Boys Don't Cry
[ Author's Note: I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed my last story, Bittersweet. It means a LOT to me, and I sincerely did not think that story would be so well-received. For those of you who wanted another CatCF story from me, here's what I had in mind for a while. I actually planned it right after I submitted Bittersweet, but thanks to other stories I read and the reviews I got, I decided to actually work on it. Once again, I thank you all deeply. This is another sad short from me, a songfic done to some (out of order) lyrics from the song Boys Don't Cry by Plumb. I promise my next(?) CatCF fic will be lighter in tone, because I don't to write sad Wonka fics all the time. I don't own any of the characters, etc. Thought I'd throw that in there. ]
The glass elevator gently landed on one of the last patches of snow that still dotted the landscape. A cerulean sky, for once, graced this section of Earth today. The sun, though, was still a stranger to the land at this time of year, normally hiding behind its daily veil of winter clouds. Clouds were the strangers today, however, and the sun could not find any to conceal itself behind. And so, the scenery was absolutely saturated with color, from blankets of grass that seemed to come straight from an impressionist painting, flowers that seemed to have descended from the purest rainbow, and even the struggling snow, barely able to survive from the increasing warmth, seemed to sparkle with the ever-familiar, crystalline shine of the dying winter's truest form.
The bright sun was an welcome guest to the man who stepped out of the elevator, and oversized, circular goggle-like sunglasses were immediately lowered from his forehead to cover those photosensitive eyes. Once adjusted to the light, he began to slowly walk forward. Steps were small -- uncertain, almost -- as he made his way towards the lone tree that stood out in this field. In truth, the man was uncertain...very uncertain....
Darnit, there's no way I...hm...maybe it's not even here. Yeah...! Prolly the wrong tree...
Thoughts cascaded through Willy Wonka's head. As he walked closer and closer to the tree, brimming with hesitation, he wasn't sure what to think once he'd get there. He knew WHY he was here, but he wasn't sure why he bothered to do this. Or did he?
I bet it's over--
And the thought shattered when he found the small marker surrounded by a very familiar ring of flowers.
"Oh...hi, Mom."
I used to hold your hand
So tight, there was no question...
But now even when you're near
I've never felt so alone...
He lowered himself down onto one knee, placing his candy cane next to him, hands folding delicately in front of him. Suddenly, the sun didn't seem so bright anymore.
One of those gloved hands removed the sunglasses, and despite the initial glare of the sunlight, the lilac eyes still managed to keep themselves affixed to the marker, which was a small, polished stone. The flowers that surrounded it were a variety of everything from posies to pansies, lilacs and even some roses. Willy knew he was at the right place for sure, now.
This was the first time he visited his mother's grave since he was a little boy. Even though it was very hidden and in a field that very few people knew about, the chocolatier still wouldn't visit it. The reason was not because of the anthropophobia that dawned upon him during the years at his factory, but rather because he did not want to remember her. Sure, the memories often lifted him up when he had to deal with the conflicting memories of his father, but in turn, he would remember her death.
So why did he visit now, when seeing her grave would invoke them more adamantly than before? Well, because--
"...WOW, Mom, I have so much to tell you!"
Just like the recent visit to his father's dentist office would reconcile the father and son after all these years, Willy felt that it was time to visit his mother. Charlie Bucket's mother helped him in this decision, as they sometimes sat down and talked about their family lives whenever the two of them had some spare time.
The face that was so uncertain a few seconds ago lit up like the sun, and those pearly white teeth, bright as these last patches of snow, showed as he smiled.
"You know, I realized my dream, just like you wanted me to! Heh, you know that Dad didn't want me to run my own factory, but I did it! Can you believe that? 'Course you can. You're Mom, you always told me I could do anything I wanted to if I put my mind to it. And I did! Oh, Mom, I know you'd be SO proud of me if you were here!"
So what would you say to me
If you could talk to me?
You could ask anything
I wouldn't lie...
For a moment, Willy looked around to see if anyone was nearby. Breathing a soft sigh of relief when he saw no one, the man carried on.
"And-and guess what! Well, I even have an heir! Yeah, one day I was getting my haircut--"
He made it a point to express himself with his hands wildly, just to make sure she got the picture.
"--and I found a silver hair! So I had this contest thing and let five kids into my factory and only one was left over, and now his family lives in my factory! Isn't that cool? 'Course, if it wasn't for that boy dragging me along to find my dad, they wouldn't live in--"
And he stopped talking as this thought crashed into a mental wall. As if meaning to knock all of the other thoughts out of his head, the day that he found his dad again revealed itself to him ever so vividly and so suddenly for a split second. Why it came during this moment, he did not know. But as tender of a thought it was in the end, it was still rather awkward, for his dad showed little more emotion beyond shock. His dad showed little emotion ever, really. Ever since Willy was a child.
Lilac eyes widened as a flashback engulfed him...
---
If you just stand beside me
I'll keep you in my life
Tell me how much you love me
And I'll be just fine...
"Mom, you're not going to die, are you?"
"What kind of question is that, Willy?"
"Mom...just tell me...please?"
The candlelight warmed and lit the room, as if holding a vigil for the very delicate woman lying on the bed. A small boy sat on the edge of the bed next to her, a most worried expression etched upon his face.
The woman looked up at him, smiling an ever so weak smile. An arm that without the candlelight would seem so deathly pale reached up, and a bony, frail hand stroked his brown hair, fingers examining every little strand.
"Willy...yes, I am going to die. I'm sorry it came to this, my...darling."
The final word was breathless.
"...but there is nothing I can do about it, or anyone else. We've tried...everything, you know. I'm sorry I won't be here for you. I'm so, so sorry. But you know what..."
The boy leaned in a little closer, content on listening to her even if tears were now flowing freely from his eyes after the stinging truth was revealed.
"...you must be strong, do you understand me? Be strong for me and your father."
Both of those frail hands now gripped his shoulders.
"You promise me right now, Willy, before it's too late, that you will go for any dream you have, all right? Don't listen to ANYONE who tells you that you can't do something. You can do anything you put your mind to."
The boy suddenly dove into his mother's arms, shaking.
"I-I promise, Mom. I'll...make you proud..."
"That's my boy," the woman replied, clinging to him to the best of her ability. She now cried as well, realizing that this may well be the last time she will see him. The thoughts were mutual with both of them.
But at the doorway stood a man.
"Willy, come. Your mother needs rest."
The boy nodded and left his mother's arms, whispering an "I love you" to her before he exited the room, joining his father. The woman smiled as the door quietly closed, ignoring her illness and taking full comfort in her son's promise.
But you're okay with this
Damaging awkwardness
So I'll just play it safe
And keep it inside
'Cause boys don't cry
"Willy, stop that crying."
"But Dad...I can't...Mom is--"
"I know, Willy. No use crying over it. Be strong, like she wanted you to. Remember that boys don't cry. Neither do men. Look at me."
Willy's tearful gaze turned to the tall, white-coated form that was his father. Just as expected, the man held the straightest face. Willy knew he was in great pain, but never once did he actually see him cry. Not even once. Not even now.
"Dad...I can't stop!"
A sudden wave of tears overwhelmed him as an image of his mother's sick face took over his mind. His father grabbed him by the shoulders, yet with far more force than his mother could ever hope to do.
"Go to your room, Willy. Right now. And think about what I've told you. And what your mother told you. You can't even be strong for her, like I am."
Willy did indeed run to his room. And he stayed there.
Throughout the next day, when his mother died. Throughout the next week, when she was buried. Throughout the next month. Throughout--
---
A sudden gust of wind, cool as ice, startled the chocolatier out of his trance. His eyes were still fixed upon the marker and the flowers. Now, however, the objects were no longer clear to him. They were hazy and distorted. Only then did Willy realize that just like the little boy in his flashback, he, too, was in tears.
Silent ones, not sobs. They were so crystalline and pure, much like the snow. Once again, Willy realized, he couldn't help it. And he hated himself for it. Gripping his cane, he stood up and backed up a little, still staring at the grave.
"Mom, look..."
Little did he realize how quickly shame filled him.
"I know I'm not being strong for you, like you wanted me to be. Like Dad wanted, you know? I'm not supposed to cry. I broke one of my promises to you, Mom, and I'm sorry."
He backed up even more.
"I've done this before, too, Mom. Oh gosh darnit, I've done it a lot, now that I think about it. Can you ever--"
But then, something caught the corner of his eye as he kept moving away from the grave. A sight in the distance froze his words as easily as frost halts the growth of new grass. Familiar smokestacks with familiar smoke could barely be made out in the distance. Willy smiled suddenly, turning back to the grave.
"But you're still proud of me, right? I mean, heh..."
He sighed a shuddering, nervous sigh.
"You still love me, don'tcha?"
His smile grew wider as he let out a pained giggle.
"'Cuz I still love you, you know. I never stopped. I'm sorry I didn't visit you more often. It's just that, well, I--well, wait...aheh, look at the time, Mom, I gotta go back to my big accomplishment I promised to you. You know, my factory. And, uh, I'll see you later, kay? Bye now!"
The glass elevator's owner almost hurriedly entered the contraption and quickly navigated it home. Along the way, he noticed the lone building that was his father's house and dental office. Willy's nervous smile faded into a contemplating gaze.
Sorry, Dad. Boys do cry. Maybe...
The elevator zoomed around the powerful smokestacks, magnifying their greatness to Willy. This accomplishment, this promise--
...because they love someone too much for their own good.