Chapter 7-

It was no surprise to me that after WordGirl left my mother was by my side. Well, to reiterate, she didn't just walk in. About ten minutes later she was at my side, a bag slung over her shoulder. Her expression seemed empty, but one look into her eyes told me how she really felt…she was frightened for me.
After relishing the moment between myself and WordGirl and the realization of a life I wanted to live-this was like a punch in the gut.
Why was it I felt nothing for my mother, but with WordGirl I got fulfillment? The overly tall woman sat next to me and sighed a soft little sigh, "How are you feeling Tobey?" she asked, folding her large hands on her lap.

My mouth quirked crookedly at her, "What do you think?" I shot back. She rolled her eyes at this in a surprisingly humored way, "Unchanged I see," she commented. I snorted, "Yes, unchanged, still a jerk." It was meant to be a joke, but it painfully reminded me of the way I left things with Becky Botsford. My mother shook her head, "You aren't a jerk," she said plainly but genuinely, as though she was sure that this was true, "I will admit my dear, you are rude sometimes. But your father was the same," she shrugged her broad shoulders.
Something ached hard behind my eyes, forcing me to squeeze them shut. Despite this- intrigue grew, "You have never mentioned him before," I said, rubbing at my closed lids.
She said nothing for a short while and I got it into my head that she was nodding, and then I heard the shuffling of the bag strapped to her shoulder.
Willing myself to ignore the dull pain, I opened my eyes to see my mother holding out a picture frame. I adjusted my thick glasses, and then hesitantly took it from her hand.

I stared blankly at the occupant of that frame. A rather short, thin man with overly long noodle-y limbs; wild brownish blonde hair sat over a pale face with muted features but sparkling blue eyes. He was wearing oil smudged overalls over a light blue long sleeved shirt-sleeves rolled up. A wide smile was on his face.
He was leaning against a younger version of my mother, a small blonde haired baby in her arms….me.

"So, this is my father?" I assumed, absent-mindedly squeezing the frame tighter in my pale hands. She nodded, "Theodore-Tobey-McCallistar the second," she smiled fondly at the picture.
"And what happened to him exactly?" I inquired, biting my bottom lip compulsively. I wanted this man to mean so much more to me than he did…I knew he was everything and nothing, like my mother. But his face was unfamiliar.
"A car accident. He had been at a Robotics convention out of town and was coming home on a blizzardy evening when a truck spun out of control and…" she took in a soft breath, "You can guess what happened next."
I attempted to swallow a lump which had formed in my throat unwillingly, and the ache deepened behind my eyes-if it got any worse I might find myself in need of one of the doctors again.
"Why…are you showing me this?" I asked, though I could guess why.
She shifted in her seat, "I toyed with the idea of it bringing back your memories, the two of you were inseparable most of the time. But I wanted to convince myself really that this wasn't the same."

Wasn't the same? Was she comparing my father's death with my accident and the following memory loss? I scoffed bitterly at the assumption.
She shook her head quickly, "That's not what I meant," she frowned almost familiarly at me. Could she read my mind? Or did she understand me that well?
"You were five and a half when your father died Tobey. Though smarter than all the other children you had a hard time grasping the concept of his death. I suppose that it was in retaliation, you separated yourself from me. You wouldn't talk, you barely ate whatever I cooked, and you almost became…bitter. Things slowly changed as you grew older, but… I think you might understand when you become a parent," she smiled stiffly at me, "This seemed almost the same to me, we aren't close. And I know that it is because you don't recognize me, but it still hurts," she shrugged indifferently at her own suffering.

She had a stiff upper lip this woman.

I, on the other hand, felt a wet tear roll down my pale cheek. She outstretched her arms and pulled me into a hug, the warmth of her body enveloping me and relaxing me. This…still felt wrong. It felt good. But wrong.
I choked on my closing throat as I fought back more tears, "I'm sorry," I said earnestly, wondering if-had I had this conversation with her before my memory was gone-would I apologize?

That night, I tossed and turned on the hospital bed. Blankets thrust off me; I sat up and removed my glasses to rub at my eyes. Aggravation settled in, 'I can't sleep, I can't think…just kill me and get it over with!'
I shoved my bare legs off the bed and felt the cold of the floor under my bear feet. I needed to move. Get out of the blasted hospital attire and just…walk. I needed to think!
My mother had left her bag which I knew had my regular clothes tucked safely inside, she had planned for me to put them on in the morning-but 2AM was technically morning so…ahem.
I pulled on the clothing hastily then peaked out of the room. The lights were on and it burned my eyes for a moment, when I was able to see again I saw that the hallway was empty.
I made my way to the elevator and went down to the bottom level, run fingers through my tangled hair I considered my options.
I could try to sneak out the door, or climb out a window, or I could think about what I was doing and go back to bed.
I chose the former option.
The receptionist was handily not behind the desk at that moment, and I darted as fast as I could to the door and found myself outside the building.

I took in a breath of fresh air, and started walking.

Sorry this chapter is so short and of course it came in late, but the next chapter should be longer…it might even be the last chapter. Huh.
O-O
I hope this seems in character, the whole thing seemed like a good idea when I was writing it lol

Please review!