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@ over [inferno]

I come home tonight and my mom starts screaming at me while I'm finishing my evening cookie. She gets all up in my face and starts asking where I've been, what I was doing, and who I was with. I swallow the last bits of the cookie and try using that line from Prison Break where Michael is in the infirmary with eight of his ten toes, and the doctor asks him what happened to make the other two leave.

"Don't make me lie to you, Mom," I tell her.

How is it that the line works so much better for a convicted felon on a FOX drama than it does for me in my mom's living room? My mom flies into a rage like Ann Coulter thinking about 20 years of Harriet Miers sitting on a bench. Something happens so that I black out. When I come to, I'm strapped to a chair down in the basement with my Mom doing her best impression of Mrs. Applewhite.

"What were you doing, tonight?" my mom snarls at me.

I try to laugh the whole bondage thing off and disarm my mom's anger, but nothing works. I only manage to make things worse as she tightens the straps around my arms and chest. Pretty soon I'm struggling to breathe, and she keeps saying things like, "I'm only doing this because I love you" and "this is hurting me more than you." Who knew ABC was having such a profound influence on middle-aged women? Maybe if I had played the Hot Coffee version of Grand Theft Auto I would have been able to get out of these kinds of situations, but alas, my version is patchless. I'll have to thank Walmart and the Society for Family Values later. It becomes clear to me that the only way I'm getting out of the basement is if I start spilling everything. I know she's not going to like the truth, so I try to keep my answers as brief as possible and cunningly misdirect where I need to.

"I was out playing TFC with the guys again," I truthfully tell her.

"Who are the guys?" she asks, letting up on the straps enough to let me take a breath. If you ever wondered, oxygen does wonders for one's speaking voice. It's even better than that lemon and honey concoction they give public speakers and infinitely better than asphyxiation.

"The same guys I'm with every Thursday," I say.

"I want names!" she exclaims as she tightens down the straps again.

I clinch my fists and gnash my teeth. "Finch, Bean, Bob, Yorik, Neko, Stick and the rest of the gang," I share. "There were some new guys too. Squirt and MG." I deliberately leave out Diablo and Chiki for two very different but equally important reasons. I have a high tolerance for pain, but when I mention women or demons, things always go bad.

"A bunch of good for nothings!" she yells and tightens my wrist straps. "What did I tell you about hanging with all those boys?"

"Umm. . ." I begin. "Two weeks ago you said they were all possessed by demons that were intent on getting me to sign away my soul before Halloween. Last week you said they were a great group and that you were glad I had friends. So, I don't know what you want to hear tonight. Maybe you're happy that I hang with a bunch of friendly demons?"

My mom pauses for a second and looks at me. Her eyes shift focus and her face relaxes. "Was Tron with you tonight?" she asks with a girlish smile.

"Oh, yeah." I confirm. "Tron was great tonight. He kept everyone safe and in line. Anytime one of the others had a bad idea, Tron broke it up before it went anywhere. He looked super studly, too."

My mom's smile grows. "Tron's such a nice young man," she comments. "You should have him over more often."

At this point, I'm more concerned with the blue tint of my skin than I am with Tron's wellbeing, so I answer with, "Sure, I can do that. I'll invite him over next week after practice or something."

I like Tron and everything. Especially after what he did for the gang tonight, but I like living more. Sorry, man, but you'll be coming to dinner next week. You just have to.

My mom's face tightens up again. "Where were you?"

"Wow, that was I short cycle," I say to myself. Usually I get at least five minutes of "Mrs. Longing for Tron" time before she comes down again.

"We were out near Two Mesa Drive with the Inferno boys," I answer honestly.

"The Inferno boys!" she screams at me. "The Inferno boys! They're evil! Every single one of them! Evil!"

This is where I draw the line. She can call me and my friends evil and the spawn of Satan, because several of them might be and we're all okay with it, but when she starts calling out the evilness inside people I don't even know, someone has to take a stand, or in my case, someone has to be restrained and interrogated. Still, I refuse to cave so badly that I begin questioning the integrity of strangers. I reserve that for people I know.

"The Inferno boys aren't that bad," I counter. I proceed to tell her all about what the gang did with them tonight. I begin by mentioning how we were planning on going down to the Canal Zone, but that is really the worst place ever to play capture the flag. The Inferno boys agreed with our assessment of the Zone and that 2 Mesa Drive would be a much better place to play. We play by their rules the first round and things go great. There's lots of gaiety, a few surprises, and no negativity. Sure, the Inferno guys had a different kind of strategy for success than my crew did, but we were impressed how well things worked for them. It takes a certain kind of talent to play the way they do, and we know we don't have it. No, we're classic knockoffs like the ABBA teens. We have all the same moves, sing the same songs, but aren't nearly as good. The Inferno boys are like an army of Nelly Furtados. Nobody else does what they do. Nobody wants to do what they do, but you still have to respect them for doing things their way.

The Inferno boys finished the half with a one flag lead and everyone in good spirits. We played the second round on the tundra coated side of 2 Mesa Drive. We personally like the slop, but it's not for everyone. Some people have problems jumping around in it, but not us. The second round is just as clean and joyous as the first. The Inferno guys were so congenial that their offense actually moved to the side to let ours pass unfettered. We did the same for them, and neither side's offense ever harassed the other. Seriously. It was an entire match without any form of offense versus offense activity. At one point the Inferno boys decide that they have unfairly taken our flag, so they toss it into the trench and out of bounds so we can have it back. That was a lovely instance of sportsmanship on their part, especially since the round was so close as far as points went. Most teams would have continued on their way to the capture point and not felt one bit of guilt about the injustice, but not those classy Inferno boys.

It was quite a match to behold, it's only too bad that my mom and people like her are convinced the Inferno boys are evil. I like them. Most of the crew likes them. We may even like them more than they like themselves. There are rumors about their stability, but that's probably just tabloid gossip. Then again, we may all be demons, and like likes like.

Sure we end up winning the match, but that's not really important. The important part is that even under the threat of torture, some of us are willing to take a stand against slanderous attacks on others and say, "The Inferno boys are even hotter than Tron, and I think all of them are single and into mature women."

Yeah, I may have exaggerated a bit with that statement. Everyone knows where Tron stands on the GQ hotness index, but the assertion works in my favor. My mom gets me to make her one promise and then releases my restraints and sets me free. I rub my wrists as the circulation returns and head up the stairs to clean my room. I'm sorry if you wanted a more detailed account of this evening, but I really have to cut it short so I can clean up the house.

I shall leave you all with this, "Does anyone want to come over for a slumber party this weekend? All of Inferno is invited."

-Some Red with mom issues

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