The Riddle

Ansel 

After that day, three strange things happened. The first was Peter not returning to school. It has been a month since Alicia and I went to the ice cream shop. But Peter, who was a sucker for school, never showed up. Weirdly enough, it was also one month since Ms. Robinson had been absent from school. The next day after the ice cream shop, when I entered English class, I was meeting with an elderly substitute. From there, the elderly substitute has stayed with us. Although Ms. Robinson wasn't there, the work she left behind made it feel like she was. She had graciously left us a lot of work that was impossible to finish, significantly when she would add more work every week. I lay in bed counting the homework I still needed to finish. A lot, I concluded. I was maybe 30% done with the assignment before given a new week starting that might drop to 20%. At least, that's how percent works. With a groan, I got out of bed and looked down at my shadow, the third weird thing. Despite not having a cup of coffee this past month I still see people's shadow bow to me. I wonder if caffeine has lasting effects. It could explain all the weirdness. 

Walking out of my room, the aroma of bacon and pancakes quickly attacked my nose. Entering the kitchen, I was greeted by the sight of my amazing mother. She moved between the stove and the pot of coffee with graceful but hurried steps. Her somewhat long brown curly hair moved side to side with each step she took, yet it seemed to add some sort of gracefulness to her movement. She hummed a soft melody as she plated the food. My mom turned and flashed me a giant smile at the sound of me pulling a chair where the dining counter was. My mother, Olivia Nephus, had always been a symbol of strength to me. She was the reason why I still continued despite having to deal with the outcast, bullying, and torment of school. When she placed my plate before me, I couldn't help but notice the small wrinkles forming at the edges of her face. Despite being only 35, she looked much older than she should have. She had me when she was very young, costing her so much more than it should have been. Her family outcasted and abandoned her for getting pregnant at a young age. She had to drop out of culinary school, and to top it all off, my father abandoned her. But despite all those hardships, I watched as my mother pushed through everything, carrying me on her back. She never gave up, even when things seemed impossible. Her strength paid off at the end when she was finally able to open her very own bakery. She accomplished all this by herself while dealing with me. She never got mad at me, even when I was in trouble at school trouble. But there were two things that I couldn't understand about my mother, why didn't she hate my father. In the rare moments when she mentions him, she speaks about him with such fondness and love that it makes me hate my father more. The least he could have done was pay child support. The other thing is her strange liking of Greek mythology. Since I was a baby, mom would always tell me different Greek myths. The aroma of the food caused me to lose focus on my thoughts of my father and past Greek myths. My mom laughed; it was such a sweet sound to hear. 

"What are you not hungry? Maybe I should have your plate," she said teasingly. 

Another thing about her was that she always smiled. In fact, her smile made her look younger. 

I stuffed a pancake in my mouth before replying. 

"Isn't a mother supposed to offer her food to her beloved child," I remarked. 

My mom rolled her eyes and pointed at the stove. 

"I cooked, so I decided if I wanted to share. So don't be a smart ass." 

She reached over the counter and flicked my forehead. I have long discovered that while many moms show their love through small, kind gestures, my mom showed tough love towards me. It was fine with me; I could joke around her, even if it meant getting a forehead flip. A comfortable silence fell between us as we ate. I've desperately tried to figure out that vision in the past month. It didn't help that I couldn't tell anyone about it without them thinking I had gone insane. That and I only had a few people to talk to. At some point, I even went to the TOK door, hoping to find some answers, but I only saw a bunch of stuck-up IB students. My mother's heavy sigh caused me to look up from food. She was already washing her plate by the time I looked up. 

"So, care to tell me what's been on your mind this past month," she asked through the sink's running water. 

My mom wasn't like most moms, who constantly tried to figure out everything I was doing. She was both a mentor and a parent, two roles woven together. She was like a guiding light through the darkness. Blend with patience and understanding as she watches from a close distance as I navigate my life. But when I asked for help, she would only nudge me, offering a predetermined solution; her advice and guidance were subtle yet powerful. However, I wasn't perfectly woven together like her. I was a son first before a pupil. So I hesitated to tell her. I didn't wish to make her worry more than she should. 

"Oh, it's nothing," I lied. 

My mother turned to me, giving me a glare. She walked over, a plate in her hand, and flicked my forehead. This one had more force to it. As my hands went to rub the spot, my mother's free hand went to my hair and gently ruffled it. 

"I'm your mother. I know you better than you probably know yourself. So tell me what's going on." 

"Can you read minds?" 

All mothers must possess some kind of sixth sense regarding their children. But I still couldn't bring myself to tell her about the vision. Instead, I mi, I directed the truth. 

"It's Peter…he hasn't been to school for a month because of a death on his mother's side. I suppose he went to Greece for the funeral, but it's been a month. So I'm just worried." 

The sound of glass shattering caused me to jump from my seat. The plate that my mom had held was now in multiple pieces scattered throughout the floor. 

"Mom! Are you okay!" 

She was already on the ground picking up the piece when she cut herself. When bothered by her, she stood up and grabbed my shoulders. I had never seen her this tense and…scared. 

"I'm sorry, but the dish was wet, so it slipped through my fingers. Peter hasn't returned. Have you tried to get in contact with him?" 

"No. He doesn't have a cell phone like me, so keeping in touch is hard. Are you sure you're okay?" 

Mom seemed to recover, but I could tell that she still seemed shaken. I could understand why Peter had almost become like a son to my mom. Since she first met him, my mom has been thankful for him being my friend and felt sorry when she learned that his stepmother and real mother treated him poorly. 

"I'm okay. C'mon, we need to get going, or you'll be late for school."

"That doesn't seem like a bad thing," I said. 

I made my way towards the last class of my day: English class. Before I opened the door, I noticed something familiar, silence. No one was speaking from inside of the room. It was a similar silence that fell on the class when…Ms. Robinson was here. Taking a deep breath, I entered the hell that awaited. My eyes first landed on the downcast look of my classmates. They looked deprived of life but, at the same time, terribly afraid. Then my gaze landed on the reason; Ms. Robinson looked precisely as she did a month ago. When she noticed me, however, I saw a strange glimmer of excitement in her eyes. Her mouth twitched into something between a snarl and a smile. 

"Mr.Ansel, let me see," she said, looking through a pile of papers until she spoke again.

 "It seems as though you haven't finished the work I assigned. You do understand that this breaks the policy of this class. All work must be submitted by the appropriate time. But not to worry, Mr.Ansel. I am feeling rather generous."

The voice in my head was screaming for me to flee, to run as fast as I could, but my body was frozen in place. 

"I will give you a riddle. If you can solve it by Friday, everyone's work will be excused. If you fail to answer correctly, you and everyone else will receive an F on the assignments that weren't finished." 

The class let out a collective gasp, but my breath hitched. This was the first time she had ever given me a riddle. I knew it was a matter of time, but what changed? Everything seemed oddly timed or, instead, oddly arranged. I could feel the gazes of my classmates' eyes on me. I shifted to look at them; their expressions ranged from surprise to pity and, finally, acceptance. They and I both knew it was pointless. This was the first time anyone had ever solved her riddles. Ms.Robinson, who was in long thought, suddenly spoke, causing me to look at her. 

"I was born to two worlds. But rejected by both. Accepted by death as its heir but not by desire. The embrace of darkness is my only companion. Who am I?"

She riddled and hung in the air, bringing a cold vile to the classroom. I moved to my desk, my mind blank and clueless. I had yet to learn what the answer was. Her riddle didn't sound like a riddle but a description of someone. Ms. Robinson continued her class normally, but I tuned her out. Her riddle constantly repeats in my head like a broken record. By the time the bell rang, the words had begun to mush together, leaving me more confused than before. I walked through the halls more like a zombie than an actual human. But when I got to my locker, a familiar face was standing there. It was hard to miss the person standing there. His short, curly, gingered hair made him stick out from the passing students. It was also hard to notice him when he stood at about 5'8. Even though he was slouching while he leaned on the lockers, looking down, he was still tall enough to make out. Despite his tall frame and status as an outcast, he still had an athletic build. Perhaps he was not muscular but quick and agile for his height. Remembering our height difference, I cursed. Tall jerk, I thought before calling out. 

"Yo Peter." 

At my call, he looked up, his striking grey eyes examining me with a calculating gaze. Despite his calculating gaze, I could tell by the bags under his eyes and the strained smile he forced that he was still unwell. 

"Hey Ansel, sorry about…you know." His pause was enough to indicate that the death of his family member had been unexpected. I nodded, giving him some time. It was a relief to know that he was here, but I could tell his mind was elsewhere. We walked out in silence, heading for the bus stop. 

After some time, I decided to speak, "Was the person important to you?" 

He flinched and didn't say anything for a while. When he did, his shoulder slumped in resignation. 

"She was…almost an older sister to me. She helped me a lot when I arrived in Greece, so I always saw her as an older sister. Her father was my mother's uncle, so we knew each other well despite our families not getting along."

I listened to him but kept my eyes forward, allowing Peter to tremble without hesitation.

 I waited and then spoke, "How did she die?" 

I felt weirdly inclined to know more. Peter hesitated, looking from the sky to the ground. He glared at the ground as if something were to erupt from there. Finally, when he spoke, his voice was cold and empty, hollow behind his words. 

"She was murdered by someone." 

The air grew colder despite the warmth of the sun. A heavy silence fell between us as I struggled to find the right words. Peeking a glance at Peter, I noticed his trembling hand. I sighed, thinking about when I was in seventh grade. At the time, the only friend I had was an old dog. When the dog died, I remember crying and feeling great sadness. A student teacher who was there had comforted me. Recalling that memory, I spoke the words the student teacher had told me. 

"It's been a month since her death, so stop being sad over it. Even when people die, the living should honor them by recalling memories of their time with the person. They should share a laugh with one another. Because they'll see each other again…death isn't the end… it's the beginning after the end." 

I continued looking forward as I walked, not noticing that Peter had stopped. Finally, when I turned around, Peter's expression had changed. In a 180 turn, his downcast face suddenly turned into a dark, expressionless one. He lowered his eyes at me, a dangerous glint at the corner of his eyes. His hands went into his pockets, but the rest of his body was motionless. When he spoke, his voice was strained and suspicious. 

"Where did you hear that?" 

Unconsciously, I took a step back. It wasn't because I was scared but because of his sudden reaction to my words. Had I said something wrong to upset him? I told him about the old dog that died and the student teacher who comforted me. Peter relaxed his hands, rubbing his face. The dark eye bags under his eyes looked even dark when he looked up at me. His eyes were more tired, and his shoulders fell even more profound. 

"Sorry Ans. It's just that the friend who died had said the same thing. And if I'm being honest, it wasn't just her death that got me like this. I met my mother during the funeral." 

He let out a deep sigh. "It didn't go too well. We haven't been talking much since the last time we talked. She practically ignored me so she could talk to my other step-siblings. It's not like I don't get it; they are more accomplished than me." 

Anger began to bubble in my throat. I didn't care what others said about me, but I cared when they spoke about my friends. Peter was more intelligent than every kid, and most of all, he was kind. 

"She should be proud to have a son like you. And you should be more angry that she isn't paying attention to you," I said. 

He raised an eyebrow, "is that how you feel about your dad?" 

I flinched, my anger subsiding a little. I glared at Peter before shaking my head. 

"I don't want him in my life. I've got my mom, and that's enough. Besides, I've been doing fine all this time, so why need him now?" 

Peter let out a small chuckle as he fell in line with me. We walked side by side, and then, as if under a spell, we laughed. 

"What did Lucas call us? Oh, right, parentless losers. Oh well, at least I'm tall," Peter said, teasing. 

I rolled my eyes. "Height is below the belt, bro." 

He shrugged, "Well, you have your mom. She's the best, so I think we're even better."

At the reminder of my mother, something that she had said before dropping me off rang in my head. 

"That reminds me of my mom saying she'll cook steaks when you return. So how about Friday you come over." 

Peter smiled, nodding. The conversation shifted as Peter began to ask about things he missed or certain things he didn't understand. I wanted to ask him about the riddle but now wasn't the best time. Although the riddle continued to play in my head.