The Life as He Knew it
'' You are not my enemy anymore There's a ray of light upon your face now It will be all new again There is something else Just 'round the corner So when we'll wake up Some morning rain Will wash away our pain When we will wake up Some morning rain Will wash away our pain 'Cause it never began for us It'll never end for us 'Cause it never began for us It'll never end for us '' RAINBOW - song by Elisa
He stopped abruptly on the porch and watched them.
He couldn't stop himself from doing it.
He held tightly his sack of groceries, and admired them. Knowing well he should come to them, and not standing there, but finding himself examining his family from distance more interesting.
Their home on the beach offered a good visual of the three figures. They weren't close to the seashore, even if they weren't close enough to home to see him right away.
The sea seemed capricious and the breeze brought to Adam the song of the waves. It was a spectacle of great, majestic power. Adam understood why the sight resulted so dear for his father and his companion. It was an ideal frame for the 3 people seated on the sand.
As he watched, he recognized in himself some kind of longing he couldn't explain. He couldn't help to feel a little envious.
The blonde woman sitting on a cloth upon the white sand wore a orange sundress and read a book for her children, excitedly.
The woman looked good, with her long blond locks flowing freely on her wide shoulders. A two year-old little girl, white-blond hairs impossibly curly fixed in two colourful buns, giggled uncontrollably very close to her, tugging at her hand, perhaps to invite to go ahead with the narration.
In the woman's lap, a little boy, with hairs of the same blonde was interested in the turning of the pages and tried to do the work for his mother.
Thoses who didn't know them often exchanged the two children for twins, but the little bouncy Grace Desirée was older than her bigger-looking brother by eleven months.
Ethan Seymour, excepting his fair coloring, was the carbon-copy of his father, from his cleft chin to his silvery-green eyes. His button nose one day would look patrician, and his mother firmly believed that his profile, now so tender for her female acquaintances, in ten years would charm girls and win over teachers.
The woman adjusted around her son his blue cape, rubbed her lips against the top of his head in an affectionate kiss.
Grace pulled forcefully a handful of the Nikita's hair, impatiently waiting for her tale. The little girl leaned back, succumbing a fit of giggles as her mother tickled her belly.
Nikita hugged Grace close and lifted up her head, her instincts alerting her that she was being watched. Identifying her watcher, she grinned and waved at him.
Adam smiled and waved back, but didn't move.
He was thinking that nobody would ever know that he was even related to his siblings. The physical difference between them was remarkable.
It came to his mind, without any apparent motivation, a familiar image. It was of Nikita and his father. She was far in her pregnancy, her legs swollen; he was washing her hair, affectionately, and while he did, they talked in a low voice.
Michael washed her often hair, during both her pregnancies, not always necessary, but frequently. It was an operation intimately enjoyable by both. Adam remembered observing them more then once, wondering why he took so much for doing it, or why they looked like if they were actually having fun.
He remembered how slowly his father's fingers massaged her scalp , passing gently through her mane .
He still couldn't say he understood it.
It wasn't that he didn't like Nikita. He grew to love her, if not as a mother, at least like a dear friend. He loved the life they had now, being a big brother and finding Grace curled up and asleep in his bed. He even loved when his stuff disappeared and he had to force Ethan to give them back to him.
He liked helping Nikita with the shopping or Christmas decorations, listening to her as she teased his father.
But sometimes, he thought about things he couldn't have. A woman he barely remembered, with eyes and hair as dark as his own, and his same brown skin, but whom he didn't know .
He wondered if Elena would understood him better than his father understood him.
He wondered why his father looked so happy now, so different from the man thoughtful and closed he had known during his childhood, if loving. Oh, it has been good, all these years he and Michael spent together alone, traveling around the world, and then settling down in Boston. But, Adam saw him always composed, reticent to talk about himself.
How much did he know about his father , really ?
It unsettled him a little finding him now so human, so light-hearted , when he has always been so moderated, so poor of personal exigencies and desires.
So he wondered why responsibility of the his well-being, put ahead anything , had held him back , or if this datum affected their relationship more than they both wanted admit.
Adam gave up long time ago, the illusion that his father could having loved his mother the same way he now loved the mother of his other children.
He knew the world enough to know that this quality of love, constant and passionate, was rare and not generated by a brief acquaintance.
Maybe they had been lovers when his mother was alive, or maybe not . He didn't really want an answer. It wouldn't mean anything even if he had gotten one.
Deep down, he knew that it wasn't his dad, or Nikita, or even Grace or Ethan to keep him from fitting in. It was he who kept his distance, because he was afraid of what he could see if he did.
'' Adam''
A male voice took him by surprise calling his name, and the boy turned calmly, trying to not make it visible.
How they do it?
It embarassed him always, when his father or Nikita sneaked up on him, and he could *never * get himself to notice, despite his long experience.
'' Come on, bring these down ''
Michael smiled at his son, handing him two bottles, one of water and the other of Italian wine.
It was years since he had a picnic on the beach, and he had good memories of this ritual.
He patted Adam lightly on his shoulder, and, bringing a picnic basket richly filled, followed him down on the beach.
'' You are not my enemy anymore There's a ray of light upon your face now It will be all new again There is something else Just 'round the corner So when we'll wake up Some morning rain Will wash away our pain When we will wake up Some morning rain Will wash away our pain 'Cause it never began for us It'll never end for us 'Cause it never began for us It'll never end for us '' RAINBOW - song by Elisa
He stopped abruptly on the porch and watched them.
He couldn't stop himself from doing it.
He held tightly his sack of groceries, and admired them. Knowing well he should come to them, and not standing there, but finding himself examining his family from distance more interesting.
Their home on the beach offered a good visual of the three figures. They weren't close to the seashore, even if they weren't close enough to home to see him right away.
The sea seemed capricious and the breeze brought to Adam the song of the waves. It was a spectacle of great, majestic power. Adam understood why the sight resulted so dear for his father and his companion. It was an ideal frame for the 3 people seated on the sand.
As he watched, he recognized in himself some kind of longing he couldn't explain. He couldn't help to feel a little envious.
The blonde woman sitting on a cloth upon the white sand wore a orange sundress and read a book for her children, excitedly.
The woman looked good, with her long blond locks flowing freely on her wide shoulders. A two year-old little girl, white-blond hairs impossibly curly fixed in two colourful buns, giggled uncontrollably very close to her, tugging at her hand, perhaps to invite to go ahead with the narration.
In the woman's lap, a little boy, with hairs of the same blonde was interested in the turning of the pages and tried to do the work for his mother.
Thoses who didn't know them often exchanged the two children for twins, but the little bouncy Grace Desirée was older than her bigger-looking brother by eleven months.
Ethan Seymour, excepting his fair coloring, was the carbon-copy of his father, from his cleft chin to his silvery-green eyes. His button nose one day would look patrician, and his mother firmly believed that his profile, now so tender for her female acquaintances, in ten years would charm girls and win over teachers.
The woman adjusted around her son his blue cape, rubbed her lips against the top of his head in an affectionate kiss.
Grace pulled forcefully a handful of the Nikita's hair, impatiently waiting for her tale. The little girl leaned back, succumbing a fit of giggles as her mother tickled her belly.
Nikita hugged Grace close and lifted up her head, her instincts alerting her that she was being watched. Identifying her watcher, she grinned and waved at him.
Adam smiled and waved back, but didn't move.
He was thinking that nobody would ever know that he was even related to his siblings. The physical difference between them was remarkable.
It came to his mind, without any apparent motivation, a familiar image. It was of Nikita and his father. She was far in her pregnancy, her legs swollen; he was washing her hair, affectionately, and while he did, they talked in a low voice.
Michael washed her often hair, during both her pregnancies, not always necessary, but frequently. It was an operation intimately enjoyable by both. Adam remembered observing them more then once, wondering why he took so much for doing it, or why they looked like if they were actually having fun.
He remembered how slowly his father's fingers massaged her scalp , passing gently through her mane .
He still couldn't say he understood it.
It wasn't that he didn't like Nikita. He grew to love her, if not as a mother, at least like a dear friend. He loved the life they had now, being a big brother and finding Grace curled up and asleep in his bed. He even loved when his stuff disappeared and he had to force Ethan to give them back to him.
He liked helping Nikita with the shopping or Christmas decorations, listening to her as she teased his father.
But sometimes, he thought about things he couldn't have. A woman he barely remembered, with eyes and hair as dark as his own, and his same brown skin, but whom he didn't know .
He wondered if Elena would understood him better than his father understood him.
He wondered why his father looked so happy now, so different from the man thoughtful and closed he had known during his childhood, if loving. Oh, it has been good, all these years he and Michael spent together alone, traveling around the world, and then settling down in Boston. But, Adam saw him always composed, reticent to talk about himself.
How much did he know about his father , really ?
It unsettled him a little finding him now so human, so light-hearted , when he has always been so moderated, so poor of personal exigencies and desires.
So he wondered why responsibility of the his well-being, put ahead anything , had held him back , or if this datum affected their relationship more than they both wanted admit.
Adam gave up long time ago, the illusion that his father could having loved his mother the same way he now loved the mother of his other children.
He knew the world enough to know that this quality of love, constant and passionate, was rare and not generated by a brief acquaintance.
Maybe they had been lovers when his mother was alive, or maybe not . He didn't really want an answer. It wouldn't mean anything even if he had gotten one.
Deep down, he knew that it wasn't his dad, or Nikita, or even Grace or Ethan to keep him from fitting in. It was he who kept his distance, because he was afraid of what he could see if he did.
'' Adam''
A male voice took him by surprise calling his name, and the boy turned calmly, trying to not make it visible.
How they do it?
It embarassed him always, when his father or Nikita sneaked up on him, and he could *never * get himself to notice, despite his long experience.
'' Come on, bring these down ''
Michael smiled at his son, handing him two bottles, one of water and the other of Italian wine.
It was years since he had a picnic on the beach, and he had good memories of this ritual.
He patted Adam lightly on his shoulder, and, bringing a picnic basket richly filled, followed him down on the beach.