TM prompt 135. Talk about something you inherited.
Talk about something you inherited. (It could be an object, a physical attribute, a belief, etc.)
I inherited my father’s love of books. He was a bookseller, and whenever he came to visit me, he would bring me a new book of some sort, whether it was a collection of fairy stories or a copy of Ovid’s Metamorphosis in the original Latin. I treasured them all equally, and would hold them close to me when he was gone and I was lonely, enjoying the scent of the pages. I lived with my aunt and uncle, you see, and wasn’t able to see him much.
He died when I was twelve. I cried a great deal, and it was only Jonathan’s arms around me as we sat on our favorite stone bench in the park that eventually made me stop. Jonathan and I had our first, hesitant, awkward kiss there two years later. Father never met Jonathan, but I think he would have liked him.
I didn’t know my mother very well at all. From the portrait of her that my father showed me, I look almost nothing like her, and inherited only her hair, which, like mine, is dark brown and curls slightly. She was gorgeous, with stunning green eyes and the posture of a Queen. I look more like my father, far more.
I inherited her locket though, a heavy, expensive heirloom with room for a small picture inside. I never wear jewelry, so it was never much use to me. Most of the time it gathered dust at the bottom of a drawer, beneath scraps of paper and pens and notes I’d taken.
Then Jonathan had to go away, on a trip for his job. It was an important opportunity for him, and the first major assignment he had. It was a great honor that he would be trusted like that at only twenty-four. But he would be gone for a long time, and we had just gotten engaged recently. Neither of us were looking forward to the separation.
So I gave him the locket. I put a small picture of myself inside and gave it to him and kissed him and told him I’d write him at least three times a week.
And I hoped that, maybe, for once, my mother might actually end up helping me, in a roundabout way.
But, of course, that’s not the way things happened. They never do. And these days, I really do wish I never gave Jonathan the locket.
I inherited my father’s love of books. He was a bookseller, and whenever he came to visit me, he would bring me a new book of some sort, whether it was a collection of fairy stories or a copy of Ovid’s Metamorphosis in the original Latin. I treasured them all equally, and would hold them close to me when he was gone and I was lonely, enjoying the scent of the pages. I lived with my aunt and uncle, you see, and wasn’t able to see him much.
He died when I was twelve. I cried a great deal, and it was only Jonathan’s arms around me as we sat on our favorite stone bench in the park that eventually made me stop. Jonathan and I had our first, hesitant, awkward kiss there two years later. Father never met Jonathan, but I think he would have liked him.
I didn’t know my mother very well at all. From the portrait of her that my father showed me, I look almost nothing like her, and inherited only her hair, which, like mine, is dark brown and curls slightly. She was gorgeous, with stunning green eyes and the posture of a Queen. I look more like my father, far more.
I inherited her locket though, a heavy, expensive heirloom with room for a small picture inside. I never wear jewelry, so it was never much use to me. Most of the time it gathered dust at the bottom of a drawer, beneath scraps of paper and pens and notes I’d taken.
Then Jonathan had to go away, on a trip for his job. It was an important opportunity for him, and the first major assignment he had. It was a great honor that he would be trusted like that at only twenty-four. But he would be gone for a long time, and we had just gotten engaged recently. Neither of us were looking forward to the separation.
So I gave him the locket. I put a small picture of myself inside and gave it to him and kissed him and told him I’d write him at least three times a week.
And I hoped that, maybe, for once, my mother might actually end up helping me, in a roundabout way.
But, of course, that’s not the way things happened. They never do. And these days, I really do wish I never gave Jonathan the locket.