Alrighty, I wrote this for Writing camp and then realized the boy in the Story was like the Shawn from Psych! I changed some stuff to make it more Pysch like, and I think I changed the names in all the places (The kid in the story was originally named Allen).
Oh and this is my first Psych story, so be forgiving.
Disclaimer: I have noownership of Psych or USA...no matter how many times I twist arms to try and get it...Grrr
Drifting
Part One
Shawn skipped down the shaded pathway towards his grandmother's home, and he immediately noticed the distinct, curling black clouds overhead. The sticky, blistering hot day had most in a funk, but not this boy, he had someone to see. It was after school and he didn't want to have to go home right now. His parents weren't getting along, hadn't for a while and he wasn't sure how much more of the screaming he could take. The fact that the most common word to show up during their arguments was "Shawn" didn't help either. It only served to remind him of how many arguments he'd caused.
He hadn't been doing well in school and he bounced off the walls, annoying everyone with his hyperactivity. Shawn couldn't control himself and he vied to be the center of attention. He made friends but couldn't keep them, and he disrupted his classes with incessant chatter. His parents tried hard to calm their son down, his teachers tried to calm him down, even his friends tried to calm him down, but it was impossible. He only stayed preoccupied with one thing for a small while and often grew bored with monotonous exercises. The only person he could never annoy, or irritate, or fluster was his Grandmother Lucy.
Grandmother Lucy always welcomed Shawn, and he smiled and quickened his pace as he imagined her long, feathery hair and delicious baking. He ran the rest of the pathway till he approached the beige apartment building bathed in sunlight. He ran through the glass doors and waved to the receptionist in the lobby and to the male nurse in the hallway, who responded by tapping him gently on the head, as if he were reminding him to behave himself. Immediately Shawn slowed to a walk and he retraced the path he knew so perfectly: up the central stairs, a right by the large dolphin statue, another right by the laundry room, and he kept walking until he reached room 4G. He was here.
Sure enough as he lightly prodded the door open, he saw her. His grandmother was swaying with some oldies music from her radio, her long hair following her body, the mesh of light brown and silver strands flowing down her back. The weathered body of only sixty-something years seemed unearthly thin with sickness and prematurely aged, however Shawn saw none of it, he only saw his beloved grandmother. She wore a simple woolen nightgown a nun would envy, it hung loosely from her frame, thick and long; Shawn didn't know how she could stand it on such a hot April day. Typical California, he thought; as he made a beeline toward Grandma Lucy and wrapped his arms around her waist, giving her a huge hug.
She looked slightly taken aback for a few seconds, but her confusion melted as she saw his dark brown hair appear from under her left armpit. Identical light green eyes met each other as she swooped down and gave him several kisses on his face and head, greeting him with her Irish accent that melded within her speech. His infectious smile shined at her and she grasped his hand within hers and guided him into her small kitchen.
Shawn only just noticed the lack of pictures in the apartment, his mother's graduation picture, Grandma and Grandpa's wedding picture, his mom and dad's wedding photo, and his own photo from this school year were gone from their usual place on the bookshelf that framed the kitchen entrance way. However Shawn didn't concentrate on it too much and filed it away in his mind for later observation.
Grandma Lucy soon busied herself with setting up a number of pots and pans, all the while urging stories out of Shawn; stories he eagerly supplied.
"How was this week, Shawnee?" she asked him, taking delight in his indignant faux scowl at the nickname; she was the only one he would let call him that. He hopped about the small kitchen handing her the things she asked for as he danced from one foot to the other, telling her his numerous adventures for the past week.
"Well, me and one of my friends decided to sing in the talent show together," he said, handing her the heavy bag of flour, "and no one laughed at us, Mr. Girt told us we should join the chorus even! Mom and Dad came." She noticed his downcast eyes at this as she glanced at his cute, boyish face. "They didn't sit together," he continued.
They were quiet for a moment, as Shawn stared down at the floor. He took to noticing the small knick-knacks placed around the kitchen kept getting moved every time he came to see his grandmother. He supposed she was changing around the apartment, but those things were important to her; she didn't usually move the marionette from Italy or the aviator goggles that were Grandpa's first gift to her when they were dating.
Lucy gently nudged Shawn's face with her mixing spoon, jolting him out of his unusual quietness and somewhat pained expression. Less I think about it, the better I am, Shawn thought as he continued on with the rest of the week.
"So how are your mother and father, Shawnee-boy?" Lucy asked quietly after he'd finished, somewhat concerned for the answer. "Oh they're fine, I guess," Shawn replied, trying to hide his confusion. He thought he heard Mom saying that she had talked to Grandma yesterday, didn't Grandma Lucy remember? He didn't think too far into it however as she tapped his arm for the eggs beside him, which he mildly handed over to her, helping her crack the two hardest ones when her expression turned bewildered as she held them in front of her face, nearly unsure of what to do with them.
"I helped Dad on Neighborhood Watch the other night," Shawn offered, "Someone was stealing our paper. He was preparing me for stakeouts in my future police career," he ended without feeling any stress of potential backlash; Grandma Lucy was his mother's mother. "He wouldn't even let me pee though!" he stated in an irritated voice. "Oh can I do that?!" he shouted in a completely different voice, reaching for the dough clutched within her bony hands, seemingly forgetting his inability to pee the night before.
"Only if you don't yell again," she laughingly replied, handing him the dough to be kneaded. "And don't worry too much about becoming a police officer, if fate wishes it of you then it will happen," she said with a distinct air of finality on the subject, "You've got years yet." Shawn hid his eye roll at this; Grandma Lucy was a firm believer in fate and other things of that nature. Also she didn't understand his Dad's pride in his family history of cops, if Shawn didn't become one, he shivered, he scarcely wanted to think about the consequences; something he rarely did on even his calmer days. So he decided to concentrate on the cool mushy dough in his hands, that he beat and molded, working out all the air bubbles; while listening to Grandma Lucy's beliefs in the supernatural and psychics and all other things Henry barely tolerated. Shawn remembered his mother saying that Grandma was always condescending towards her and Dad's marriage.
On one side was Grandma, a free spirit who loved laughing and make-believe and letting children grow up to be whatever fate and angels had in store for them. Following where the wind takes you, are the words she most often used. However on the other side was Henry Spencer, a determined rule-follower who put his job above all else, even his family sometimes, and the man who hated psychics and other so-called 'mumbo-jumbo'. Even letting children think for themselves. It was what often made him and Lucy lock horns mostly, Lucy raised Shawn's mother to make mistakes and ultimately learn from them, move on, and become a better person. Shawn's father raised him in a dictatorship where his rule was impenetrable, a child needed strict discipline and order; mistakes meant failure. Shawn's dad hated failures.
Shawn must've drifted off in his thinking because next thing he knew Lucy was taking the dough from his hands and putting them into small balls on the baking sheet. He remained quiet until she put the cookies in the oven and set the timer. He noticed she pressed the broil button and curiously didn't fix it, so after she moved he rushed over and re-adjusted it to the BAKE option.
She then motioned for him to follow her into the den where she sat in her oversized recliner, pulling him onto her lap.
"Nana," he whispered quietly, using the word he had long abandoned because his father said it was too babyish, "I don't want to grow up."
Lucy sighed and hugged Shawn into her chest, "No one truly wants to grow up Shawn, but we all must. It's a part of life, life happens to everyone." The soft grunt she heard from in front of her signaled his disbelief, which was only confirmed when he said so quietly it was barely heard:
"I'm not ever going to grow up." And he said it with such finality, she nearly believed him, but she said nothing. They sat in the darkening room together, despite it only being 5:26 in the afternoon. After several more minutes an obnoxious dinging started, frightening Lucy who must have forgotten about the cookies. Shawn got off his grandmother's lap and slid to the ground, pointing towards the kitchen, Lucy smiled sheepishly. She slowly pushed herself up with the arms of the chair and followed the incessant rings into the kitchen, opening the oven and retrieving the cookie sheet.
They didn't speak as she piled the cookies onto a platter and wrapped them in plastic to take back to Shawn's house. Shawn stood by the door, scuffing his shoes against the pale gold linoleum waiting for his grandmother and the cookies. Lucy shuffled her feet and knelt down next to her grandson, she gave him a jacket of her husband's and zipped it for him.
"This was my husband's," she told Shawn in a dazed kind of voice as she adjusted the collar. Confused, Shawn looked at her puzzled and replied, "I know."
"You know," she continued, "I have a grandson named Shawn, you look just like him." And as flash of lightning illuminated the tiny apartment, Shawn ran.