~o*oOo*o~
Hello, my dears. Since I've been an angst fairy for some time, here is something…well, still angsty but hopefully more….hopeful. O-o Uh, yeah. I needs a thesaurus because my word box is a-shrinkin'. This story may also be a little on the pathetic side, but hopefully the fluff outweighs the mind-blowing horribleness.
I hope you enjoy.
~o*oOo*o~
The auditorium was filling up fast with people, most of whom were dressed in their Sunday best, adjusting oversized cameras and cheerfully arguing with each other as they looked for a good spot to watch and shoot photos.
Feeling both very small and very too big all at once in here, a quiet man with a prominent Slavic nose glanced at his hands and then at his watch, his strangely soft and infantile countenance a contrast to his great height, which was evident even as he sat. A woman came to sit in the chair behind him, scowled, and moved over a few seats, shaking her head as if it were his fault the man were so tall.
His skin was pale and his hands were white and thick with callouses and old scars. His hair were silver, though his tired face was still young.
His name was Ivan, and Ivan dared glance behind him, watching as a large party of guests entered a row and awkwardly maneuvered their way around those who had shrank back into their seats or were standing as to help them slip past. Everyone was bearing a handsomely wrapped parcel of some kind, a woman carrying a video camera in one hand and bearing an oversized teddy bear in the other.
Bowing his head and turning to face the stage again, Ivan unwrapped his disposable camera from inside his coat, hoping that over the noise no one would hear the crinkle of tinfoil.
Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, having the entire first row to himself and not noticing that several people were glancing at him, wishing he would move, he glanced at the homemade bouquet sitting beside him as to not crumple it with his hands. It was probably a little tacky, bringing flowers from your own window box to someone's graduation, but there hadn't been time to rush to the florist as he'd planned. Besides, his son probably wouldn't care, and Ivan would make up for it by getting him a little something extra later on today .
Still, that wasn't to say he didn't feel out of place here. The gently swaying curtains in front of him were dark red velvet, marked with the school crest and motto in silver-white threading. The bit of visible stage floor shone, smelling of fresh beeswax, and the lights on top were ornamented with row upon row of fresh flowers.
The ends of the maroon plush chairs were strung with ribbons and additional flowers, all tastefully arranged. There certainly hadn't been such a show for his high school graduation, or for his wedding, as a matter of fact.
The graduation program that set on his lap was eloquently designed, on expensive and heavy paper decorated with a little tassel. He played with it for a moment before glancing down at his uniform and muddy old boots, a little ashamed. There had been no time to change into his one suit at home because he'd only been able to get a half day off today. What a pathetic picture he must make.
There was a little lull in all the conversation around him and Ivan glanced up; the curtains were swinging open and a second later, a man was approaching the glossy podium on stage, smiling broadly. Some polite applause and hand-waving from the audience, a drawn out speech Ivan heard but didn't really listen to from the headmaster, a title that sounded infinitely classier than principal.
After the speech everyone craned their necks to look at at the rear door of the theater, some glimpsing curious and shy, giggly faces peeking back at them. A kindly-looking woman came to join the headmaster in reading the names, each using a different means of communication.
A little girl walked down one the aisles, beaming and positively aglow. Smiling for the first time he arrived, Ivan politely waved his hands at her, as did everyone else, the auditorium quiet pardoning for the electronic snap of a camera going off and the occasional squeak from the microphone as names continued to echo each time the previous child reached the stage, the woman guiding them into two lines.
But when Alfred's name was called and a familiar little boy appeared, Ivan flapped his hands wildly enough that it looked like he were trying to take flight, smile improving to a grin as he stood up, heart swelling with pride. Forgetting the dignified trot of his classmates maybe halfway down the room, the little yellow-haired child ran the rest of the way to the stage, hat falling off and he ran to pick it up again, amidst loud laughter and cheers.
When Alfred did join his classmates in their slightly crooked rows, he glanced around the room until he saw his father, tassel dangling in his eyes. Smiling so that his nose wrinkled and his azure eyes twinkled and went narrow at the ends, he waved and Ivan gave a little wave back, his hand wrapping around the small item he had in his lap.
As the rest of the names were read, the man closed his eyes and sank back against the seat, very tired but very pleased, his spirits soaring like a kite caught in an updraft, an integral thread from Earth keeping him from whirling out of control, out of sight.
~*oOo*~
Ivan wasn't certain when he'd had the first suspicion of his child being somewhat different. Maybe it was five years ago when he and his wife first came home from the hospital, when an exhausted Emily sank onto the sofa and, without thinking, cranked up the stereo.
Having just gotten their newborn to sleep, both of them immediately froze, expecting cries to emanate from the room beside them and finding to their relief that none came. The breathing that came from the baby monitor Ivan carried everywhere was consistent and peaceful and it made him relieved, as well as a little amused. It seemed (to his great relief) the baby just so happened to be quite a sound sleeper.
The baby certainly woke up several times during the night, hungry or in need of a change, but otherwise Emily could run the vacuum cleaner during one of Alfred's afternoon naps or noisy construction equipment could bleep, buzz and wail outside and he would sleep unmolested. His wife joked that it came from her side of the family and Ivan did not doubt it, considering her grandfather had slept through the Pearl Harbor attack whilst being stationed there.
Even during the ruckus at Emily's relatives' home at Thanksgiving (few things were quite so noisy as giving a bunch of rednecks a football game, booze, and a chainsaw for a turkey not-quite thawed), Alfred was all smiles and happy gurgles at the faces that crowded around him and fell asleep against Ivan's shoulder whilst several hillbillies yipped and overturned card tables.
(Despite Alfred's ease in napping whilst Ivan's in-laws played beer pong and shot cans and squirrels out back, Ivan pleaded that the baby really needed to rest someplace quiet, and so stayed outside in the car with Alfred for about an hour and a half.)
Being an incredibly shy and reclusive person, he'd never expected to be married, let alone to have a family, but he learned with some tremendous joy one amazing day that he would indeed have both, even if there was a gun unnecessarily pressing into his back while the two were read their vows.
"Daddy, really, Ivan said he'd-"
"Shaddup, baby. I ain't breathin' free till yer Russki signs that form."
In appearance, the baby took after Emily and that was fine, more than fine, because whilst Ivan could argue most other infants were over-romanticized, grunting sacks of flesh that made him feel more than a little uncomfortable given their…fragility, Alfred was exquisite, a marvel of creation. Emily dryly suggested that maybe Ivan wouldn't be so fascinated if he had to clean spit-up six or seven times a day, but the novelty of watching and holding the baby hardly waned after several weeks.
His eyes were large and joyful; he snuffled and giggled at the most inopportune moments, never failing to elicit a sort of baffled grin from passerby, the throaty and bubbling laughter contagious.
Restless, he was constantly twitching and kicking, even in his sleep (Emily claimed it during her pregnancy as a source of unending grief), his soft skin peach-dusted and rosy. As a newborn he fit in one of Ivan's hands perfectly, and his wheat-colored hair grew shining and thick over his tiny head, which Ivan peppered with kisses as he swayed back and forth on his feet at night, waiting for Alfred's cries to fade.
Ivan threw himself into his work, even taking a silly, savage pleasure in the mundane repetition though it was discouraging to return to being a garbage man after his three-day paternity leave expired. He would have liked to have been an astronomer, but he hadn't been able to afford college and even if he had been, there would have been the baby to think of. Emily had been showing just a little when they received their high school diplomas.
The same day he returned pictures of he, Emily, and Alfred littered the front of truck in which Ivan worked, and even his manager had complimented the photos—nothing prettier than a healthy baby, he'd said, and Ivan flushed with pride.
But though Alfred had a voraciously good appetite and at nine months was already trying to hoist himself up on quivering legs by clutching his parents' hands or furniture, he had yet to say anything even on the happy occasion he turned one.
"I wouldn't worry about it," His older sister told him sagely when Ivan sought her counsel, smiling wanly as her own little Ivan was chased by his cousin Alex around the apartment, both boys wielding plastic light sabers. "Little girls tend to develop faster than boys do—you were a very quiet baby yourself, Vanya, and while you'd point to things or nod, you didn't say much until you were nearing two."
This alleviated his fears somewhat, and the many guide books he had confirmed what she said to a degree. So while he waited anxiously to hear the baby say "Papa" or "Daddy," and swore Emily to call him the moment Alfred said anything—he continued to come home at the end of each day, tired but pleased when Alfred toddled eagerly to him, blathering nonsense. He'd scoop the child up and shortly after it would be time for supper, the boy slowly being weaned from milk to solid foods, which he often dumped over his head, cackling maniacally.
It was when Alfred was eighteen months even Emily was getting a little concerned, though she tried to don a mask of indifferent bravado to hide it. Ivan could see the worry in her eyes whenever she called out Alfred's name and the boy didn't at least look up. And while their child liked to look at television, his interest didn't last very long and he now squinted at the moving mouths of the cartoon characters with something akin to confusion.
He continually not only baby-babbled, but made lots of other strange keening and whistling and grunting noises. Those were common, the books Ivan took out by the truckload at the library assured him, but though he and Emily tried over and over again to make Alfred verbalize what he wanted, the boy would simply look blankly at them and point again. Alfred was good at pointing, though when his parents gently prodded him for a spoken answer, still holding the desired item aloft, their child burst into frustrated tears, flipping his head back and forth and squealing in distress.
While Emily was all for not sparing the rod, Ivan would immediately give in after that, puzzled as to why Alfred had yet to learn even little words, like 'No' or 'Hello' or 'Apple.' 'No' was something his little sister's son had learned to say very early, before he was even one year old. Aside from a few noises every now and again, Alfred remained silent and largely unresponsive to things like the doorbell or to his or Emily's repeated warnings when the child approached dangerous objects or was up to some mischief. He (usually) obeyed when touched and given stern looks, but didn't respond to greetings or admonishments.
In Alfred's routine checkups the doctors announced him healthy as a horse, but Ivan began lying awake even when his child slowly began sleeping longer and longer nights, his mind running over dreadful scenarios in which, well….
It seemed almost an insult to his golden, laughing little prince to consider it, but of course it would be no fault of his own—Ivan imagined discovering Alfred was different. Perhaps he had an intellectual disability.
Tracing back his roots in Russia made him realize he had a family history of mental illness, and the idea of that being Alfred's life made him cold, at a loss as to what to do. Liking to be prepared for things, he even wrote down in a notebook how he thought he would react in certain scenarios, given certain diagnoses.
Maybe he was just being a typical, fretful parent, but what if the child had an illness, even? You read about these things and saw documentaries about children with Down Syndrome and—
He'd turn over, so deep in thought that he sometimes missed the fact that his angel's calm sleep-mumbling beside him was absent and she too, was gazing at the ceiling, uncertain as to what to think.
The woman was obviously worried as Alfred neared two and still had yet to say a word, but she'd grown up in a family where to notice an anomaly was the same as announcing a defect and would sooner tear someone apart than say such things about her son. But at last Ivan prevailed upon Emily to take Alfred to a specialist.
And so, the appointment that was emphasized "just to be safe" over and over again was made, and they met with a smiling, honey-haired pediatrician named Dr. Héderváry, who allowed Alfred to play with some toys in her office while she surveyed him thoughtfully. Ivan twitched in the too-small plastic chair, not liking how she was looking Alfred over with a clipboard like he was some kind of fascinating experiment; thankfully the woman was more professional than unkind.
She cheerfully tried to talk with Alfred from a distance, but the boy continued playing with wooden beads and blocks strung on a series of wires without glancing up. When she got his attention by touching his arm the Hungarian woman offered him a toy maraca to play with but he quickly lost interest, so he toddled around the room until he walked directly into the bookshelf, falling flat on his bottom and crying. Ivan made to get up, but for whatever reason she gestured at him to wait. A second later Alfred had gotten to his feet, only to make the same unhappy accident and hit his head again. This was a recurring incident at home, one of the reasons Ivan had worried the boy might have coordination problems.
Alfred was hastily taken next door to the optometrist's, where after an examination it was ruled that he was farsighted and needed a glasses prescription. Emily was also farsighted, so Ivan felt a little better. Still, poor vision didn't really explain why their son wouldn't speak.
Apparently the doctor felt the same; after shepherding them back to her office, the look in Dr. Héderváry's eyes grew gradually more serious as she asked both parents to tell Alfred goodbye and leave the room. It was only when the woman prodded Alfred to look up that he noticed his parents were missing.
He started crying again, and Ivan rushed back in there at once. The Hungarian doctor asked him to call Alfred's name, and he did, but the child didn't respond until he saw his father, scurrying for a hug and a kiss.
The doctor suggested that they run a series of tests for OAE, or…otoacoustic emissions or something like that. Judging by Emily's baffled look, she hadn't understood what those were, either.
What followed afterward was that Alfred was given a small sedative to keep him relaxed, and to Emily and Ivan's growing dread, a little spongy transmitter was inserted into his ear canal to make certain sounds. Dr. Héderváry said she was screening for an "echo" response in the ear, as normally-functioning ears typically had one after a sound passed through them, making certain hairs twitch like satellites. Not the slightest response from their child.
They immediately followed up with an audiologist who confirmed that Alfred's hearing range was a definite zero on the scale. In lieu of modern science coming with some sort of miracle, there was nothing that could be done to repair his hearing. He was completely deaf, and likely would be for the rest of his life.
Ivan thought of the notebook and how it needed to be burned later on.
His distraught wife was assured over and over again that it wasn't her fault, nothing she ate or didn't eat during pregnancy could have caused this—and Ivan was handed pamphlet after cheesy pamphlet assuring him that his son could live a normal life. All the man could think about were the times he'd sang Alfred to sleep or played Mozart because he heard that it apparently promoted baby IQ or some nonsense.
Alfred would never hear a song or his parents' voices. His own, for that matter. The voice of someone who fell in love with him.
The moment they got into their car, Alfred blissfully tapping his light up shoes together and enjoying a sucker, the woman sitting next to him hid her blotchy eyes behind her hands, suppressing a moan of misery. Ivan gripped the steering wheel so hard his hands hurt.
He wouldn't hear the fire alarm going off in case of an emergency. The idea made Ivan's blood run cold. He wouldn't know the sound of a speeding car or the tweeting of a bird or the sound of an organ or laughter or a joke or a cry of warning.
He'd never hear an 'I love you,' never the sound of a bell clanging in the distance or the wind rustling through the trees or rain pattering on the rooftop at night, would wonder at what fusses other people were making over the sound of singing, stand uncertainly as an outsider in a silent world.
Ivan wept.
Next day, Emily was already looking up Montessori schools, preschools and academies for deaf children, learned of the two-year waiting list for the best school in the state and immediately signed up Alfred. The tuition fees made Ivan's chalky white face even paler—after all, the family barely rose above the poverty line—but the money he'd inherited from his recently deceased father meant for Alfred's college fund would go to his son's getting a decent start. And Alfred would go to college if Ivan had to sell his body on the street, so he and Emily also went over their monthly budget, cutting expenses left and right.
His wife suggested moving to a town where a cheaper academy with just as good a ranking as the one in their city could be found, but neither liked the idea; the tuitions were all greater or the same, and Ivan's sisters lived only a few hours away, something he appreciated. (And Emily's relatives were very far from the city, something he appreciated even more.)
The public schools in the area were not so good, the disabled usually shut up in small rooms by well-meaning but exhausted teachers who treated them all the same. Emily decided that she would head back to work as a fast food restaurant manager, and for a few hours every day her son was left with a Japanese neighbor named Mrs. Honda, whom had a little boy named Kiku Alfred liked to play with. Because Ivan was closer, he was the one who came home early now and began the difficult and lengthy process of teaching Alfred how to communicate.
Everyone in the family had had advice once they'd gotten over the shock of the news—Aunt Natalya, despite her typical animosity towards Emily, sent three hundred dollars' worth of educational toys and books—but Ivan wasn't at all certain where to look. He'd never even known a deaf person, and the only sign language he knew was NOT going to be something he taught his son.
What he knew for certain was that he desperately wanted Alfred to get a place in the special school, which, high costs notwithstanding, had very pretty facilities and spritely young, energetic teachers, many of whom grew up with deaf family members or were deaf themselves. As young as four years old children had to pass a placement test to get in if your family couldn't slip a generous donation underneath the table, but the academy went all the way to grade eight, and boasted one of the highest success rates for deaf people in the country.
It all started at home, however. Ivan desperately wanted to learn, too. How to speak with his hands. How to talk to someone so invariably precious.
Alfred was curious, cocking his head and gazing when Ivan started gesturing to certain items and then making a certain sign, simple ones that the man had learned easily. 'Please' was one of the first ones, as all you needed to do to say it was to put your hand on your chest and circle around clockwise twice. Whenever the hungry boy poked his head in the cupboard or gestured to the fridge, Ivan made certain to shake his head 'yes' or 'no,' depending on the time of day. If it were 'no,' he'd lead Alfred away and find a distraction.
If it were 'yes,' Ivan would nod, and then make the gesture for 'please,' which made him feel a little silly, as he had to rub his chest like a hungry person. It took Alfred a long time to understand, but eventually he took to copying his father, and the action rewarded him with a juice box or some granola. To Ivan's great delight, soon enough whenever Alfred wanted anything at all, he made the 'please' sign.
Well, usually. Sometimes he had to be reminded. The lesson for 'Thank you' came shortly afterwards.
He worried how Alfred would learn to read; before children learned the alphabet they knew what words sounded like already. Once they started writing, they could start guessing as to what letters went to form a word and why.
Sometimes the child would put a book in his hands, but Ivan could not sign the story aloud—thankfully Natalya had found a few videos where a sign linguist would stand adjacent to some pictures and sign, but they didn't hold Alfred's attention for very long. And Ivan suspected Alfred liked to sit on his parents' laps when they spoke or sang only because their chests vibrated and he was lulled to sleep.
The man progressed to learning and teaching simple foods and toys on the shelf, not settling for Alfred's pointing and whimpering, though it would have saved a great deal of time and energy. After the 'please' now had to come a specific word. 'Hoola hoop' was an easy one to learn, as it only meant that Alfred had to swing his little hips, usually giggling as he watched his father awkwardly mimic him . There wasn't a word in sign language for that item, so Ivan supposed that making up a few shortcuts now and again was acceptable, so long as Alfred used them at home. It could get confusing when the child learned to speak to other people.
The man had plenty of difficulty trying to teach himself how to spell words that required a large series of motions. He and Emily began attending night classes and a support group for parents with deaf children, but individual signs were easier to remember than twenty-four letters, especially when you were exhausted after a long day.
Emily took it as a personal challenge to learn American Sign Language at work by watching videos in the spare moments she could snatch, but it was difficult and on occasion she'd come home realizing that the only signs she remembered were the particularly colorful ones her fellow workers fired behind customers' backs.
Now every time Ivan's face hit the pillow, he dozed off almost immediately, pardoning the nights he was too tired to fall asleep and instead thought of the little boy who touched his father's mouth when Ivan had given him a goodnight 'I love you.' He moved his own mouth, saying nothing but grinning when Emily pulled up his shirt and gave him a series of tummy kisses, and a raspberry that had him laughing.
~o*oOo*o~
Alfred's second birthday came and went, with some bad news; Emily had been laid off at work. 'Laid off' was the polite way of saying, 'fired after hurling self over fast food counter, dumping cola over a customer's head and attempting to shove French fries where they decidedly did not need to be shoved after the man made a cruel remark about her son in the next booth over.'
This news by itself was not cause for disaster, but after a series of city tax cuts, Ivan was soon only working thirteen hours a week. With only a GED the job pool was limited; he could only find additional work as a weekend janitor, a position that did not pay very much.
As the rent deadline drew ever closer two months later, Emily pored in hours at two waitress jobs. She didn't earn very much because money still had to go to Alfred's babysitting and there were so many other bills to pay, so many necessities. It didn't help that the strain of balancing these two positions made her absolutely exhausted, causing her to pass out once or twice in the kitchen. One of the cafe owners had threatened to fire her already and was suggesting she bust out her resume sometime soon.
The two became increasingly desperate, snapping at each other at night while worry and restlessness kept them awake.
Ivan reviled the idea of touching the fund meant for Alfred's schooling, but he could not ask his elder sister for help, as she had too many mouths to feed and no money to spare. His little sister was reluctant to offer financial aid, preferring the idea that Ivan and Alfred move in with her family and Emily move back home.
Emily's decision as to what to do when no better work could be found would leave Ivan sleepless for a very, very long time.
He'd tried to explain to Alfred where Mommy was going when she had her wavy hair cut short and was sent a uniform, but Alfred had only just learned the signs for 'cookie' and 'more' and 'juice' and 'flower;' not a very good vocabulary base for telling your child that Mommy was going to serve in Afghanistan for over a year.
"Would ya quit worryin' already, big guy?" Emily asked the night before the departure, her doe-like eyes pink and swollen with tears, which were black with mascara. "I'll be just fine, and the army'll see to it that my two big boys on the home front are doing well. Plus, they'll pay for my going back to school so that I can get a better job."
She smiled at him, quivering with sobs she was too proud to set free, and at a loss, Ivan carried her to their room and they'd made a desperate form of love, his heart aching simultaneously with pride and a genuine chasm of sadness and loneliness.
He 'd pleaded, tried to persuade her to move—we'll find an even better school, in another state, we'll find you another job I'll work more hours we can still do this together, please don't go, I'll go instead. You're my wife and you will obey me. That last one was a hysteric last-ditch effort and it had made her laugh. As well as slap him.
But the woman would not be persuaded, and so, voices cracking, they'd said their goodbyes at the airport, Emily taking Alfred into her arms and vociferously planting kisses on a squirming Alfred's face as if it would be her last time doing so.
As a matter of fact, it was.
Months later, when Alfred had stopped wailing in his 'big boy' bed and signing for 'Mommy,' Ivan got the phone call and Emily was returned home early in a casket. A concealed road mine had blasted underneath the tank she'd been in whilst on patrol, killing her and severely injuring another female soldier.
There were no words. Nothing that could be said with your mouth or your hands, anyway.
He cried as he had not since his father died, his wails reverberating throughout the tiny apartment like misery, and Alfred shook in his sleep, dreaming of closet monsters even as Ivan dreamed of peach skin and rough hands, of hoarse giggling and a wife torn to pieces in the name of duty.
He dreamed of dying.
~o*oOo*o~
Busy as she was, Katyusha came over every day she could and it was a good thing she did, because Ivan forgot to prepare meals. When he had rare snatches of lucidity in the shroud that had enveloped the half-obliterated world, he would prepare hot dogs for his son at nine in the morning, and pancakes at eleven at night.
After soberly being informed of his mother's loss, Alfred sobbed into Aunt Katyusha's chest for a little while and then he was given a popsicle and his tears stilled somewhat. He remembered a kind woman whom he loved very much somewhat dimly; he remembered her better whilst looking at her photo. Otherwise, it seemed that his thoughts were doing their utmost to tuck Mommy away like the boxes in the dusty old attic he wasn't supposed to go in ever. He might not have thought of it much at all if her photo did not hover around the house like a ghost, always smiling and bringing some kind of terrible pain to Daddy, who smelled funny these days and didn't look tidy and whose eyes were large and red, like Cloony the Clown's.
After the funeral, his son had crawled wonderingly into his lap, patted his face, and clumsily inquired as to why Daddy was so sad. That day, Alfred learned the sign for 'broken heart.'
Not quite getting it, he'd jumped off Ivan's lap and rummaged through one of the kitchen drawers for some scotch tape and hurriedly toddled back with it, thrusting it into his father's hands.
Alfred couldn't hear the strangled cackling that followed, but the man's expression was frightening enough that he ducked underneath the kitchen table and stayed there for a good hour, his little hand slipping out underneath the cloth now and again to take a cookie.
Days afterward, when Ivan had taken another personal day and was staring at a glass full of something that looked like water but when Alfred smelled it it decidedly did NOT look like water and Daddy dully gave him the tiresome 'don't touch' sign, some of the hair close to his mouth stiff as straw with dried vomit.
Wanting to play outside, Alfred tried to express what he wanted but forgot the specific signs; he pointed at the window and looked at his father, who did not look back. Eyes filling up with distressed, the child angrily beat on the walls and did not hear the irritated shouts behind it from their neighbors. Neither did Ivan, who likely wouldn't have heard Alfred even if the boy were to say his name.
He drifted not unwillingly away and Alfred cried.
OoOoOoO
oOoOoO
OoOoO
When two months had elapsed and it was still all he could do to get through the day, Natalya offered to take her nephew, who'd relapsed back into pointing a great deal of the time because Ivan's teaching was halfhearted at best.
Reluctantly, he agreed to let his sister and her mousy-haired husband look after him for a few days, but when a disheveled and hung-over Ivan arrived to pick Alfred up, he'd been shocked when she turned him away, his little boy clinging to her skirts.
"Ivan, you're not ready yet."
She'd made to close the door but Ivan slammed his foot in it. Natalya's dark eyes had flashed, albeit with genuine remorse at so disappointing her beloved big brother. "I'll take this to court if need be."
He'd been angry enough to call the police, but even if Alfred couldn't hear his heated words, he understood enough to run and hide if an ugly scene followed. And it very nearly did, Ivan threatening to speed-dial a lawyer he didn't have and soon simply just pleading, ready to drop to his knees after a half-hour passed and his sister continued to try and send him away. Looking concerned, Natalya's husband Toris soon appeared and that sent a genuine stab of panic through Ivan, because Toris was a social worker and would gladly break his own fingers if it meant obeying his wife.
And judging by how Toris was glancing concernedly at the little boy cowering behind him, it was clear he had some reservations about letting his brother-in-law taking his nephew back, anyway.
It had taken a lot of convincing and when at last she reluctantly turned the timid child over to him, the big man shuddered with relief, cradling the confused toddler and suppressing the painful gasps of they arrived home again.
Ivan threw the vodka away, gave the place a much-needed scrubbing, cooked his first hot meal in several days, gave Alfred a bath and put him to bed, rubbing his back because the boy liked to fall asleep that way. Curled up in a little hand in his own, Ivan soberly watched his son doze, clumsily spelling out on his palm a song interspersed with words like 'stars' and 'sun' and the recurrent 'I love you.'
~o*oOo*o~
The days turned into weeks, months. The little tick marks that marked Alfred's height were climbing higher and higher, much to the child's delight. A Christmas and a Birthday went by, albums filling up with pictures of a super hero Alfred signing 'trick or treat' to curious neighbors, Alfred yanking on the beard of a nervous-looking mall Santa, Alfred dressed in traditional Russian garb during a cultural day at the community center, hand in hand with his best friend Kiku, who wore a yukata. The photos of Ivan's beloved now mostly stayed in his bedroom, another physical reminder of the empty space beside him when he went to sleep at night.
But he buried his grief the best he could, by staying busy. It wasn't hard, what with the boy constantly keeping him on his toes.
Office supplies like highlighters kept disappearing mysteriously from the office where Ivan picked up his paycheck, and the windows of his apartment were usually littered with drawings and craft projects. While they could not own a garden, the man saw that sunflowers nodded their cheerful yellow heads in the window boxes during the summer and Alfred enjoyed watering them, even if he sometimes gave them a little much. Ivan haunted yard sales whenever he headed out to the suburbs, buying toys, puzzles, and books usually not in the best quality, but in decent condition.
At four years of age, Alfred was a smiling little creature who loved hopscotch, action figures, peanut butter and banana sandwiches, and s'mores, though they had to be baked and Alfred insisted on pretending that they stood over a campfire while they ate them. Thankfully he got the actual experience on his fifth birthday, which also happened to fall on a national holiday so Ivan got to take the day off.
They'd gone fishing, which had been easy to explain to Alfred considering all you really did was sit there. A trout had pulled on Alfred's line, and though Ivan had seized the squeaking excitably boy and tried to help him reel it in, a particularly fierce yank sent both of them flying into the water. The man worried that he'd cry, both over the loss of the fish and his getting soaked, but Alfred had taken it very well, splashing Ivan and igniting a little water battle. Because they'd failed to catch their dinner, they headed to McDonalds' like the troopers they were and returned to toast marshmallows and light sparklers as the annual firework display began in the sky.
Though Alfred couldn't hear any of the explosions and questioned his father why the man sometimes winced and clapped his hands over his ears—he certainly loved to watch them, face lighting up with awe as color burst, raining down like bits of sparkling meteorite dust.
Last year, when the two had gone to a carnival and watched the show with the rest of the city, Alfred learned that other people could typically tell a firework was about to go off by a high-pitched whistling sound it made when it launched. Whereas he had to turn in the direction of light, just in time to see the firework begin to fade into smoke. There was sometimes a hint of wistfulness on the little face as he watched, but Ivan made certain that they had a good view of the night sky and plenty of sparklers on hand.
Sometimes it felt like the world shook from the force after a series of particularly large fireworks and Alfred would squeak and seize his wrist and Ivan would smile and nod, eyes sparkling.
Shortly after Al turned four, Ivan applied his child for admittance at the special academy he and Emily had eyed for years. It certainly hadn't been easy, what with all the fees it took just to register him for the entrance test, something for which Ivan had been training Alfred for years. The little boy was learning new signs every day, and when there was a sign he did not know or could not spell, he often broke down in tantrums and tears.
But he was learning. Alfred often signed with Kiku, the two watching old Sesame Street episodes with Linda Bove in them, the deaf lady who signed with Big Bird.
Ivan received a pension every month because of his wife's death, but he still had to put in plenty of hours at work, and see to it that he came home early enough to give Alfred his lessons. Some days were incredibly difficult, what with Alfred's getting bored and testy some afternoons, just wanting to goof around but Ivan persisted, biting his lip whenever he had to coax his son out from under the bed and spelled out 'I love you' over and over again when Alfred sulked and cried angry tears, odd-sounding cries eliciting complaints from neighbors next door.
The little trips to the mall and grocery store had quickly evolved into lessons, and on occasion Ivan discovered that he'd learned a sign wrong and had to re-teach himself and Alfred, whom, upon learning something, did not at all like un-learning it.
But his child had passed, albeit narrowly, and he'd taken Alfred out for ice cream to celebrate. Alfred didn't really understand the significance, tossing his father a paper napkin when the man started crying salty tears into his sundae.
~o*oOo*o~
The first day of school was easily one of the proudest and most nerve-wracking days of Ivan's life, his child grinning and swinging a Batman lunchbox in one hand, holding tight to his father's protective hand in the other as they waited for the bus together. They'd seen the vehicle in the parking lot; it was a cute one, made to look like a rocket ship, something that had Alfred's eyes lighting up and the boy making squeaking noises he could not hear.
That first morning, little children waiting outside the complex at the public school bus stop had looked over at Alfred and Ivan kept his gaze to the road, smile tightening just a bit. He hoped Alfred didn't notice the other kids, namely because his child was almost always getting into tiffs with them. With other deaf children at the group he played and with Kiku he got along with quite well, the little boy being quiet and unfettered by Alfred's difficulty in speaking—but other kids in the neighborhood were often confused and frankly a little derisive at the deaf boy's presence, something Ivan had noticed at the local playground.
When in the past he had begged to be taken there, now Alfred liked to visit only when it was deserted.
Growing hot and prickly underneath his clothes, Ivan pointed at the sunrise and signed to Alfred about it, relieved that the boy couldn't hear the stupid remarks his father was hearing drifting from just a few feet away. And the children had their parents with them—for God's sakes, did they think he was deaf too? People spoke to Ivan very slowly whenever he happened to meet with neighbors on the elevator—just one of the reasons why he preferred stairs—and people spoke to him very slowly and carefully as if dealing with someone especially slow. "So. You. Had. A. Nice. Day. Today. Too? Gooooood! So. Did. I!" Condescending filth. People also spoke this way to Alfred and it made Ivan want to maybe break a few faces, especially when folks looked disappointed or disgruntled when he politely told them Alfred couldn't yet read lips. He couldn't read them himself!
Whenever he told people what his job was, they would typically give him a polite "Oh" and look away, something that didn't really annoy him because these people were…small, there was no other word for it—but it did tingle his nerves sometimes. Ivan was accustomed to people thinking because of his great height and menial job, he was particularly stupid and short-tempered, an assumption that worked well in his favor when he slammed a door a bit harder than necessary or smiled a certain way and people backed away. But Alfred should have friends. Lots of them.
Still, one day he'd looked up from his book where he sat at the bench and noticed Alfred was looking particularly upset in a swarm of children and he anxiously decided to approach, Ivan's towering presence scattering kids like a bunch of birds. Once or twice it had made Alfred quite upset and he yelled at him.
"Why isn't Alfred coming to school?" A snotty little boy named Arthur asked his older brother. "Why doesn't he have to go?"
"Gor, I dunno. Probably waiting to go somewhere where they'll teach him how to fix car tires or work on an assembly line."
"What's an assembly line?"
"You've seen 'em on the TV, where something moves on a factory's conveyor belt and stops at a station so someone can do their thing and help complete it, like with cars. It's easy for retarded people to do, so they usually get trained to do it."
One. Two. Three. Four. Alfred was looking up at him curiously, probably wondering why he was shaking. Forcing himself to relax, because the boy got into fights and it would hardly be conducive to set a good example by scaring children or beating their parents up, he shook his head when Alfred spelled a question in his hand and he signed back that he was nervous. Looking proud, the boy smiled back knowingly and patted him on the knee. It okey, he spelled. Wanna hear joke?
It was a silly little pun he'd likely read off the Snapple lid, but Alfred threw his head back and laughed heartily, still thinking it as hilarious. Ivan smiled, shook his head and waved his hands for 'applause,' but already he could hear a little first grader named Antonio mimicking Alfred's laugh by neighing like a horse, eliciting shrill giggles from children and a few halfhearted reproves from a mother.
Sometimes Ivan envied Alfred.
Maybe when he left Ivan would walk over, pleasant as punch, and tickle their funny bones after giving the parents a taste of what fear was. But that likely would not go over well; they could always complain to the management that he was threatening their swotty little angels. Funny, in a sense; he'd always gotten so irritated with parents that couldn't stand to have their children rebuked for even a second, for insisting on defending them with tiger-like instinct even when it was plaintive in the eyes of others the 'little angels' could stand to act less like little sociopaths.
And then he had a child and was like "Oh."
When Alfred caught sight of the yellow bus approaching from the public school, he waved at the children who did not wave back. Face falling a little, Alfred scuffed at the ground and pouted, and without further ado Ivan scooped the child up so that he could sit on his shoulders.
The space bus came shortly afterwards and Alfred was eagerly kicking his feet, keen to be set on the ground. He seemed a little nervous as he approached the opening door, glancing uncertainly back at Ivan. The man gently pushed him forwards, signing an 'I love you' and 'Have a good day' as Alfred ascended the steps. The bus driver lifted up his hat to Ivan and waited until Alfred found a seat beside a curly haired young boy before closing the door and taking off. A small hand waved goodbye, Alfred's father watching until it disappeared into the distance.
And now it was graduation day. One at a time the children lined up to receive their diplomas and to sign or say what they wanted to be when they grew up. Needless to say, Alfred eagerly signed 'hero' and earned a few warm chuckles and a rousing conclave of both applause and hand-waving, the ASL version of clapping.
The kindergarten class signed a little song about bumblebees moving onto larger flowers, then they tossed their hats into the air, and then again for good measure, and then they started throwing them at each other and their teacher made them stop. Soon enough it had ended, the children being marched out of the auditorium. In a flash, he was up, wading his way through people.
As families started greeting their young graduates, Ivan felt a small force collide into his leg. Glancing down, he saw Alfred beaming up at him, still in his red gown. 'Hi Daddy Hi Daddy! Did you see me?'
'You know I did.' Smiling, Ivan bent to his height and offered him the bouquet of sunflowers, to which Alfred signed a 'thank you,' concernedly looking around to make sure none of his male peers saw him with flowers. His father really ought to know better, but he'd let it slide just this once.
Shaking his head and laughing, he scooped Alfred up and planted a kiss on his cheek, and the boy squirmed but laughed. 'McDonald's please?' He asked hopefully. 'I'm STARVING!'
Ivan snorted, feeling the weight of the other item he'd brought against his leg, still in his coat pocket. 'Are you sure? We could go for pizza. Chinese. Anything else.'
Alfred smiled wickedly and shook his head, tweaking his father's nose. 'No. I want McDonald's.'
'As you wish. Later on I have a surprise for you.' His thoughts jumped to the bicycle waiting patiently for its new owner back home. Oh, he couldn't wait to see his reaction, Al had so dreadfully wanted one. Perfect for the summer, though if he thought it were hard enough keeping up with his growing son now...
It made him a little rueful, he realized as he made his way out, Alfred's tassel waving cheerfully in the breeze. Mostly proud. Extremely proud. As cliched it was, his heart felt like the Grinch's upon the summit. It was a beautiful day.
'A surprise?! What is it, what is it?'
'Good things come to those who wait.'
'But I-'
'Maybe this will tide you over in the meantime,' Ivan signed, hand sinking into his pocket and drawing out a small music box, handing it to his curious son. His throat grew unexpectedly tight and he glanced towards the sky. 'It was your mother's.'
Expression growing more thoughtful, Alfred took it into his hands and turned it around, his finger brushing against the silky-soft wood appreciatively. As Ivan put him in his car seat, he felt the cool of the metal key and turned it, watched it slowly revolve, feeling the little box hum beneath his hands.
'It feels good.'
Ivan just nodded quickly before heading to the backseat. Lord, he was disgusted with himself. 'I'm glad.'
In the rearview mirror, he watched Alfred sign something else. 'Daddy, you need to get a car with no ceiling.'
Ivan chuckled as he started the engine. 'You mean a convertible? Would you like it if we were driving and it started raining all over us?' Then again, convertibles had retractable roofs, but Alfred didn't need to know that.
'I wanna watch the sky. SO blue today!'
Ivan hummed thoughtfully in agreement, pulling out of the parking lot and glancing out at the sky, cracking all four windows as to catch a gust. By the time they arrived at McDonald's, Alfred was asleep, head drooping and hat fallen off, drooling just a little. The box still sat in his lap. Silly little thing.
Knowing by now Alfred's favorite order, Ivan went through the drive-through and purchased a Happy Meal, headed home and trudged up the steps, Alfred snoozing in one arm. Noticing a window that was not normally open but today was, he peered out and appreciated the view, the sky a crisp and merry blue, blue like Alfred's eyes, Emily's eyes, bright and beautiful like them both.
The child murmured something, just now beginning to learn how to speak. Ivan closed his eyes, feeling ridiculous but close to giddiness as the wind played at his hair, at the bangs of his son who would grow up, challenges be damned, and be beautiful.
And for that moment Ivan stood there, vaguely thinking of Alfred's reaction when he woke up with a bike beside him, how he would insist on dunking his fries into the cold of his junior vanilla shake, something Ivan thought was a little gross and wouldn't let him do until he ate all his food. Maybe just today that was okay. After all, both his heart and his hopes were exploding like the sky, which seemed to pour on forever for them both.
Anyone else ever do that? I think it's yummy. :)
Ivan, you are SUCH a tool. *Facepalms* Seriously. You're a very loving parent, but a tool. It's okey. We love you anyway. Poor dear. Um, sorry about your wife...I'm not very kind to poor Vanya, am I? Then again, I'm not a very nice person in general. *Is sad*
Hm, an academy that excludes kids...not sure if I approve, but he really, really wants the best for his son. Tried to do my homework on the deafness...if there is anything blatantly wrong, degrading or offensive you see, please let me know immediately. It is by no means a definite that deaf people should be socially isolated-and Al isn't! He has lots of buddies, some deaf, some who aren't. :)