IT'S NOT MINE! For god's sake, I'd think you people were bright enough to figure that one out….
William Travis Sullivan was not a nice man. He was a brilliant, he was hard working, he was committed, and he was a very good businessman. His mother's father had founded a theater named Irving Hall, no great venture, but enough to earn him a good sum of money. The place was not in the best of shape, but it wasn't bad either. Will Sullivan owned it. He lived a fairly contented life in a small home near the edge of the city. He had a beautiful, loving wife and a young son. He was contented, yes. But he was not a nice man.
~*~
Francis noisily swung the door to his house open and stepped inside, breathing hard. He made it half way to the kitchen before turning back around to deposit his muddy shoes by the entryway. He practically ran the rest of the way, thrusting his head under a stream of cold water. One…two…three...four…it was hard for him to keep the count slow and even. Fourteen! He grinned, gasping for air. That was a record. Today must be his day. He dried his soaking hair on a towel and made for his room, to be arrested by a semi-familiar voice.
"Francis, come here, son. I'd like you to meet someone." His father always called him Francis. The boys called him Frankie; his mother called him nothing. She lay in bed all day- he hardly saw her.
He hurried into the living room. His father was sitting at a table, facing a young, redheaded woman. They both had tea cups- the girl's was almost empty, his father's full. From the frown on the face of the steel rod straight man, he could tell he didn't look exactly presentable. But it wasn't his fault. His father was never home when he arrived.
"Francis, this is Miss Medda Larkson, one of the youngest stars of the stage. She's just started work for me."
"Nice to meet you, miss," he intoned dully.
"Oh, the same, the same, I'm sure." She gave him a grin that spoke of a secret between only the two of them. No adult had ever looked at him like that before. It was exciting.
"Now, you'll have to excuse me, darling, but I do have an appointment."
"Oh, yes, of course."
"Shall I show you to the door?"
"Actually, if you wouldn't mind, I might stay a while to chat with Francis."
"By all means." William gave the seven-year-old a look that clearly said 'Be good. Or else.' "Francis will be honored. Won't you, son?"
Francis was overjoyed.
~*~
The ref from the boxing match walks across the stage holding a chalk sign that reads "Four Years Later"
~*~
Medda burst out laughing, ruining the scene. Francis frowned. He was supposed to be rescuing her from bandits who had stolen her away on the night of their wedding. She ruffled his hair, grinning down at him.
"You're such a charmer, Kelly. You're gonna break some poor girl's hear someday, mark my words." Kelly was her special name for him. It was actually one of his middle names- Francis Kelly Irving Sullivan. He liked it. She pulled him into a quick hug and went to take a pot of boiling water off the heat. Something funny twisted inside his stomach, and he stared after her as she left the room.
~*~
Medda was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. Given, he didn't know too many girls, but still. She was twenty-five, tall and slender with a merry laugh and a quick smile. And she loved him. More than anyone ever had. She was mother, father, playmate, and sibling, all rolled into one. She came to his house almost every day, and spent all her time with him. She never tired of his endless questions or his endless energy, like other adults did. She thought of him as a good, worthy person. His father was always at work, or in his room, and his mother had disappeared from his life years ago, when she had first gotten sick. Medda was always there. And she loved him in so many ways. In every way there was, except the one way he wanted.
~*~
Francis walked home despondently, swinging a long stick by his side. It wasn't fair! It was barely even drizzling, but no, they couldn't play in the rain. It was the first time he could remember coming home this early. He and his friends always stayed outside for at least an hour, in any kind of weather. Last time they were out in the rain, about half of them had caught a cold and that was that. Now being outdoors in cold or wet was forbidden. Francis had gotten a cold, too, but Medda had been the only one who noticed. And she didn't mind.
But the time he trudged into the house, his clothing was speckled with raindrops. He inspected the crowded hook on the back of the door- both his father's jacket and Medda's were hanging there. Strange, he thought, leaving his own on the floor. His father didn't usually come home until much later.
He could hear muted whispers and the rustle of clothing from the living room. Everything was quiet. His mother must be sleeping. He tiptoed in, careful not to make any noise. At the doorframe, he stopped as if he had suddenly run into an invisible wall. For a second, he simply stared, then turned and raced out of the house as fast as his young legs would take him.
He ran and ran, trying to get as far away from what he had seen as was possible. Running until the pain was in his legs, not in his heart. Running until his tears were replaced by the driving rain.
~*~
"Look, kid, I don't need to know your real name. But we gotta call ya somethin'!"
Francis stared up at the older boy, and rubbed a hand across the back of his stinging eyes. God, it was dusty in here.
"Kelly. My name is Kelly."
~*~
Yeah. Go'geous, ain't she? She was a friend o' me faddah's, Dave.
A friend.
A real good friend.
He never truly forgave her. And she never knew.
~*~
So, didja like it??? Did it make sense? I was wondering if it did…
See that little square button down there that says "go"? Why don't you press it and see what happens?