Longer 'The Stranger'
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The stranger recognized the familiar script, and stared at the return address….wasn't it all ov'r? He hesitated….and slid the saber-like opener along the crease. He'd not dare to think it possible. The day the letters might become his responsibility….she had to know; the boy didn't have an address, or even his name. The stranger recalled her words, no past, no present, no future, but she said on the dock....things have changed.
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Thanks for the book. I've read it all the way through now…..twice.
I took it into school. I know you won't mind.
My teacher put it on the nature table.
Miss MacKenzie gave me a gold star. I've got eight now.
Catriona's got 20. Ricky's only got one. And it's not even gold.
Guess what?
I got into the football team. Well, the reserves. I'm playing on Saturday.
And guess what else?
I got one wrong in geography this week.
Ma and I had a bit of a shock last week. My da, my real da, he's been sick. I think he's been sick for a long time.
Ma never said anything, but I just knew. And last week, he died.
I think Ma's very sad inside, but Marie says time's a great healer, and Ma's not to worry anymore 'cause she's still got me.
Anyway, I've got to go now. My tea's ready.
I hope it's not chips. I've already had them three times this week.
Maybe you'll come and see us one more time. Maybe next time your ship docks.
Your friend,
Frankie
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------One week later
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Dear Frankie,
The sun's just comin up over the horizon now. I've been standin outside, you know, where I waved to you and your Ma that Sunday.
I thought of you, and the day we looked over the harbor, and skipped stones. Those were two brilliant days, and that's the truth.
I'm sorry Frankie for putin on I was your Da, but your Ma, she just couldn't bear you not knowin you had a Daddy thinkin bout you.
A gold star, thats somethin ta be proud of and you've got eight.
I'm glad you like the book, and only one wrong in geography, thats braw, just braw.
I always liked the subject myself. Keep it up Frankie you're a clever lad.
I'm so sorry your Da's gone now, but you've got your Ma, and your Gran to take care of, as you said.
It'll hurt your heart for awhile lad, but you're a strong boy.
I canna promise the pain will ever go away, but with time as Marie said. "It'll make things easier."
There's a lot of love that travels with ya.
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Write back soon.
Your friend,
James
P.S. "Congratulations", it's grand about the Reserves.
A stamp included, hope you like it.
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James tapped his finger to the desk as he penned the last word.
How the boy knew, it's beyond me. He truly is a clever lad.
His green eyes sparkled, as a muffled chuckle escaped his lips, remembering how Frankie outsmarted Ricky Monroe at the dance.
James wanted to write more, he wanted to say he'd visit soon, but the words never made it from pen to paper.
Lizzie….the name settled softly on his tongue, he envisioned her longing brown eyes, the sincerity they spoke, and the depth of their hurt.
James recognized more than ever, a loneliness. A yearning to have someone to wake to every morning….a stable life, a family.
The hurt made his gut wrench as he recalled that night as they walked the creaking planks of the harbor, their footsteps fell short as he heard the poignant words.
"Frankie wasn't born deaf," she said, "It was a present from his Daddy."
If the man stood before him,…
Och....I da know what I'd o' done.
The tips of his nails bit into flesh as he clenched tighter….tighter till the tingling of his fist took a mind of its own….it hit hard and vibrated off the desk.
"Jaaames?" He heard a man shout somewhere in the distance, still consumed in a world far from the ACCRA.
"Yeah Sean?" His voice shouting back.
Heat surged through expanding veins in his neck. The rage he inflicted onto the wood; a momentary proxy.
His mind reeled....A man, a good three to four times the boys size.....but no….He was no man….he'd not give him that credit. A beast, plain and simple. A beast calling himself a father.
One who brutalized his own flesh and blood till the child lost forever; every tender voice, a mother's loving whisper, a father's gentle praise. He cursed the swine, who called himself Davey Morrison. He wished him dead....and glad he was.
The sweat on his brow cooled quickly from the breeze; the oscillating fan whirled its sing songy vibration amid the sound of lapping waves. Waves that lulled the huge vessel and its occupants into someplace other than reality. Somehow the scent of the balmy sea air seemed to calm him. The one constant in his life that never changed.
"Ya okay man?" Sean's voice echoed outside the door.
"Aye…..jist dropped a book Sean go back ta sleep."
The light broke early into the cabin James knew his outburst awakened his second mate, and his compartment, and probably several down the way.
Silence….followed by a sigh of relief.
He stared ahead at the blanche white metal of the walls. A meaningless picture, stark and bare, like his heart, but hardly sound proof.
Och….wha' am I doin' here?
Yes, it was wrong, it was horrific what Frankie's father did, but the lad was no real relationship to him. Why the volatile reaction to an envisioned memory? A man he never knew.
It hit him suddenly, he did know Davey Morrison, he was him, he was the man. He let himself be the beast who beat and bloodied his wife and son. It made him physically ill. His stomach convulsed from the sight in his mind's eye.
James wondered, if he'd known before....if he knew of the man's real character....would I have done it?
The next revelation saved him and brought reality back into perspective. A glimmer of hope amid the dark….he was not that man, nor ever could be, Frankie knew the difference.
He represented the man, the man who wrote the letters. At least the one Lizzie painted for her child. The one who shared his true voice.
James swore he'd make it up to the lad, his kin or no, he'd do all he could. He'd be there if Frankie needed him and his mother too.
The walls of his quarters oddly shown brighter. A sparkling aray of particles and light filled the room. Dancing through the porthole like fairy dust.
He recognized something in himself. He'd tried to ignore it since their first moment….he did care. The kiss....not out of sympathy, or a romantic gesture….it meant something to him.
James leaned back further in the chair his fingers knitted firmly, resting behind his head.
Salt air stung at his tired eyes, wearied from a fitful night's sleep. The man fell helplessly into his muse, and whispered softly,
I'll be....no longer the stranger.
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-------One hour later
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The burly Scotsman fumbled the envelope and slid the stamp inside…a white seahorse coasting under waters of a blue-green sea. Both corners of his mouth stretched into a simple grin, and he sealed the letter.
James sat upright surveying the desk top and retrieved the one article that truly meant something, and held it tenderly.
The tip of his index finger traced the outline of a young boys face beneath framed glass; a lad and his surrogate Da in front of a large ship, his ship. The warmth began in his stomach and traveled soothingly to his chest. His eyes shot to the rough wooden carving on the shelf above….the figure so like the stamp. His words rang true to him now more than ever.
Remember Frankie we'r all connected
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Thank you for reading, please take the time to review your feelings, your constructive input is appreciated
Disclaimer: I don't own Dear Frankie or lay claim to any part of the movie, directing....producing, writing etc... This little story is done for the pleasure of anyone that is so inclined to read. I will receive no monetary gain from it. The only hope is that people will review and let me know their likes and dislikes of my writing.
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