Disclaimer: Specs and his glasses belong to Disney. I just own this story.
Specs
His glasses were bent, scratched, and abused beyond their years by the time he arrived at the lodging house, but they were still his most valuable possession. No one would ever know how much they meant to him.
It was only fair they had given him his name.
In a second floor tenement a little boy stood by an open window listening intently to the busy street below. Eyes closed, he leaned against the window sill as if asleep, but his family knew better. Everyday he stood in front that window, memorized by the activity below. All the different sounds drifted upward and he tried to separate them in him mind. The footsteps ... voices ... machines.
How long had it been since he stepped onto that street? Any street for that matter? Two years maybe? He couldn't remember any more. Day after day of sitting around played tricks on his memory. Time passed slowly inside his family's small two room apartment.
His eyes had a disease. They weren't normal like his brother's and sister's. His eyes ... didn't work right. They were fuzzy. Colors and shapes ran together. Everything in sight turned into blurry squares and circles that appeared all too similar. From a distance his father's chair looked same as the bed. His little brother and sister might as well have been the same person, he couldn't tell the difference unless they spoke. Though he didn't notice the difference having grown used to it, his parents knew something was not right with their son. He squinted at something right in front of his face to see it properly. Over the years the problems with his eyes only grew worse until he could hardly see at all.
It kept him away from the world. Since he couldn't see, leaving the tenement was out of the question. Quickly he became restless, bored, and frustrated like any boy in an enclosed world. He wanted to play stickball, run up and down the street with all the other kids, and explore the city independently. The more he dreamed about it, the more he wanted go out there...
His mother walked across the small room, her shoes tapping lightly against the wooden floor as she prepared supper. Nearby, his brothers and sister played together, but with practice the seven year old drowned them out and concentrated on listening.
From the opposite side of the small room his mother set the last bowl on the table before looking around at her family. She was a young Russian woman with dark thick hair and darker eyes. Motherhood suited her well though it had taken a great toll on her patience. Undoubtedly she loved her children, but raising them tested her limits. Especially her oldest. Four children now, ages seven, five, four, two, and a fifth babe to come within the year - too much for one woman to handle.
She picked up her youngest from the floor and balanced the toddler against her hip. "Come eat," she directed to the other three in her native tongue.
Eager for supper, the two other youngest didn't have to be told twice. They dropped their games and quickly came to the table. Three chairs and three pairs of stacked crates created enough seats for the family of six. The two children, Ivan and Katya, took their normal seat on the makeshift chairs. The real chairs belonged to Mama, Papa, and their older brother.
The older brother who continued to stand at the window...
"Misha, come the table." His mother snapped impatiently.
Hearing his name, his eyes snapped open and he turned away from the widow. The blurry world returned instantly. He navigated the room more from memory than from sight. As he sat, his mother quickly pushed the chair closer to the table. The movement startled the boy, causing him to quickly gripped the table to steady himself. Frowning, his mother took his hand and pressed the neck of a spoon into his palm, not having any patience to watch him struggle with the meal.
"It's stew. Eat." She commanded coolly. On the best of days she was more like a care giver than his mother. After years of Misha's handicap, she felt the right to be tired of dealing with him.
She took her seat between him and her daughter, Katya, with the youngest still in her lap. Her husband wouldn't be home for another hour and a half yet, but it was already six o'clock and her young ones didn't have the stomach to wait longer. Neither did she for that matter, so they ate.
The children's constant chatter halted momentarily and she found peace in the clinking of bowls and spoons. She fed a little broth to her babe, otherwise allowing him to eat the small vegetable pieces she set aside. Like a good mother, she watched over them all, unconsciously focusing on the three youngest. Her eyes avoided Misha though she glanced his direction once. He ate steadily, slowly, not to make a mistake and unintentionally anger her. She couldn't bear watching him, knowing he wasn't normal. Every time she looked at him her heart tore.
After their small supper the household returned to its normal state. Mama lit a candle as the room darkened, and took her usual seat at the table with the fabric she needed to finish stitching for work tomorrow. Nearby Ivan created his own game, using whatever available. Katya and her baby brother played together with her homemade doll.
Once again, Misha was left with nothing to do. If he wanted, he could join his brother's game, but Ivan never played fair. The other two still played games for babies. He was a mature seven year old, too old for babies games. Sighing quietly in frustration, Misha slumped to the floor and thought over his options. He needed something to do.
Without another option, he stood and made his way tentatively to his mother.
September days became noticeably shorter while evenings became dark quickly. Misha more than anyone else hated this. As the light inside the apartment dimmed his mother lit a single candle which provided enough light for the everyone, except him. If he couldn't see during the day, he was completely blind at night. Everything became the same dark color. The candle threw light around, giving the furniture and his family misshapen shadows to confuse him more.
Out of habit, his hands gripped the edge of the table, feeling every scratch and indent. At the same time, he secretly tried to feel for the shirts his mother laid on the table. The larger the pile, the more work she still had to finish. His fingers felt nothing, which meant she was almost finished, or she simply pushed the clothes away from the edge.
"Mama, can you tell a story?" Misha asked. His voice pleaded to her and he looked up longingly.
She glanced in up at him, but unfazed, returned to her stitching without guilt. He never knew if she looked at him anyway. How could he?
From years of experience she knew he was becoming restless again, bored without anything to do. All the pent up energy of a little boy released itself at once. Fidgeting. Tapping irritatingly. Pacing. Mindlessly playing with anything at hand. He could not sit still. Only stories held his attention long enough, and his mother knew why. He only wanted to hear her describe what the people and places looked like so he could imagine them.
Since that was the case, she had better things to do than entertain him. Children amused themselves, he could certainly do the same. "No, not now." She answered without looking at him or breaking a pace in her stitching.
A frown of disappointment crossed Misha's face. He knew not to ask more than once, but he wanted to hear a story. "Please?" He begged hopefully.
Motherly affection disappeared form her voice. "What did I say?" She warned sternly.
Knowing pleading would him nowhere, he let go of the table in defeat to return to his sister and brothers.
They sat on the floor playing separate games in two different worlds. The distinct sound of a clay marble rolling against the wooden floor caught Misha's attention. Knowing who played with marble's the most, he headed over to his brother's misshapen figure.
"Go away." Iavn already knew what his older brother wanted.
Realizing he had been caught, Misha stopped a step in front of him. "Let me play."
"No, they're mine. You can't even play right." Ivan spat as he moved the few clay marble's he had to his side possessively. He didn't have many and wasn't about let his brother loose them.
"You can't either." Misha quipped. "Let me have some."
His younger brother remained defiant.
"No."
Annoyed, Misha bent and reached out to grab the marbles. Though he couldn't see anything small or as dully colored as a marble against the wooden floor, especially in the dark, he had a good idea where they were. Ivan slapped his brother's hand away.
Determined, he reached again, quicker this time.
"No!" Ivan pushed Misha back with a hard shove.
Caught off guard, the older boy fell backward and hit the wood floor with a hard thud.
Up to this point their mother had ignored their petty argument, but at the noise she looked up from her piecework. Misha pulled himself to his feet quickly and angrily. Her eyes widened in horror as she watched him take a purposeful step toward his brother. Despite swinging blindly, his aim was true and he smacked Ivan in the head.
As the five year old started to cry, their mother jumped from her chair and harshly yanked her oldest son backward before smacking the side his head herself. Not expecting to be pulled backward he fell again, but she pulled him to his feet. Misha froze in her grip knowing he was in trouble.
"What has gotten into you?" She demanded in exasperation. Her voice raised, giving away her anger. "You know better! What is wrong with you?"
He just struck his brother. Her boys argued before, but never seriously. Never violently. As it sank in she felt overwhelmingly out of control. Ivan's crying grew louder. The other two were visibly upset. She didn't even know what to do with the boy in her grasp. This was suddenly too much . . . Misha, his blindness, his behavior were too much . . . she didn't know what to think anymore. She looked down at him, but no longer recognized the boy in her grasp. He wasn't her baby.
Lord help her. What had gone wrong?
Disclaimer #2: Fanfic author Stretch1 originally used Misha as Specs real name. I thought the name fit, so I used it as well. I just want to make sure she gets credit for having the idea first.
AN: I'm so excited to finally be posting this. Background fics about the boys are always fun to read and write. Besides, Specs needs a little more fan love (and a non slashy story). So here it is. Enjoy and expect another chapter soon.
And as always let me know what you think. Your input makes me a better writer. (Better Writer = Better Stories)
-Repeat