The Gertrude Trials
The phone rings once, twice, three times... He is probably busy. Or sleeping. Or--
"Hello?," his young voice pierces through the speaker.
"Oh, hi, honey, it's grandma!," Gertrude smiles, speaking louder than anyone ever needs to.
"Oh, hi, grandma," he replies, somewhat annoyed. "Sorry I haven't visited in a while; work has just been a lot lately."
"That's okay, hun," Gertrude replies, disguising her hurt feelings with grandmotherly understanding. "But you can always call. You know you can call, right?"
Silence.
"Is everything okay, sweetiepie?" she asks after a bitter swallow.
"Yes. No," he mumbles. "I don't know, grandma. It's just work."
"You can talk to grandma," Gertrude replies, lovingly. "I might not understand it, but..."
A pregnant silence hangs in the air.
"There's something I should do," he begins, almost in a whisper. "But I don't know if I should."
"Is it something bad?" Gertrude whispers back, holding on to the receiver.
"It's something right. But it's hard. Major worldwide consequences hard," he continues, chuckling nervously.
"I could lose my job, I might never work again... But it's bad for people, grandma. I can't let it happen."
Gertrude takes a deep breath, wishing she could cuddle him up and make it all okay, like she used to when he was little. Instead, she put on a stern grandma voice, and replied.
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Option A : "You do what's right, and I'll be proud of you anyway."
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Option B: "You can't bring a knife to a gunfight, honey. Let things be, and your time will come.
