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Call to Adventure

“Mommy, Mommy, I did it!” Peter calls out excitedly, bounding downstairs with a series of thuds.

“What did I say about running down the stairs?” Margot gently chides, closing the plastic cooler’s lid. It’s supposed to be a three-day road trip, Google tells her, so snacks are a must. Cheetos are the fuel her two sons run on, and Margot has wearily accepted this, but she hasn’t given up on adulterating it with the occasional apple.

“Come see!” Peter insists, completely unfazed by the reprimand. His tiny hand drags hers up the stairs to his room. On the way there, they pass this month’s chore chart in the hall. Margot’s eyes linger on the last unfilled square, soon to be filled with a glittery gold star.

Her children have always been more excited about the prophecy than she is, she reflects. For her, it’s always been a weary obligation. Like going to the DMV.

Exactly like going to the DMV, as a matter of fact. She’d been more baffled to discover that the country clerk’s building had a place inside called the Prophecy Office than she was when she was subsequently and cursorily dubbed the Chosen One by a notarized document.

Into Peter’s room, and it’s the tidiest she’s ever seen it. Peter hurries into the center, to gesture grandly at it all. “Wow, good job,” she enthuses. She opens the closet to check that he hadn’t just crammed the whole mess in there, like last time, but it was all in order too. She nods approvingly. “You put everything away where it goes, just like I asked.”

Her younger son, Wayne, peers in around the doorframe, excitement visible in his eyes. Peter meets Wayne’s gaze and smiles encouragingly, and Wayne vanishes to go grab his own luggage, which he’d insisted he was old enough to pack himself.

“Okay, are you ready?” Margot asks Peter. He nods emphatically, and follows her out into the hall. From the pocket of her windbreaker, she pulls out the sticker sheet, with its last golden star.

She contemplates its golden sheen for just a moment. It’s really happening. They finished all their chores, just like she asked, and now she’s going to take her two children on her Quest with a capital Q, because she doesn’t have anyplace else to leave them.

Margot places the gold star on the paper, to cheers from her boys. “Alright, you two. Go get in the car. I’ll be down in a moment.” There’s one last thing she hasn’t packed into the Kia yet.

She crosses the hall to her own bedroom. Opening the disused half of the wardrobe she once shared with her husband, she narrows her eyes against the pure white glow of the legendary broadsword issued to her by the Prophecy Office. As she does, her phone chirps. She retrieves it from her back pocket, flips it open, and checks the number before answering.

“Hey, Devon,” Margot says. “Yes, you caught me just as we’re about to leave. Thanks for letting me take the week off on such short notice.” A pause. “Yeah, we should be back in time.” Devon is Margot’s boss. Margot’s sons are friends with his daughter, and next week is her birthday. “See you then. Buh-bye!” She shuts her phone with a snap and stows it away again.

Now empty again, her hand closes around the handle of the holy sword. It’s weightless to her. Feels as natural to carry as her car keys. Visions of the Dark Lord she’s meant to strike down flash through her head before she returns it to its ornate sheath.

Taking the stairs carefully - falling on one’s sword is an expression for a reason, after all - Margot sighs. Then, Wayne appears from around the kitchen corner, and she puts a smile back on her face. “You ready, sweetheart?” Wayne nods enthusiastically and vanishes into the garage.

As they back out into the driveway, Margot turns her gaze skyward, toward the dark vortex of dreadful clouds gathering around the peak of Mount Rainier. With a shake of the head, she glances back down to the car’s stereo instead. Her heroic epic could do with a soundtrack. Her Sheryl Crow CD will do.