The Sweet Horizon
Ch 1: Growing Up In England
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William Brandon Turner was born in London in 1983. His father abandoned the family long before Will's first birthday. His mother always said, with a cheeky smile, 'Cheap scotch was his mistress, that it was,' but behind her lighthearted tone, Will could see the scars of a broken heart. It soured *his* heart to the idea of marriage. Secretly, he worried that he might inherit his father's wanderlust.
Will's Mother died before his eight birthday. At her funeral, a scattering of seemingly emotionless people stood shivering under umbrellas. Will watched the pallbearers pour dirt over her coffin; his silent tears blended with the pouring rain. His Mum was the kindest and warmest human being he had ever known, and *would* know during the tender years of his youth.
He moved-in immediately with his Aunt Ethel who lived in a quaint blue house in the countryside. She was in her fifties, and she never married. She was mostly quiet, but when she did speak her words were bland, dismal or critical regarding life or the day's events. Her heart was about the temperature of the lukewarm tomato soup she served Will for dinner nearly every evening. She was not cruel to Will, but neither did she offer a mother's nurturing love. It was a tolerable existence, growing up in Aunt Ethel's little blue house in the country, but it was often dreary and most certainly un-enchanting.
Throughout his childhood, Will escaped into his rich imagination. The moment he completed his chores and his schoolwork, he ran outside, rain or shine. He spent all of his free time exploring the woods and open spaces near their home, or reading late into the night, way past his bedtime. He rarely had playmates. His shy disposition and his Aunt's aversion to visitors bred him a loner.
Every couple of weeks, before bedtime, Will would sneak into his Aunt's library to exchange a read book for a new story. Ethel, being the only spinster in the family and due to Will's grandfather's loving spirit, had inherited the family home, along with a large library of books; books which had been read by Auntie Ethel, Will's mother, and all their brothers and sisters during their youth. Will had the opportunity to read many classics – 'Robinson Caruso', 'Treasure Island' – books of adventure, passion and courage – worlds that seemed light-years away from his little country home in England.
One evening, as he tiptoed into the library to find a new adventurous novel, he bumped his leg into a chair. His Aunt looked up from her nightly glass of Port and nodded gently with a slight smile. She always warmed up a little while she was drinking her Port. Will wondered what she thought about, as she stared – almost sadly – out the window into the darkness. Apparently, she had not been very concerned with Will's 'book-pirating'. She must have known about it for years.
Due to Will's reclusive nature, he hardly caught the attention of his teachers throughout his school years. The years passed much like England's climate – cold, quiet, and a bit drizzly.
However, one Friday afternoon, when he was sixteen, his Machining & Metalworks teacher approached him with enthusiasm. Mr. Brooks was impressed with the young man's ingenuity and detailed precision. Will was creating a copper sculpture of a sailboat and a dolphin. Throughout that semester, Mr. Brooks gave Will considerable attention, trying desperately to bring the young hermit out of his shell.
One afternoon, Mr Brooks whispered casually to Will, while the students were putting equipment away, "So, are you taking any lucky lady to the Spring Dance?"
Will shrugged. "No. I don't know. Girls don't really notice me."
"That is because you try as hard as you possibly can to become one with the walls around here," Mr. Brooks responded. Will stifled a grin and then looked away. "Now, there's the spirit," Mr. Brooks continued. "You are a talented, handsome young lad; reach out a little!"
Will sighed, but he struggled to smile, "I'll try, Sir."
Gradually, Mr. Brooks learned of Will's childhood tragedies, his living arrangement, and his passion for books and imaginary adventures. By the end of the semester, Will was smiling quite frequently. He would speak enthusiastically about his dreams, brimming with hope and joy, as he addressed his new adult friend.
"I am *so* tired of England, Mr. Brooks. I want to travel! . . . to Denmark or Holland. . . or France! I could be an artesian, selling my sculptures at art fairs from one end of Western Europe to the other!" Will exclaimed, filled with idealism.
"Hmm," said Mr. Brooks, pondering, "You know, Will, with your talents and adventurous spirit, I don't believe a socialist country will suit you. Think America, boy. Think America. . .
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a/n -- What do you think?
Ch 1: Growing Up In England
*************************************************
William Brandon Turner was born in London in 1983. His father abandoned the family long before Will's first birthday. His mother always said, with a cheeky smile, 'Cheap scotch was his mistress, that it was,' but behind her lighthearted tone, Will could see the scars of a broken heart. It soured *his* heart to the idea of marriage. Secretly, he worried that he might inherit his father's wanderlust.
Will's Mother died before his eight birthday. At her funeral, a scattering of seemingly emotionless people stood shivering under umbrellas. Will watched the pallbearers pour dirt over her coffin; his silent tears blended with the pouring rain. His Mum was the kindest and warmest human being he had ever known, and *would* know during the tender years of his youth.
He moved-in immediately with his Aunt Ethel who lived in a quaint blue house in the countryside. She was in her fifties, and she never married. She was mostly quiet, but when she did speak her words were bland, dismal or critical regarding life or the day's events. Her heart was about the temperature of the lukewarm tomato soup she served Will for dinner nearly every evening. She was not cruel to Will, but neither did she offer a mother's nurturing love. It was a tolerable existence, growing up in Aunt Ethel's little blue house in the country, but it was often dreary and most certainly un-enchanting.
Throughout his childhood, Will escaped into his rich imagination. The moment he completed his chores and his schoolwork, he ran outside, rain or shine. He spent all of his free time exploring the woods and open spaces near their home, or reading late into the night, way past his bedtime. He rarely had playmates. His shy disposition and his Aunt's aversion to visitors bred him a loner.
Every couple of weeks, before bedtime, Will would sneak into his Aunt's library to exchange a read book for a new story. Ethel, being the only spinster in the family and due to Will's grandfather's loving spirit, had inherited the family home, along with a large library of books; books which had been read by Auntie Ethel, Will's mother, and all their brothers and sisters during their youth. Will had the opportunity to read many classics – 'Robinson Caruso', 'Treasure Island' – books of adventure, passion and courage – worlds that seemed light-years away from his little country home in England.
One evening, as he tiptoed into the library to find a new adventurous novel, he bumped his leg into a chair. His Aunt looked up from her nightly glass of Port and nodded gently with a slight smile. She always warmed up a little while she was drinking her Port. Will wondered what she thought about, as she stared – almost sadly – out the window into the darkness. Apparently, she had not been very concerned with Will's 'book-pirating'. She must have known about it for years.
Due to Will's reclusive nature, he hardly caught the attention of his teachers throughout his school years. The years passed much like England's climate – cold, quiet, and a bit drizzly.
However, one Friday afternoon, when he was sixteen, his Machining & Metalworks teacher approached him with enthusiasm. Mr. Brooks was impressed with the young man's ingenuity and detailed precision. Will was creating a copper sculpture of a sailboat and a dolphin. Throughout that semester, Mr. Brooks gave Will considerable attention, trying desperately to bring the young hermit out of his shell.
One afternoon, Mr Brooks whispered casually to Will, while the students were putting equipment away, "So, are you taking any lucky lady to the Spring Dance?"
Will shrugged. "No. I don't know. Girls don't really notice me."
"That is because you try as hard as you possibly can to become one with the walls around here," Mr. Brooks responded. Will stifled a grin and then looked away. "Now, there's the spirit," Mr. Brooks continued. "You are a talented, handsome young lad; reach out a little!"
Will sighed, but he struggled to smile, "I'll try, Sir."
Gradually, Mr. Brooks learned of Will's childhood tragedies, his living arrangement, and his passion for books and imaginary adventures. By the end of the semester, Will was smiling quite frequently. He would speak enthusiastically about his dreams, brimming with hope and joy, as he addressed his new adult friend.
"I am *so* tired of England, Mr. Brooks. I want to travel! . . . to Denmark or Holland. . . or France! I could be an artesian, selling my sculptures at art fairs from one end of Western Europe to the other!" Will exclaimed, filled with idealism.
"Hmm," said Mr. Brooks, pondering, "You know, Will, with your talents and adventurous spirit, I don't believe a socialist country will suit you. Think America, boy. Think America. . .
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a/n -- What do you think?