A/N – Written for 15 Minute Ficlets on LJ. The photo-prompt was www (dot) noahgrey (dot) com/view (dot) php (question mark) p450
Reminiscences
© Scribbler, March 2005
"It's … a tree."
Bumblebee sighed and caught her youngest grandson by his collar, throwing a reply to his elder sister. "Yes, it's a tree. But that ain't the important part."
Stella, short of stature but large of hair, sighed. "Okay, I'll bite. Which part is the important part? The third twig on the fifth branch? The seventy-hundredth leaf? The really bit knothole that looks kind of like an anus in this light?"
Carl stopped trying to fight off his grandmother and pointed. "You said anus!" he giggled in the manner of all seven year old boys.
Stella rolled her eyes in the way all fourteen year olds do to seven year old boys.
"Enough." Bumblebee grabbed both of them by a shoulder and steered them towards the towering oak that dominated the wharf. There was a bench beside it, clearly influenced by Mackintosh in design. On one end sat an old man in sunglasses. The trio parked themselves on the other end. "Now, tell me what y'all can see."
"I see a giant tree," Stella replied. "And I see an afternoon at the mall, with my friends going down the tube."
"I see a booger," Carl added, holding up a finger that had recently been lodged up his nose.
Bumblebee sighed and rummaged in her purse for a tissue. There were days when her grandkids were the best thing ever to come of something she did. But there were also days when she could cheerfully lock them in a big lead box and toss it into the bay. "Your mother's told you how many different times – don't pick your nose, Carl. And that's not what I was talking about. Look at the tree. Tell me what's special about it."
"It's big and boring and keeping me from three hours at Wild Style?"
"Stella." There was a warning note in Bumblebee's voice.
Stella threw up her hands. "Okay, okay. That big 'ol plaque at the bottom."
"Which says?"
"I can't see from here."
"I can!" Carl leapt up, raced over to it and then waved back at them. "Stel, can you help me with the big words, please?"
Stella growled, but mooched across to his side. Bumblebee gave it a moment, then levered herself up and followed. "Well?" she prompted when she reached them.
"This tree was planted in honour of Victor Arnold Stone, known to many as Cyborg, whose nobility, bravery and dignity will live in the hearts of all he met, and the minds of those he didn't," Stella read, voice quiet. "Gram'ma, wasn't Grampa's name - "
"Mm-hm."
"So this tree is where - "
"Yup. He fought Neo Brother Blood."
"Wow."
"What?" Carl's finger was again up his nose.
"Stop that." Stella smacked it away. "Momma told you before."
"Who's Vicki Arnie Stone? He related to us?"
Stella smacked him again, but lightly. "Shut up. That's grampa's name."
"This tree has the same name as Grampa had?"
Bumblebee caught Stella's hand as it arced through the air. Stella looked a little surprised at her grandmother's swiftness. "Don't. He'll get it when he's older." Then she tilted her head back and stared at the forty-three-year-old tree, whose planting she had attended in the form of Lard Woman, bulbous with the late stages of pregnancy.
The branches rustled, and the filtered sunlight reminded her of Victor's smile.
FINIS.