirks are for. When we get home, neither of you will be able to feel y’all asses if your mother has anything to do with it. Let’s go.”
I didn’t miss Ruth’s smirk either. I was sure that hers was more because we had switched places. She was pissed on the way over here, and now I was. Did I believe that my sons switched places for testing purposes? Maybe. Did I have proof? Hell no. I needed proof.
