The Message in the Memory
For quite a few months now, young Seeley Booth had awakened to a different reality than he had once been accustomed. Each morning he'd start awake, as he had for years, and lie perfectly still, listening. Then he'd remember where he was and slowly release the breath he hadn't known he was holding. He heard Jared breathing steadily in the bunk bed below him, untroubled by the instinctive vigilance which had earmarked his older brother's every waking move for years.
(Perhaps this is why, in his young adult future, Seeley would become such a skilled marksman for the military which had cost his family so much. He'd learned infinite patience, how to listen, wait, and evaluate from a stern taskmaster; the need for surviving his father's inebriated rages.
In moments of clarity, Joseph Booth did love his wife and sons. Someday his agonized reaction to the remembered stress of Vietnam would be recognized as PTSD, but in 1978, there was no VA assistance program for shot down Phantom pilots. That Purple Heart in the back of his top bureau drawer gave no relief for persistent headaches. His only therapy was too many bottles of Jack Daniels. And his sons bore the consequences of his drinking.)
Pops had come to their house, found Joe beating his 14-year old son, and rescued his grandsons. It took a while for Seeley to believe they were safe in their grandparents' home. In his first few conscious moments each day, he'd be on guard, then relax, realizing he and Jared were now with Gram and Pops; had been since mid-July. It was December now, he thought to himself. 'No, wait, it's Christmas!"
Seeley sat up in bed, remembering to slouch before his head hit the ceiling. He swung his ever-longer legs over the side of the narrow bunk, barely needing the ladder to reach the floor. He pulled on his robe and quietly left the room, tiptoed down the dim hallway to the stairs and descended, dodging the creaky spots.
He sat down on the brown and gold plaid tweedy couch, feeling its nubby texture through his thin pajama pants. The scent of evergreens filled his nose as he considered the Christmas tree in the living room corner. He started at a sudden click, followed by gurgling, steam, and the aroma of coffee. Gram and Pops used a lamp timer to turn on their Mr. Coffee each morning. Seeley stood up from the couch, walked over and bent down to plug in the Christmas tree's lights.
Then he went into the kitchen and removed two mugs from the cabinet. When the cycle was finished, he filled them with fresh coffee, added milk and Sweet-n-Low to each, and placed them on Gram's a small hammered aluminum serving tray. Carefully ascending the stairs, he pushed open the bedroom door his grandparents had left ajar and walked to their bedside table. He placed the tray on a crocheted doily and tiptoed out of the room.
A half hour later, heavy footfalls sounded overhead, and the stairs creaked as his grandfather descended. "Merry Christmas, Shrimp, how long you been up?" Hank Booth asked his grandson, ruffling his tousled brown hair.
Behind him, Margaret Booth bent to kiss Seeley's forehead. "Merry Christmas, kiddo, have you had any orange juice yet?" she inquired smiling. "Nope, I didn't think so. I'm going to make some chocolate chip pancakes for you two." Gazing out the curtained window, she remarked, "It's a good thing we went to Midnight Mass. The snow is really coming down now. Bet that wind is cold! Hank, relight that fire, why don't you?"
As she turned to leave the room, Seeley spoke. " Grams, can you wait a minute, please?" She sat down on the other side of him. "I want to thank you both so much for helpin' me and Jared. You've sa-" he couldn't continue, choking up a bit.
"Shrimp, it's okay, Son," Pops said quietly placing a muscled arm around Seeley's shoulders and hugging him tightly. His grandmother reached for his hand. "We love you," she said simply.
Booth walked through the Mighty Hut II, checking door locks, and turning out lights. He stooped to unplug the Noble fir beside the fireplace, and took a deep breath of its evergreen scent. So much it brought back, memories flooding his mind. Bones would have some anthropological explanation for why.
"Thanks, Grams and Pops, Merry Christmas, you two. You're first back together in a long time. God, I miss you so much. . . .and love you. You gave me the chance for my life today, with Bones and Christine, and Parker. And your new namesake," he smiled to himself. Then he turned and went upstairs to Bones, and bed.