The First Day of My Life–Bright Eyes
The morning passed fairly quickly for Martha. After Rose delivered their early morning order, she took her turn for the usual Thursday run at Gardner's Market. The immense variety of the large indoor farmer's market made it virtually impossible for one to be there less than two hours. Even with a set shopping list, Rose would no doubt take at least that amount of time, if not more.
Fortunately, Martha had not been left to manage the shop alone for very long, as Calleigh Moreland arrived midmorning. The young woman had been their only hire, and the nineteen year old had proven her worth time and again. Not only was she an immensely kind and considerate young woman, but she was one of the hardest workers either of them had ever known.
Calleigh had originally taken the job to primarily help with the cost of tuition; so when there were no customers in need, she had her nose in at least three books. However, this morning, Martha noticed that when there was a lull in customers, there were two more books added to the pile, Calleigh's normally perfect ponytail was replaced with messy bun piled high on her head with stray locks falling every which way, and wearing her glasses instead of her usual contacts. It was obvious that the young woman was drowning in her studies, so Martha took pity on the poor creature and sent her home. Relief filled her tired eyes, and Calleigh gave Martha a teary hug. Hurriedly collecting her belongings, Calleigh rushed out the door just as Martha and Rose's favorite regular entered. This time, Donna was not alone.
The two women locked eyes and mirrored each other with bright smiles. As usual, Donna appeared happy to be there; however, the tall, skinny one looked put out and was muttering something unintelligible. Donna apparently had been able to understand him because she yelled "Oi!" before jabbing him harshly in his ribs. Martha bit her lip to contain her laughter as the man glared at her, pouting and rubbing his injured side.
"It's about time, Donna. I was beginning to think ya wouldn't show. Who's this then?" she asked, nodding towards the unknown man, "He isn't the legendary Jack, is he?"
The man rolled his eyes at Martha's use of "legendary" and Donna snorted. "Lord, no! Trust me-Jack's the complete opposite of this one, thank goodness. This is John."
On learning the man's name, Martha's eyes widened in realization. "Oh yeah, your brother! It's nice to meet you John," she extended her hand in greeting, which he returned, "I'm Martha. What can I get for ya?"
Martha was fairly certain she heard him mutter "a shotgun," but before she could clarify, he quickly morphed his expression and said, "Oh, I don't know. What do you recommend?"
"Depends," Martha shrugged. "Want somethin' hot, cold, sweet, strong...?"
Tilting his head back as if in deep thought, John said, "Weelll...I don't know. I'm not sure coffee should really be cold. Kind of defeats the purpose, I suppose. But then you have to take into consideration the temperature outside as to whether you want to warm up or cool down. Then there's all the concoctions you have listed. But then you have non-coffee drinks and…oh tea! Tea is brilliant, but then that adds so many more variables to-..."
"Oh for the love of God," Donna cut in, backhanding his chest, "Just surprise him." Facing John, Donna gestured towards the front of the shop. "Why don't ya go sit down in one of those big leather chairs? Give that big gob of yours a rest." As John rolled his eyes, yet again, and sulked off, Donna turned back to Martha. "Please tell me Blondie made those Red Velvet brownies! Y'know, the ones with that cream cheese swirl? She's been promising me for two weeks now."
Martha's mind was reeling just a bit from John's rambling, but she raised her eyebrow at Donna's rare nickname for Rose. "Y'know she hates it when you call her Blondie, right?"
Donna smirked. "Oh, I only do it to rile her up. Plus, she-...wait, where is she?"
"She made a run this mornin' and then went to Gardner's. She should be back soon...well, hopefully. But, I think she put some of those brownies aside this morning. Lemme check the back. You want your usual, too?"
Donna looked like she was bursting with excitement. "Not today. Rose told me to try some concoction you made up. It had some kind of car name…," she trailed off in thought.
Martha nodded her head in understanding, "Rolls-Royce? Yeah, give me a few minutes, 'kay?"
Smiling and giddily clapping her hands in excitement, Donna went over to join her brother, and Martha went into the kitchen to retrieve the pastries. As she entered, she saw the refrigerator door was ajar. Frowning in confusion, she walked over, only to find Tony rummaging through the food. Hearing her approach, he looked up at her, eyes wide as if she had caught him with his hand in the biscuit tin.
Martha looked at him with cross confusion. "Tony, get outta there!" she demanded, swatting his arm, "What are you doing here now, anyway? You should still be at school."
"But, I didn't go to sch-..."
Out of nowhere, Mickey rushed to the boy and cupped his hand over Tony's mouth, but it wasn't soon enough. Martha was livid with what she heard. She smacked Mickey on the arm, glaring at him.
"You didn't take 'im to school this morning?! Mickey, this is the third time you've let him stay home this month. We are not raising a delinquent. He needs to be at school!" she finished, slapping him again for good measure.
Mickey flinched as she hit him again, rubbing his tender arm. "Babe, calm down! It's not like he's gonna be boostin' cars now. Me and 'im just spent the day together. He wanted to help me work on the car. I was workin' on the engine today, so if you think about it, he was learning somethin'."
"Mickey, that's not the point and y'know it! We can't just give in every time his bottom lip quivers. Tony needs to...Tony?" Martha darted her eyes about the room, "Where did he go?"
Mickey was also at a loss. "I dunno, Babe."
"You weren't watching, 'im?!"
"No, I was too busy bickering with you!" he shot back.
Both rushed to the kitchen door and popped their head out, only to see their nephew in avid conversation with John.
Continuing his dramatics, John listened to his sister's instructions and flopped down into the plush, worn leather chair. Though he'd fully determined that he was going to pout and mentally rant, John found himself studying his surroundings. The shop's floors were hardwood and worn with age and character. Except for the large rug under him, there were no carpets to be found. The large windows allowed the sun to freely stream in and highlight every unique feature. In addition to his own, there were three other leather chairs. The walls were brick and held various artwork, ranging from photos to paintings. There were also a few framed child drawings signed Tony on the wall beside him. The ceiling had what looked like brass panels. The entire far back wall was a bookcase, floor to ceiling, with a ladder leaning against it. A dark blue, felt sofa faced the bookcase, looking like it was the most comfortable seat imaginable. The countertops were tiled and lined with assorted jars of biscotti, chocolate covered espresso beans, and even jelly babies. Various pastries and such were displayed in a rounded glass display. They looked mouthwateringly amazing. The menu on the wall looked hand written. Underneath it, there were two framed photos. One was of a middle-aged couple, the man with his arm around her shoulders as they stared lovingly at each other. The other was of Martha being embraced by a young man, and a blonde woman who looked about the same age, holding a young boy with a mess of blonde hair. John's eyes were drawn to the blonde woman's smile. He found it infectious even though it was merely a photo. John assumed the boy was her son considering he bore a striking resemblance to her. A feeling of disappointment crept over him as he thought about the possibility of the young woman being unavailable.
What was that about? he wondered incredulously.
Realizing his sister was nowhere in sight, John looked around and saw Donna outside on her mobile, yelling by the look of it, and therefore leaving him to his own devices. Sighing, John picked up a book that was lying on the coffee table in front of him and started aimlessly flipping through its pages.
As John turned another page, his eyes involuntarily flickered upward and locked with two inquisitive brown eyes. He lowered the book and saw that the eyes belonged to a little boy who could be no more than eight. John's eyebrows furrowed in concentration, trying to place where he had seen the boy.
The boy cocked his head and said, "Why are ya makin' that face?"
"I'm thinking," John said as he put down the book and leant forward to make a closer examination of the boy. Where have I seen him?
The little boy looked at him with a twinge of worry. "Be careful, ya might break your brain."
John's eyes widened a little at that unexpected remark. "What?"
The boy looked at him with complete seriousness and said, "That's what Aunt Martha tells Uncle Mickey every time he says he's thinkin'. He doesn't seem to like it when she says it, either."
The picture—that's where I saw him!
A huge grin overtook John's features at the boy's statement. "Weelll, I don't think I have ever heard of someone breaking their brain. Although, there are times when under severe stress you can give yourself a nosebleed, but that's not due to anything being broken. But I wouldn't suggest you try that. It's very messy."
The boy giggled at his random rambling, then said, "I'm Tony."
"I'm John. Tony, eh? I take it then that these are your masterpieces?" he asked, motioning to the pictures on the wall beside him. Tony nodded his head enthusiastically. "They're quite good. I particularly like the one with the moons and rocket. I'm quite fond of outer space myself."
Tony smiled brilliantly at him. "That's Rose's favorite, too. I drew it after she took me to that place that puts stars and planets on the ceiling. It. Was. Awesome!"
John's smile grew wider at Tony's enthusiasm. Tony continued his space rant. "All of those planets and moons! I wish I had a spaceship. I'd travel to every planet and meet all kinds of aliens and strange animals!"
"With a big, curious mind like yours, I bet you love going to school." John's smile faltered as a gloom came over Tony's feature at the mention of school.
Tony looked down and kicked at his trainers. "S'alright, I guess."
John moved off the chair and onto the floor, getting closer to Tony's level. "Obviously not. What don't you like about it?"
"Trevor," Tony mumbled, still averting his eyes.
"And just who might this Trevor be?" John asked indignantly. Though he had only known this little boy for all of ten minutes, John found himself becoming increasingly upset at the thought of Tony being picked on—which he was certain was happening.
Tony looked up at him with wide sad eyes. "He's…he's this boy in my class. He likes to call me names and makes jokes because I like doing science stuff...say's I'm a geek."
John straightened his posture and sniffed. "Well, there's nothing wrong with being a geek. I'm called one frequently. In fact, there are lots of girls who like the geek-chic thing," he counter, but on seeing Tony's tongue stick out and face grimace at the mention of girls, John switched gears. "But obviously you are too young for that to be of any benefit to you…yes, I don't think I started caring about such things till I was at least ten, and you can't be more than…how old are you, anyway?"
"Seven," Tony replied, standing up tall and proud.
"Seven," John nodded, "Good age. So you have at least three years till that becomes a concern. But in the meantime, let's discuss this Trevor. I think he deserves to be taught a lesson don't you?"
A look of disappointment formed on his face, and Tony shook his head. "Can't. I already asked if I could beat 'im up, and they all said no. Even Uncle Mickey!"
Laughing heartily, John shook his head. "No, no! I'm not suggesting you beat him up. Violence isn't the answer. You said you like experiments, yeah?" Tony nodded in affirmation. "Right. Then using that brilliant brain of yours, Mr. Tony, we'll teach him a lesson. Tell me, Tony, do you happen to know where to get a ketchup bottle?" With that, John laid out the master plan to him and wrote some brief instructions of a scrap piece of paper. Tony listened with undivided attention and amazement, stuffing the paper into his pocket after John finished his explanation. It was not a moment too soon, for just then Martha appeared with a couple of drinks and some pastries.
Placing them down on the coffee table, Martha looked squarely at the boy. "Tony, you aren't botherin' John, are ya?" As he shook his now, she turned her attention to John. "I'm sorry the drinks took long so long. I was having an arg-…um, discussion…with my husband and my mind left me. I brought some extra pastries to hopefully make up for it."
Tony looked up at her, confusion written on his face. "I thought you and Uncle Mickey were fightin'."
John chuckled and Martha blushed at Tony's observation. "No, sweetie. We were just discussing something rather strongly."
Unable to hide his amusement, John grinned at their exchange before answering Martha. "He was no bother at all! Quite the opposite actually. Tony and I were having a splendid time—a real bonding moment. Hopefully, we will get to do it again."
Martha eyed him, attempting to gauge his sincerity. "I'm glad he was no trouble. Well, I hope you enjoy the pastries. And you Mister," she said, looking sternly at Tony, "you get to tell Rose 'bout skippin' school today. Now march!" Martha guided him by the shoulders towards the back.
"But Uncle Mickey let me!" Tony defended.
"Yeah, an' I already yelled at Uncle Mickey. He faced the music, now it's your turn."
As he watched them leave, John smiled again, something he realized he'd been doing a lot since he'd spoken with the little boy. He sat back into the chair and reached for his drink, sipping and smiling wider in contentment.
Finally finished with her tirade, Donna returned and settled in the chair beside him. She picked up one of the pastries, making noises of delight as she bit into it. Looking at him, she asked with a hint of knowing, "You feel better?"
John didn't have to look at her to know that she had a smug smirk on her face. Refusing to give her the satisfaction of looking at her, he took another sip from his drink and nonchalantly said, "Maybe."
Donna just took another bite and smiled.