Birdie. Bro. Mon petite. Lad. Terms of endearment. His loved ones enjoyed calling him by them, and he loved the nicknames. They were personalized little kennings used only on him. It showed that he was special to the people who were special to him.
He and his Papa were the only French speakers in the family, and it was nice to have something that was all his to share with one of their fathers in a house spotlighted by his older brother.
Arthur, with his brisk and blunt attitude, had always made him nervous. He'd never been afraid of the man, per say, just wary. And it didn't help that when he was home, most of the Brit's time and attention went to Alfred. 'Lad' was his way of telling his other son that he was important to him in his own way, too.
Bro had been his brother's favorite thing to call him ever since he could remember. He was Alfred's brother, and no one else could call him that. When they were younger, Al had at one time told him that a hero could never hope to find a better sidekick, but he wanted them to remember that they were always brothers first, and heroes second.
In middle school, his lunch money had been stolen. A few days later, the same student took his lunchbox. And then again the following day. And then a few days after that. Until one day he chased after the bully, sick and tired of going hungry, (not to mention embarrassed of eating so much after school. There was no way he was going to tell his family what had been happening. This was his fight.). He found out that the albino boy had been taking his food, not for himself, or for the sport of it, but so that his younger brother had enough to eat. The two German boys were in a foster home that was too overrun to properly make sure that every kid had enough food. He had helped them, sneaking them homemade lunches and, on occasion, clothes and toys, until they had been moved to a better living environment. The older boy he had followed, Gilbert, had taken to referring to him as their 'Mama Bird,' because he had flitted into their lives and always made sure that they were all right. Now in high school, and happily dating, that title had been shortened to the sweet 'Birdie' he was known as now.
As he was very often overlooked, those names usually served as a reminder to him that he hadn't been forgotten. Now, they seemed to do just the opposite. He realized this one day when he went to write his name on a test and paused. Normal people don't usually have to think to remember their names, right?
Little by little, they had stopped saying his name. As one hardly ever says his own name to himself, he hadn't realized that those sweet signs of affection had begun replacing the title he had been born to.
Maybe he was being a bit over-dramatic. After all, it wasn't like his name was being erased. It was his name. It wasn't going to go away. So what was bothering him so much?
Then, one day, he was home alone. The chores had all been done, he didn't feel like watching TV, and he had read everything in his room. On the arm of the couch was one of his Papa's magazines. Absently, he began flipping through it, hoping something interesting would catch his eye. When it did, he sat up straighter and read it again. And again. It was a page in the back specifically for quotes to make one think.
'Oh. That's what's wrong.' He thought as he dropped his head. When Francis returned later in the day, he found his magazine on the floor, with a ragged hole torn out of one of the last pages.
Yyyyy
"Nothing is sweeter in this sad world than the sound of someone you love calling your name" -Kate Dicamillo The Tale Of Despereaux
Yyyyy
So, yeah. For reasons, I make a point of never letting myself cry. Just today, I had a breakdown and couldn't stop. This is my way of getting myself to dry up. Love it? Hate it? Let me know.
