“I’m sorry…”

by Alexandra Mennie
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Special Area: The best kind of apology is one without conditions
Motion sourced from the May Avan’s Alpaca Resources Writing Open
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“I’m sorry.”

The 8-year-old boy cast his eyes downwards.

“I’m sorry won’t cut it. You have to be sincere. Mean it! Not some pathetic ‘I’m sorry’ with no
explanation,” the older man lectured.

“Well, I didn’t ​mean t​ o scratch your old record-”

A stern glare interrupted his justification, “It was a rare signed 1978 copy of ‘Don’t Stop Me
Now’!”

“I said I was sorry though.” He fumbled with the hem of his shirt. It wasn’t as if he had
crashed the Titanic or caused Chernobyl or made a fatal miscalculation at the Challenger
explosion.

“There are conditions to being sorry, stupido. I’m sorry doesn’t mean all is fine.” Albert’s
wrinkles deepened in his frown.

A tear slipped from Johnathan’s small eyes. A pang of guilt hit his grandfather’s heart. Albert
reached out to ruffle his hair.

“Don’t worry about it Jonno, just don’t do it again.”

Unfortunately, the cycle of mistakes never ended. Johnathan had been prone to
forgetfulness, to ignorance, to recklessness and to plain stupidity. The next day he forgot to
bring his lunchbox to school. The day after that he ‘accidentally’ nailed a classmate in the
head with a soccer ball. The day after that he had a maths test, one he completed with vigour,
but disastrously failed as he didn’t fill out the back page. It was a truly vicious cycle.

It went the same each time, every phone call from school, or occurrence in Albert’s cramped
house was met with a grumble, a pleading apology, and then another dissatisfied grumble.

Aside from when he was 8, the next major time he had gotten scolded by his grandfather was
on a cloudy summer day. At 14 he was meant to have his first job interview. As anyone could
predict, he didn’t make it. First, he had slept in. Then he attempted to use Apple Maps as
navigation, which he had no idea of how to use, and all went to chaos after that.

It was 5 pm. The meeting was scheduled for 1 pm.

Desperately, he called his grandfather.

“And then I stubbed my toe on the edge of the bookcase, and then- then a Song of Fire and
Ice fell on my head, and then-”

“Stop,” Albert announced.

It was a dreadful mistake, losing the opportunity of a job which he had been seeking for
years.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t say sorry to me boy, tell that to the manager. You know what to do.”

Albert then hung up, but he knew Johnathan would be okay. Quickly, he called one of his old
friends who had expressed the need for help in his shop. He’s sure that Johnathan would be
a perfect, aside from the imminent threat of him breaking something expensive.

With the constant mistakes, Johnathan painstakingly learnt the conditions of a good
apology.

1. Always be sincere. If you don’t mean it, what’s the point?

2. Make sure to have a good excuse or reason. If not, you better make one up quickly.
(Although, his grungy grandfather never stated the latter outright, only implied it)
3. A severe circumstance is not something remedied with a few words. (Here, it got very
complicated as Johnathan was not the most observant person… hell, his brain was
hardly functioning as it is)

Every mistake, every error, every apology, had led up to July 16​ , a fateful day that would
th​

never be forgotten.

This instance of apology was unlike the rest. It wasn’t because Johnathan had drawn on the
walls with crayons, or broken the 7​ vase in a week, or had gotten lost using public transport
th​

again. Instead, Johnathan, now 24, was busy studying Uni work concerning the history of
succession, something dear to him as his grandfather inspired him to take the mantle of his
impressive scowl and teach his own future kids important lectures on good apologies. As
always, he made a stupid mistake. On this day, he had misplaced his phone. Usually, this
would have not been important at all, but his grandfather’s heart begged to differ.

This time, the mistake was not something that could be glossed over.

After 10 minutes of searching, Johnathan found his phone but dropped it immediately when
he saw the barrage of notifications, all sending worried exclamations.

He had never gotten his beaten-down car to start-up quicker; he hadn’t trusted Uber to be
swift enough. He sped to the hospital, wheezing as he realised Mr Brightside, playing on the
radio, would never sound the same again. When he arrived, he slammed the doors open and
rushed to room 306.

At this moment, Johnathan would have given anything to have access to technology of
suspended animation or even a wormhole, anything for more time.
“I’m sorry.” His tears were bowling balls crashing against the cold floors, silenced by the
steady beeping of the heart monitor beside them.

“You’re forgiven,” Albert solemnly spoke, with soft kindness in his eyes and smile.

Johnathan pried his head upwards, completely and utterly perplexed.

“I’ve always forgiven you Jonno. You don’t need an excuse or meet a certain level of severity
to be forgiven. I know you mean it. I trust you.”

Johnathan’s sobs wracked his body and Albert felt the immediate need to put a smile on his
face this one last time.

“Out with the old, am I right? It’s like those smartphones, you get a new one each year. Guess
it’s time this old fart got replaced by the new generation.”

A small smile broke out on Johnathan’s face and Albert smiled too.

“I’m so, so sorry.”

“I heard you the first time. In fact, this has been the best apology you’ve ever made. I forgive
you, stupido.”

They held onto each other as the heart monitor settled into a monotonous beep.