(no subject)
Pairing: None
Date Written: January 28, 2002
Notes: Original historical fiction. Unfinished.
The first time I saw my father was also the last time I saw Sam. They appeared on Nana's driveway one day as though by magic through the fog. I remember Poppa carrying me in his arms outside in a great hurry before we came upon two men. One was very tall and the other very short, one very light and one very dark. An odder pair than I had ever seen. The taller one immediately embraced Nana while the shorter one hung back and looked awkward, holding his lone suitcase with two hands.
It was the shorter one that I was more interested in. His dark eyes shone much like the onyx I had once spied in Nana's jewelry box and reminded me too of something that I couldn't quite place my finger on. The way he stared at me, as though he knew me, confused me greatly. For I had seen neither of the two men in all my seven years.
Although the taller one did bear a striking resemblance to Poppa, complete with wild, curly dark hair. Though Poppa's was starting to turn gray with age. Their stature was much the same as well. Tall with muscles born of hard work.
Looking down toward the taller one's feet, it was then that I noticed that he carried with him a strangely shaped case. It looked like two overlapped circles with a long neck at the end of one of them and was covered in drawings. They were strange drawings too. Oddly shaped stars and then the words: "Chicago or Bust."
"Well," Poppa barked, his voice rough after years of working in the coalmines.
"Sir," the taller one nodded at him.
"Oh James!" Nana admonished her husband. She took me from his arms and cuddled me close before frowning and ordering, "He's your son, hug him for Pete's sake!"
Poppa grumbled something under his breath but moved forward and quickly embraced the taller man. The shorter one still stood awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot.
"And just who would this be?" Poppa asked as he stepped back, nodding towards the shorter man.
"That's Sam," was all the tall man said.
"Hello, Sam," Nana greeted. "Staying for supper?"
"No, ma'am," Sam said quietly. "I thank you kindly for the offer."
Sam's voice was deep yet soft, making almost a perfect match to his size and demeanor. He smiled at Nana and tipped his worn, checkered hat to Poppa before turning back down the driveway. I watched him go, squinting in the darkness after him as the adults chattered away. Soon he disappeared around the bend and was lost to me.
That night I learned from Nana that the tall man was not just her son, but my father. I was quite confused as I had always though of Nana and Poppa as my parents. Although I did wonder why none of the other children had parents so old and graying.
Of course, where my father had been all this time or why he had left was never explained to me. I was tucked into bed before I could even begin to ask any questions, but I could still hear the adults talking long into the night.
"Why don't you let her walk on her own?" I heard my father inquire.
"Her legs are weak," Poppa answered gruffly.
That much I knew to be true. I had once heard Nana say that I had been a hard birth and was born too soon. Even when I had begun to walk on unsteady legs, I was still carried everywhere, much like an infant. I never saw anything wrong with that until I began to go to school. There I was with braces strapped to my legs, hardly able to walk more than a few steps without difficulty while the other children ran around without a care in the world.
The children were cruel too and often kicked at my braces, causing me to stumble and fall. Though I refused to tell Nana or Poppa that. I think they believed that I was just quite the klutz, always coming home with my dresses stained with grass or torn by the gravel in the road.
"Have you ever let her walk on her own even?" father was saying now.
"Who are you to ask?" Poppa answered rather sharply.
"James!" Nana cried out.
"Hush now, Dorothy," Poppa admonished. "Thomas gave the care of that child up to us and he ain't got no business interfering with her well-being at this point!"
"You never even mentioned her name," father said softly, so softly that I barely heard him through the wall.
"That no-account wife of yours named her Sorrow, I've never heard such nonsense--"
"James, the child!" Nana cried out again.
"Anyway," Poppa continued, only slightly lowering his voice, "we've always called her Violet on account of that being her middle name, after my mother, God rest her soul."
"Amen," father said but it didn't sound the least bit sincere. "I'd wish you'd think as kindly on my wife."
"Mind your manners," Poppa admonished. "Besides, she was one of those no-account Mathesons, and everyone knows they're nothing but trouble."
This was all very confusing to me. I had never known my mother nor any of her kin. All Nana ever let on was that her name had been Sarah and that she had died in childbirth.
"I'll not have you speak of my wife that way," father nearly growled.
The room became silent for a long time after that. Then there was the soft shuffling of feet and the loud slamming of doors before the crickets chirping outside my window became the only sound.
Date Written: January 28, 2002
Notes: Original historical fiction. Unfinished.
The first time I saw my father was also the last time I saw Sam. They appeared on Nana's driveway one day as though by magic through the fog. I remember Poppa carrying me in his arms outside in a great hurry before we came upon two men. One was very tall and the other very short, one very light and one very dark. An odder pair than I had ever seen. The taller one immediately embraced Nana while the shorter one hung back and looked awkward, holding his lone suitcase with two hands.
It was the shorter one that I was more interested in. His dark eyes shone much like the onyx I had once spied in Nana's jewelry box and reminded me too of something that I couldn't quite place my finger on. The way he stared at me, as though he knew me, confused me greatly. For I had seen neither of the two men in all my seven years.
Although the taller one did bear a striking resemblance to Poppa, complete with wild, curly dark hair. Though Poppa's was starting to turn gray with age. Their stature was much the same as well. Tall with muscles born of hard work.
Looking down toward the taller one's feet, it was then that I noticed that he carried with him a strangely shaped case. It looked like two overlapped circles with a long neck at the end of one of them and was covered in drawings. They were strange drawings too. Oddly shaped stars and then the words: "Chicago or Bust."
"Well," Poppa barked, his voice rough after years of working in the coalmines.
"Sir," the taller one nodded at him.
"Oh James!" Nana admonished her husband. She took me from his arms and cuddled me close before frowning and ordering, "He's your son, hug him for Pete's sake!"
Poppa grumbled something under his breath but moved forward and quickly embraced the taller man. The shorter one still stood awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot.
"And just who would this be?" Poppa asked as he stepped back, nodding towards the shorter man.
"That's Sam," was all the tall man said.
"Hello, Sam," Nana greeted. "Staying for supper?"
"No, ma'am," Sam said quietly. "I thank you kindly for the offer."
Sam's voice was deep yet soft, making almost a perfect match to his size and demeanor. He smiled at Nana and tipped his worn, checkered hat to Poppa before turning back down the driveway. I watched him go, squinting in the darkness after him as the adults chattered away. Soon he disappeared around the bend and was lost to me.
That night I learned from Nana that the tall man was not just her son, but my father. I was quite confused as I had always though of Nana and Poppa as my parents. Although I did wonder why none of the other children had parents so old and graying.
Of course, where my father had been all this time or why he had left was never explained to me. I was tucked into bed before I could even begin to ask any questions, but I could still hear the adults talking long into the night.
"Why don't you let her walk on her own?" I heard my father inquire.
"Her legs are weak," Poppa answered gruffly.
That much I knew to be true. I had once heard Nana say that I had been a hard birth and was born too soon. Even when I had begun to walk on unsteady legs, I was still carried everywhere, much like an infant. I never saw anything wrong with that until I began to go to school. There I was with braces strapped to my legs, hardly able to walk more than a few steps without difficulty while the other children ran around without a care in the world.
The children were cruel too and often kicked at my braces, causing me to stumble and fall. Though I refused to tell Nana or Poppa that. I think they believed that I was just quite the klutz, always coming home with my dresses stained with grass or torn by the gravel in the road.
"Have you ever let her walk on her own even?" father was saying now.
"Who are you to ask?" Poppa answered rather sharply.
"James!" Nana cried out.
"Hush now, Dorothy," Poppa admonished. "Thomas gave the care of that child up to us and he ain't got no business interfering with her well-being at this point!"
"You never even mentioned her name," father said softly, so softly that I barely heard him through the wall.
"That no-account wife of yours named her Sorrow, I've never heard such nonsense--"
"James, the child!" Nana cried out again.
"Anyway," Poppa continued, only slightly lowering his voice, "we've always called her Violet on account of that being her middle name, after my mother, God rest her soul."
"Amen," father said but it didn't sound the least bit sincere. "I'd wish you'd think as kindly on my wife."
"Mind your manners," Poppa admonished. "Besides, she was one of those no-account Mathesons, and everyone knows they're nothing but trouble."
This was all very confusing to me. I had never known my mother nor any of her kin. All Nana ever let on was that her name had been Sarah and that she had died in childbirth.
"I'll not have you speak of my wife that way," father nearly growled.
The room became silent for a long time after that. Then there was the soft shuffling of feet and the loud slamming of doors before the crickets chirping outside my window became the only sound.