Title: Sand Igloo
Author: Naisumi
Rating: PG
Pairings: None
Disclaimer: Still not mine, still not rich, still not famous. Damn.
Spoilers: Uh. ... ... Yes :D Alex's very existence.
Warnings: Uberangst and ubersymbolism. :D Uberangst mostly because you know things the characters don't >.O But...yes. If you don't know anything about Scott or his plane ride, then ignore this. You'll just be like, "Aww. *warm and fuzzy*" Oh, and first person Scott is featured.
Notes: This fic is set when Scott was a wee little boy. It's happy. Until you get to the end because you know what happens next. *coughs* Anyways, dedicated to the lovely Mor! *HUGS* MERRY BELATED CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY NEW YEAR'S! I meant to finish that other fic, but then I got stuck. Now it's 5:03 in the morning, I haven't slept, and I just finished this. Whee!
Additional Notes: KaZAAM!
Enjoy and Review!!!...please?
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It's kind of breezy out and I close my eyes to rest them. I've been squinting out over the ocean for a while, trying to see if we're really far out from land or just a little. It makes my eyes tired to do that because the water's reflecting the daylight so brightly you might as well be staring into the sun. I've learned a trick, though, for looking at the ocean when it's so bright out: you can just look down at the patch of water closest to you and then you can see. Sometimes looking too far ahead is word, you see. That's what Mom always says.
In the summer, the sand gets awfully hot under your feet, so I prefer to be out on the boat. Plus, it's kind of calming, the way it moves every time you do--like a game. "Follow the leader." I also like being on the boat because the ocean's actually very pretty; it's all blue and shiny in places, and you can see all kinds of fish and stuff if you look close enough and long enough. Once, I saw a whale, but not for long, because then it went back down under water. I like looking at fish even if I do like the elephants better at the zoo. That's okay, though, because I can come here to see fish and I can go to the zoo to see elephants and other animals. That's called "prioritizing," which is what Dad does a lot. He told me that it's very, very important, young man.
Alex likes it out on the water, too. He's younger than me; I'm 7 and I'm almost 8, but he's not. He can get a little annoying, especially when he calls shotgun before I do, but he's my little brother, so I guess that's okay. He's smart enough, too, because he likes being out on the ocean. He gets it from Mom; we both do.
Dad hates it on water. He says he likes it better on the beach or in the air. My dad's really smart; he flies planes and stuff. He showed me lots of them back home, but he hasn't shown Alex any. He says Alex isn't responsible enough and he's right. Alex broke my Spiderman action figure. He's not responsible at all. Anyway, Dad hates it on the ocean but Mom loves it. Mom used to be from Michigan, I think, or somewhere like that. Maybe Seattle. Or Maryland. I don't remember. She likes fish but she doesn't like fishing. She says she'd rather look at fish than eat them, but sometimes you've got to. I guess those times when you don't have to eat fish are when you're home, because you've got to eat fish when you're at the beach, you've just got to. That's what Dad says. So we always do. Mom lets Dad do what he wants when he wants something that bad, but I don't think she likes it. She hates seafood, even tuna. I like tuna. I feel sort of bad when we eat fish, though, especially with all the bones and stuff. It kind of reminds you that it used to be alive. Alex doesn't mind much, though, because he doesn't worry about stuff like that. He's kind of like Dad.
We always go to the beach every year. I get seashells and sand dollars every time, too. Mom says she'll give me 5 cents for every shell or sand dollar I give her. She's an artist and she likes to make collages out of beach stuff. "Collage" is an art word. It's when you put a bunch of stuff together to make one big thing. It's neat to look at, which is why I like getting those shells for her, not because of the 5 cents. There isn't much I want to buy, anyway, except maybe a new pair of sunglasses. Alex threw a ball at me when I wasn't paying attention and broke them.
I have 9 shells right now and 9 times 5 is 45. That means I'll get 45 cents. I'm very good at math. Mrs. Gregory, my math teacher, says I'm a "supersleuth." I don't know what that is, but it sounds weird. Teachers always use weird words to describe you. I think they ought to say you're good at something if you're good at something instead of saying you're excellent or fabulous or a supersleuth. I'm very good at multiplying, anyway. I can't divide, though. Dad's teaching me how. He says I could fly planes like he does when I grow up. I think that'd be cool; I love planes. They're very cool with all their controls and stuff. I think the coolest thing would be to fly planes. Dad let me in one of the airplanes' cockpits once--that's an air force word for the place the pilot sits--because he said I was responsible and I could sit still and I won't touch anything I'm not supposed to. Dad says you ought to never touch anything when you don't know what it does, but Dad's very smart. He knows what everything does.
I sat very still in the cockpit. I'm very good at that; once I didn't move for 20 whole minutes. I was watching Mom paint and she was very impressed. Then she asked me to get her the other palette. I bet I could've sat for longer, though. Mom uses two palettes--a dark one and a light one. "Palette" is an art word for where you put all the paint. It's shaped kind of funny--almost like a bean. Alex thought it was a Frisbee when he saw it and he wanted to play with it, but I said no, Alex, that's Mom's palette, which is the art word for where you put all the paint. Alex doesn't know much about art and stuff. He's very interested in planes, like I am, but he doesn't know much about that either. I tried to teach him, but he got kind of bored. That made me mad, but I'm not mad anymore. I don't think I stay mad very much, and Mom says that that's a good thing. She says I can hold a "grudge," though. That's the fancy word for when you stay mad at someone for a long time. Like, once, Steve, my classmate, said that Mom's paintings stunk, which means that he thought they were bad. Mom says it's okay to think something is bad, but you oughtn't be mean about it, and Steve was being mean. I yelled at him and I got in some trouble, but that's okay. Mom said it was very sweet of me but don't you think you ought to apologize? I didn't want to apologize, but Dad made me. I'm still kind of mad at him, though. I think that Steve is a dork. That means that I think he's not cool and he's annoying. I guess that means that I have a grudge against Steve or something. He's dumb, anyway.
The thing that Mom loves painting the most--absolutely, is the word she always uses; "Why don't we go? Oh, absolutely!"--is the ocean. She loves painting the seagulls and stuff, too. Alex and I were going to catch one. We had some bread for bait and everything, but it flew away without even eating any of it. Alex said that maybe we ought to put some jam or something on it so that it likes it better, but I told him that we could get any jam here, so we tried some seafood. The seagull didn't like that, either, and neither did a lot of the other ones, so we left it there. I was kind of disappointed, though, because I wanted to get one for Mom, so that it can pose for her when she paints. "Pose" is an art word that means you sit still and let someone paint you and you're not supposed to move even if your ear itches or you have to sneeze. Mom had all of us pose for her once, and Alex got tired so he stood up and said he wanted to go play. I got kind of mad because you're supposed to not move, but Mom said it was okay because she could draw him from memory and she already had a sketch. Mom's very talented like that.
Mom always sets up her easel by the shore--that's where the ocean kind of goes up on the sand and makes everything wet--so she can see everything clearly and so she can paint everything accurately. She says that accuracy is very important when you're trying to be real, which means you have to get everything right. Dad and Mom are very different, but that's one thing they have that is the same, or similar. They both think accuracy is very important, but Mom just think it's important some of the time. Dad says it's important all the time, but Mom laughed and told me it was just because of his job that Dad said that. Dad can be bossy sometimes, but that's okay, because he's our dad and he's supposed to be like that. He's very bossy of me especially, and not as much with Alex. I feel kind of mad sometimes, but Mom told me that it was because he thought I was very responsible and that I ought to try to take advantage of a lot of it. To take advantage of something means to make the most of it, so I guess what he means is that I ought to try to get as much done because I'm responsible, so I guess that's okay. Especially if I get to fly planes some day, like Dad does. That'd be the coolest thing ever.
What's even better than the beach and ocean in the day is when you go out at night. Mom painted a picture of the moon rising over the ocean once, and it was the coolest thing ever. Mom's very good at drawing and painting and stuff, because she's an artist. I saw the moon rising once, too, and it was very pretty. Not as pretty as Mom's picture of it, because whenever Mom draws something, it always looks better than it really is, but it was very pretty. The ocean was kind of black and the moon was very yellow and made the waves kind of yellow, too, at places. It's very calming when you go to the beach at night. Alex and I wanted to go once to see if we could look at the stars from there, but Mom and Dad wanted to go alone. Mom was very happy when they came back and so was Dad. I asked Mom why she was so happy and she said that it was very romantic on the beach. I think that adults are very silly sometimes, which means that they do kind of dumb things but it's okay. It makes them happy, I guess, and Alex and I do very silly things, too. Like once, I thought that it would be okay to leave a box of Popsicles out on the front steps when it was sunny out, but everything melted. Mom wasn't mad, but she said that I oughtn't do that again. And guess what? I haven't. I was 5 when that happened. I was very silly. Alex is sillier, though, because he tried to climb a tree without shoes on and he fell and broke his arm. Mom wasn't mad about that either, but Dad said that he oughtn't do that, especially since he could've gotten hurt. Dad gets mad when he's worried. Mom says that he's not really mad, but he seems like it. That's okay, I guess.
We always stay at the beach for two or three weeks. It's very relaxing, Mom says, and she gets a lot of paintings and pictures done. Sometimes, she uses charcoal, which is the art word for chalk that is black and very, very messy. I used some once and I didn't like it. It's not as fun as paint, either. We fingerpainted once in first grade and, even though it was messy, I liked it. It felt kind of cool--all oozy and squishy and almost cold. It was like water and Jell-O all mixed together, only not as slippery. That was a long time ago, though, because I'm in third grade now and I'm not too sure whether or not I'd like fingerpainting now. I'm a lot older. I was 6 when that happened, and I'm almost 8 now.
Dad says that this is our hideout, but I think he's kind of kidding. I've seen some other people around here and everything, but I guess since Dad didn't say that it was secret, there can be other people here. The word "secret" makes all the difference, you see. It means that no one else but you is allowed in, not even your friends. Your family is, because it's yours and it'd be kind of weird if you couldn't tell them, but no one else. It's special like that, you see. No one else can get in. It's like a clubhouse. You wouldn't let anyone into your secret clubhouse, would you? Anyways, it's like that. It's like we'll always be warm and safe here, because it's our hideout, and I like it that way. I want it to be like that forever, and I almost kind of wish we could stay here instead of going back home. But we ought to, says Dad, because a hideout isn't a hideout unless you go back home and then you come back. I guess that's okay, then. I can't wait for the plane ride back next year. By then, I'll be 8.
~fin~