The Evil Eye. Creative Nonfiction

“But you hate coding.” My mother’s voice echoes over the divide of impossible horizons.
"No," I give her the evil eye, "I love coding.” She laughs and laughs.

She laughs so hard that my ears burn.

Of course, she’s right. I mull over her honest humor, and I can’t find fault with her scathing comment.
I look out of the window, and the day is darkening; rain is on the way. The sky’s mood mirrors my own in perfect reflection.

I’m building a new project. One of a thousand I’ve initiated. Many never see the light of day. I’m a great beginner.
Nevertheless, I turn back to my screen and look at the geometry—the graph of coordinates staring at me with awkward, uneven angles. I’m trying to pinpoint an elusive error. The code won’t do what it’s meant to.

Between my mom’s attitude and my inability, I feel the hard rock of failure. That rock rolls over me, and I’m flattened.

I close the screen and sigh. It’s been a long day. I decided to watch Netflix. Find something light. I search for a comedy. My fingers tap and tap. My brain, however, is on overdrive. I try to escape the hot sensation of sly ambition, which is scalding my heart. I stop looking for a movie. I fire up my IDE and write code, to the drumbeat of the rain, until the dawn blushes pink across my bedroom window.

I feel as if the grit of exhaustion in my eyes will make me blind. The day grows lighter in the corners of my tired eyes. I’m not sure if it’s the arrow of my mother’s honesty or the fact that I’ve always been stubborn in the face of ridicule, but suddenly the geometry doesn’t look all that bad. The numbers float across the screen with harmonious symmetry, and the images they’re meant to generate render on the screen.

There’s actually something there. I’ve built something from a blank, blank page. I’ve produced something. Granted, it’s extremely short of earth-shattering, but it’s something. I flip my screen closed, grip the device tightly to my chest, and hobble on my aching feet to find my mom.
"Will you look at what I’ve done? Will you see if it’s any good?” My heart is in my mouth, and I’m desperately shy but absolutely determined at the same time.
She blinks against the stark morning light. "What? Did you code something?"
"Take a look.” I slide the screen in front of her face.
She’s still. She’s quiet. She takes a deep, deep look.
Then she laughs and laughs.
"See," she says with tears in her eyes," I know you so very well, and you’d never, ever be able to do anything at all unless someone tells you that you can’t.” She takes a breath, "I’m simply the best mother ever!"

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