Rebellion Through the Ages

Dusk falls. I drift to sleep. I dream about whatever 14 year old boys dream about until I am shaken awake.

“Clark, wake up. Come on. Just one game.”

My brother Joel is home from late shift at the Subway in the Midvalley strip mall. He has brought home sandwiches, and wants to play Mario Kart.

Even though it is late, and even though I have already eaten, I agree. The times are good. One game turns into two. Mushroom Cup turns into Star Cup. We play and laugh and eat, feeling the sort of reckless pleasure you felt when you were six and stayed up to watch MASH with your mom past your bedtime. What the heck. We were young. We had energy. We didn’t care.

Fast forward to the present. It’s late and I’m in bed. Lindsay sleeps peacefully next to me.

I’m tired, but fighting sleep, my face bathed in the pale light emanating from my iPod.

My stomach digests a recently-enjoyed granola bar as I smile at the well-executed jokes on Mystery Science Theater 3000. I’m no longer so young, I no longer have so much energy, and my body handles extracurricular snacks far less effectively. But I still stay up and be rebellious.

Who I think I’m rebelling against, I don’t know. But I sure am showing them.