vanilla malt with whipped cream
Author:
hi_falootin
Story: Second Chances
Prompt: Vanilla 18. trouble sleeping + Whipped Cream + Malt
Rating: G
Word count: 644
Notes: Way back when, Kage dared me to write something with Lonnie as a young child. I finally got around to doing it! And partly because of the small-child POV, this is kind of weird for me. But not quite cherry weird.
The first two times he calls for his mother, Gretchin comes in instead, to sit on the foot of his bed and try to soothe him. Lonnie can't sleep.
The first two times he calls for his mother, Gretchin comes in instead, to sit on the foot of his bed and try to soothe him. It doesn't help; even if she sounds a little like Sonja, she's not, she's new, and the fact that she isn't Sonja makes him want to cry.
She's also not his mother.
He beats his fists against the pillows and raises his voice to a scream until Gretchin claps her hands to her ears and hurries away.
Then finally-finally-his mother comes.
She lingers in the doorway, backlit by the hallway lights. She's holding a glass of wine out to one side like she's posing, with her long, dark nails curling around the stem. Her hair is pulled back and piled up and she looks like a magazine-woman. She steps into the room and sets the wine glass on his dresser.
In the glow of his rocket-ship night-light, the painted circle of her lips opens around the words, "What is it?" It sounds tired when she says it, like a sigh. But she doesn't look tired; her eyes are bright like she's flush with the energy from the party downstairs, the party that started after his bedtime.
"What is it?" she asks again. She smoothes the blanket before she sits, perching carefully by his elbow.
His throat feels tight and scratchy. He should ask for water. But instead, he says, "I heard something in my closet."
"Something in your closet?" His mother's eyebrows jump up toward her hairline. "Didn't Gretchin look for you?"
She had. She'd stuck her head into the closet, looked up and down and clucked, "Nothing there!" which he'd remembered because she said her "th"s funny. But he didn't believe she had really looked. He can tell when someone is just humoring him.
He shakes his head for his mother and she makes a little sound of disgust, like she might have to give Gretchin a piece of her mind.
"Look, honey," his mother says. "There's nothing in your closet. No monsters or boogiemen. Nothing. They don't exist."
He pulls the covers up to his chin. "You didn't even look."
"I don't have to look." She pats his chest with a pale hand. Her nails look black, even though he knows they're red. "I know there's nothing in your closet. There's nothing like that period. You're safe."
She seems very sure. He should feel better. But there's still an ache right in the center of his chest, a fear sitting just under his ribs. What if what if what if... What if he dies?
"What about angels?"
His mother looks surprised again, but only for a second. Then she's smiling her small, serene smile. "Angels?"
"Sonja told me there were angels watching over me." He hadn't thought about it much before, but here in the dark, the idea of something constantly watching him is a bit scary. "Are there really angels?"
His mother is smiling still, biting her lower lip. When she sees that he's serious, she pretends to cough, and when she lifts her face, her expression is graver. "I don't think so, honey," she says. "It's only you and me in this room. Just the two of us."
No monsters, no angels, no nothing.
"What about God?"
She pats his arm. "Probably not."
What do you ask after that? Nothing. He looks down at the bedspread, at the familiar blue and red checkers.
"You're safe," his mother says again. She leans over him as if she's going to kiss him then stops. She smoothes the hair back from his forehead instead and gives his shoulder a squeeze.
"Now go back to sleep," she says. She stands, retrieves the wine glass, and she's gone.
As the door closes behind her, he stares up at the smooth, blank ceiling thinking I'm alone. Alone.
After I wrote this I was like arrggh, this scenario is soooo overdone. But hopefully it wasn't a total predictable snooze. This was the first time I really thought hard about Lonnie's mother, so it was, at the least, helpful to me XD
hi_falootin
Story: Second Chances
Prompt: Vanilla 18. trouble sleeping + Whipped Cream + Malt
Rating: G
Word count: 644
Notes: Way back when, Kage dared me to write something with Lonnie as a young child. I finally got around to doing it! And partly because of the small-child POV, this is kind of weird for me. But not quite cherry weird.
The first two times he calls for his mother, Gretchin comes in instead, to sit on the foot of his bed and try to soothe him. Lonnie can't sleep.
The first two times he calls for his mother, Gretchin comes in instead, to sit on the foot of his bed and try to soothe him. It doesn't help; even if she sounds a little like Sonja, she's not, she's new, and the fact that she isn't Sonja makes him want to cry.
She's also not his mother.
He beats his fists against the pillows and raises his voice to a scream until Gretchin claps her hands to her ears and hurries away.
Then finally-finally-his mother comes.
She lingers in the doorway, backlit by the hallway lights. She's holding a glass of wine out to one side like she's posing, with her long, dark nails curling around the stem. Her hair is pulled back and piled up and she looks like a magazine-woman. She steps into the room and sets the wine glass on his dresser.
In the glow of his rocket-ship night-light, the painted circle of her lips opens around the words, "What is it?" It sounds tired when she says it, like a sigh. But she doesn't look tired; her eyes are bright like she's flush with the energy from the party downstairs, the party that started after his bedtime.
"What is it?" she asks again. She smoothes the blanket before she sits, perching carefully by his elbow.
His throat feels tight and scratchy. He should ask for water. But instead, he says, "I heard something in my closet."
"Something in your closet?" His mother's eyebrows jump up toward her hairline. "Didn't Gretchin look for you?"
She had. She'd stuck her head into the closet, looked up and down and clucked, "Nothing there!" which he'd remembered because she said her "th"s funny. But he didn't believe she had really looked. He can tell when someone is just humoring him.
He shakes his head for his mother and she makes a little sound of disgust, like she might have to give Gretchin a piece of her mind.
"Look, honey," his mother says. "There's nothing in your closet. No monsters or boogiemen. Nothing. They don't exist."
He pulls the covers up to his chin. "You didn't even look."
"I don't have to look." She pats his chest with a pale hand. Her nails look black, even though he knows they're red. "I know there's nothing in your closet. There's nothing like that period. You're safe."
She seems very sure. He should feel better. But there's still an ache right in the center of his chest, a fear sitting just under his ribs. What if what if what if... What if he dies?
"What about angels?"
His mother looks surprised again, but only for a second. Then she's smiling her small, serene smile. "Angels?"
"Sonja told me there were angels watching over me." He hadn't thought about it much before, but here in the dark, the idea of something constantly watching him is a bit scary. "Are there really angels?"
His mother is smiling still, biting her lower lip. When she sees that he's serious, she pretends to cough, and when she lifts her face, her expression is graver. "I don't think so, honey," she says. "It's only you and me in this room. Just the two of us."
No monsters, no angels, no nothing.
"What about God?"
She pats his arm. "Probably not."
What do you ask after that? Nothing. He looks down at the bedspread, at the familiar blue and red checkers.
"You're safe," his mother says again. She leans over him as if she's going to kiss him then stops. She smoothes the hair back from his forehead instead and gives his shoulder a squeeze.
"Now go back to sleep," she says. She stands, retrieves the wine glass, and she's gone.
As the door closes behind her, he stares up at the smooth, blank ceiling thinking I'm alone. Alone.
After I wrote this I was like arrggh, this scenario is soooo overdone. But hopefully it wasn't a total predictable snooze. This was the first time I really thought hard about Lonnie's mother, so it was, at the least, helpful to me XD