He ran for his life, his small feet pounding against the pavement of the sidewalk. His prize tight in his grip. His heart pounded, his lungs seized for more air to keep up with the demand. Adrenaline kept him moving forward and the wind kept his white hair slicked back.
"I see him! He's gettin' away!"
This gave a small burst of energy, but the panic tripped him up. His shoes, worn down and handed over to him by someone who didn't care, came apart as the sole of the footwear came undone. He tripped, falling forward and tumbling across the ground. The prize he had worked for, that he would have prided himself on and shown off to all the other kids at school, flew from his hands and bounced over to a storm drain. It clattered against the metal bars and fell with a finalizing splash.
The stomping feet surrounded him, towering over him as they caught up.
"Where's the knife?" the boy's latest victim demanded, seeing that his property was nowhere in sight. "Where'd he put it?"
"I saw it, dude," another answered. "It went down the hole, man."
The crowd of boys heaved around the thief, breathing heavily from running for so long.
"Alright," their leader decided. "Alright. You play with the big boys, little man? C'mon. Let's play."
The guys snickered, as two sets of strong arms effortlessly lifted him up and pulled him into a building.
The boy couldn't remember what kind of building it was, but amidst all the struggling, he could only gather that there were a lot of people around. Both on the street, and in the building. They escorted him up the stairs, every level raising fear and bile in the boy's stomach.
They emerged outside in what felt like seconds. Up on the roof of some building.
"You want to be a big man?" the leader taunted. "One of the big boys? Looking down on everyone else, huh Snowflake?"
"Please," the boy cried. Hot tears streamed down his face. "I didn't mean to."
"He didn't mean to," the others echoed, mocking him.
"It was an accident!" another one called out, eliciting more laughter.
"Come on," the leader led the group over to the ledge, "You want to look down on everyone?"
The three boys dangled him off the ledge, holding him by his legs. Forty feet, or four thousand feet, it was all the same in the boy's young mind.
He screamed and cried out in terror. His arms flailed for anything to grab onto, but the ledge was out of his reach.
"How about now!?" the bully called down at him. "How's the view!?"
"Please!" Lincoln cried. "Stop! Let me up! Let me go!"
"Let you go...?" the bully led on.
"No! No!" Lincoln screamed louder.
With little else he can do, he took as deep a breath as he could manage, and screamed out, as hard and as loud as he can. He could have been screaming for five minutes, or five seconds. Lincoln couldn't remember.
The boys pulled him back up and dropped him, letting him fall on the roof. Lincoln immediately started scooting away from them, his back to the ledge.
"Next time you take something from me," the bully warned him. "And I'll drop you for real."
The boy's turned and left him, feeling bigger. Derrick lingered for half a second longer, giving his adopted younger brother a silent warning look before joining the others.
Lincoln sat there, huddled on the roof and sobbing. No one around to even hear him. His breathing seized as he swore he could feel himself falling.
He jolted up in bed, sitting up and breathing heavily. Tears trickled down his cheeks as he tried to breathe.
It took a couple of seconds, but he realized he was in his room. He wasn't in the city. He wasn't being tortured by Derrick and his buddies. He was home. He was in the Loud house.
He forced himself to stop breathing. He wiped his arm across his eyes and let out a shaky breath.
In. Out. Back in. Back out. Slow and steady. You're okay. You're not up in the air, you're in your room. You couldn't be more safe right now if you tried.
Still, he went through the motions, just like what he talked about with Dr. Lopez. He held up both hands, flicking his fingers up as he counted.
"One," he counted. "Two. Three. Four. Five." He looked at his other hand. "Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten."
He took another breath, breathing out as slowly as he could.
"Mom and Dad." He spoke aloud, to no one in the room.
There was a knock at his door.
"Lincoln? Bud?" one of his sisters called. "You awake?"
"Yeah," he called back.
"Time to get up," Lori ordered, "You're the only one left who hasn't showered! We're going to be late!"
"I'm up, I'm up." Lincoln threw back the covers and grabbed his towel. He opened his door just in time to see Lori walking away and disappearing down the stairs. He walked the long hallway, peeking into the rooms as he went.
He looked into the nursery to see Leni dancing with Lily as she pulled a shirt over the baby's head. Lisa, trying to look unamused by the scene, hid behind a large book. Anyone could see she was looking on at the display of attention enviously.
She would get it, Lincoln knew. When it came to the emotional state of her sisters, Leni was the one to turn to. She would turn around and give Lisa the same treatment, even though the toddler would protest it.
Lincoln was engrossed to the scene enough to not notice that one of the other toddlers ran out of her room in front of him.
"Look what I found," Lana showed the barbie doll in her grip.
"Very nice," Lincoln commented.
"I'm gonna chuck it outside," Lana declared, trotting over to the stairs. She made a full stop at the first step, grabbing the railing above her head, and walking down the steps by planting both feet on each individual step. One-two. One-two. One-two.
"Lana!"
Lola ran out of her room, chasing after her sister.
"Give me back my barbie!" she cried out. She had ran all the way to the stairs, before coming to a full stop. She put one hand on the railing above her head, and walked down the steps, planting both feet on each step before moving on to the other, much in the same way as her twin. Lana had two steps for a head start, so the slow chase was on.
Lincoln couldn't help but snicker at the twins. They were cute, but rambunctious as all get out.
He moved on to the bathroom, but gave pause at another opened door. A feeling shivered down his side, warning him of danger like he was Spiderman. He took a step back, just as a flash of red with brown hair charged out of the room like a one-woman stampede.
"Gah!" Lynn complained. "I almost had you!"
"Almost gave me a concussion is what you did," Lincoln said while smiling. "Like I need one this morning." He turned back to the room. "Morning, Lucy," he waved at the darkness.
Something in the darkness waved back, enthralled with a book on her bed.
He moved on, glancing at Luan and Luna's room. Luna was smacking Luan's shoulder, something about setting up alarm clocks throughout the night.
Oh, and they were all set to sing the highest note from "I Believe I Can Fly," by William Hung when they went off.
Lincoln coughed into his fist and hurried along. He had to admit, that's pretty funny.
He finally got to the bathroom and started up the shower.
"I'm okay," he told himself as the lukewarm water hit his face. "I'm not in the city."
He took another breath. "This is Royal Woods."
He took yet another breath, and started counting to ten again.
It was hard to believe, all things considered. His story has been pretty crazy, up to this point. He was already born with white hair, into a family that seemed determined to grow as big as humanly possible. When he was two, he got stolen away from his family. The kidnappers made some time, driving a good distance away before getting into a car crash. The police pulled him out and chucked him into the foster care like it was a game of basketball. He spent the next eight years in the slums, being raised by the best of humanity, represented by Greg and Candy. Eventually he decided enough was enough and ran away. Then, by some miracle, someone shuffled some papers around while he was at the police station and found his biological parents.
Yeah. It's a lot to unpack.
Now he was home, settling in after a couple of months of some rocky adjustments. He's in therapy. He has friends. And his family had grown to a total of twelve people under one roof. He made the thirteenth member.
Now he was meeting someone new tomorrow.
Toweling himself off, and getting dressed for the day, he met the rest of his family downstairs.
"Everyone ready for Thanksgiving tomorrow?" Rita asked the table of children.
"Yeah!" the crowd called out from their breakfast.
"We got turkey!" Lana cheered.
"And gravy!" Lola added.
"And ham," Lori fed into the excitement.
"And football!" the athlete declared. "Can't forget the football!"
"Well, we could try," Luan commented dryly.
"Girl just wants to have fun," Luna shrugged, talking Luan out of it.
"And Pop-Pop's coming for dinner tomorrow," Rita told them with excitement.
All the girls gasped and looked at each other excitedly. Then they looked at Lincoln, who had never met the man.
"Pop-Pop's coming tomorrow!" Lola repeated to her brother, as though he hadn't heard the news the first time.
"That's uh... That's great!" Lincoln faltered. He tried to muster a smile for the little ones.
Fast forward to school, and the four day weekend was all anyone was talking about. That, and the feast, and the food and the family visiting.
"I don't know, man," Lincoln answered his classmate and best friend. "I just… I don't know what to think."
"You've never met your grand-dad before?" Clyde wondered. "Hasn't he visited?"
"Well, he bought the farm," Lincoln explained.
"Oh," Clyde blinked. "Sorry."
"No, no," Lincoln waved off, "Not like that. He bought a farm, and he's been so busy taking care of it with his marine buddies. And he's only had the time to come visit now."
He could barely keep himself from laughing at the absurdity of the sentence, and when Clyde realized his mistake he started laughing too. A couple of eavesdroppers, including their teacher, started giggling too.
"Lincoln," his teacher warned with a bemused look. "Let's focus on the assignment."
"Yes ma'am," he obeyed. He put another sticker on the hand drawn turkey they were working on.
"Try not to stress too much," Clyde advised him. "What do you know about him?"
"I don't know," Lincoln shrugged. "He's my Mom's dad. He's a marine vet. He visits, when he can…"
He shook his head. "I don't know."
Clyde thought it over. "Well, I'm sure he wants to meet you."
"Yeah," Lincoln absently answered. "Probably."
His day was plagued with thoughts of a similar caliber. The scenario he played in his head was a crotchety old man with a cane. He was bald and couldn't see, because he refused to wear glasses. He always yelled because he couldn't hear anything. His back was bent in seventeen different ways. He had a military uniform and was still convinced this was Vietnam. He was still in the WWI mindset that PTSD was another word for cowardice. The conversation that follows throughout the evening is uncomfortably racist, demeaning, and forcibly instructive.
Lincoln shook his head, not realizing he just walked through the door of his own house. He must have spent the rest of the day on autopilot.
He walked in, rubbing the back of his head.
"Well, there he is!" a booming voice called. "Man of the hour!"
Lincoln jolted in place and looked at the couch. An old man was sitting there, and slowly getting up off of it.
"Pop-pop!"
Lincoln stepped out of the way as the twins rushed by him, and tackled the old man in a hug.
"Oh-ho!" he called out. "Look at you two! You're getting bigger every day!"
The old man busied himself with his sisters, giving each of them hugs and kisses as they entered the door. Lincoln took advantage of the chaos and retreated upstairs and to his room.
He threw his bag aside and practiced breathing.
"Mom. Dad." He started to count. "One. Two. Three. Four…"
There was a knocking at his door. "Lincoln!" His mother called out.
"Five. Six. Seven. Eight." Lincoln grabbed the doorknob and slowly opened it. "Nine. Ten."
He opened to reveal the angry face of his mother.
"Your grandfather came all this way to see you," she told him. "Go downstairs and give him a hug this instant."
Lincoln wordlessly obeyed and walked down the stairs. He saw the girls chatting away with their grandfather. Leni was telling him about a funny thing that happened while she was working. The girls parted as he approached the elder gentleman.
"Lincoln," the old man smiled at him. "I hadn't seen you since you were a little guy."
Lincoln's eyes flicked upwards towards him. Something was brimming in his eyes.
"I-"
"I heard you've been through a lot," he told him. "I'm sorry I couldn't have been here sooner, bud."
He reached over and ruffled the boy's hair.
"Heck," he joked. "We might be brothers! Both of us have snow on the roof! Ha-ha!"
Lincoln laughed. He stepped forward and hugged the older man. His massive arms wrapping around him in an all-encompassing hug.
"I missed you, kiddo," he sounded close to tears.
"Yeah," Lincoln answered. "Missed you too."
With that, Lincoln sat with him, taking turns with everyone else in sharing the past year with their grandfather. Eventually, it was time for bed, and the couch was his grandfather's bed for the night.
Everyone made their way upstairs, though Lincoln lingered a little longer.
"Are you alright, son?" Pop-pop had a hand on his shoulder.
"Yeah," Lincoln grabbed the extended hand. "Yeah I think so."
"Good," Pop-pop nodded. "I want you to know, kiddo, I've been through a lot too. And I never would have made it keeping it all to myself. As long as you're… you know, working through it, you're going to be okay."
"Thanks, Pops," Lincoln smiled. "Doctor… er, I'm seeing a therapist. And she suggested counting to ten as a way to calm down from… well, bad attacks, you know? And I never really understood how that was supposed to work… until I realized I could just count… my sisters."
"That's great, Lincoln," the older man smiled. "I'm glad you're… on your way."
Lincoln hugged him again. "I'll see you tomorrow."
"Okay, bud. Goodnight."
"Goodnight."
He left him, going upstairs and getting ready for bed. He ran into his father exiting the nursery.
"Hey, bud," he spoke softly, an obvious sign he had just got done putting the baby down. "What'd you think of Pop-pop?"
"He's…" Lincoln smiled. "He's a good guy."
"Yeah he is," his dad ruffled his hair. "Goodnight, son."
"Goodnight, dad."
Lincoln got dressed and headed for bed. He fell asleep with a smile on his face, looking forward to a massive dinner tomorrow night. Sharing the time with everyone in his family.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.
Not including Pops, or his parents, that's ten whole people who care about him.
How could he be anything but thankful?