Of a hatred misdirected//
She sat on her
bed, the box balanced on her lap. This box had to be the most precious thing
she owned.
She ran her
fingers over the box gently, feeling the smooth, polished wood. Molly stared at
it a moment, almost as if she let it out of her sight, it would go away… just
like he had.
Molly slowly
opened the box, being more gentle with it than she would with a child. That
wasn't entirely accurate, though; she had always been gentle with Sammy… Sammy
just wasn't too gentle with himself.
She lifted the
envelope, almost stuffed, out of the box, and carefully emptied it's contents
onto the bedspread beside her. She almost wanted to cry, seeing the sometimes
bespectacled, sometimes not, scruffy looking, runt - of - the – Dudleys face
looking up at her, forever frozen on film.
She traced her
fingers over the photograph gently. Spike smiled up at her in the photo, held
on his brother's shoulders after winning the title. She set it aside, lifting
another. Spike, shouting after his brothers not to hurt Molly. Another photo; a
much younger Spike, making a weird face at the camera. Molly laughed through
the tears in her eyes.
//Hidden in a kiss
To explain the unexpected
Last minute reprise
That wasn't yours to give to me//
Oh, Spike,
She thought, wiping her tears away with one hand while lifting the next photo
with the other. She had a plethora of photos here; she'd gotten as many as she
could find, from as many different people as she could find.
Molly
reluctantly put the photos back in the envelope, replacing it in the box. As
much as she wished she could, she couldn't stare at his long gone face forever.
But wasn't
that what she was doing anyway? She'd been married to Michael for thirteen
years. And yet, she still didn't consider herself 'Mrs. Cole'. She considered
herself Spike's girl. That's all she could ever be, all she would ever call
herself: Spike's girl.
She'd told
herself again and again that she had to let him go, like he'd told her so long
ago. But she couldn't do that. And so she kept what was left of him here, with
her, in her polished wood box: several photos, a Raw magazine that Spike had
owned, and had looked at with her, a 'Get Well Soon' card from Spike, his 'anti
Buh Buh and D – Von' shirt, his old glasses, a dried, withered daisy, and a
faded, dried rose.
//There's a hole in the leather
Of whatever makes you sigh
No rockets in the atmosphere
Of someone's sad July//
Molly sat,
resting her fingers on the box. This was what she had to remember him by. This
and Sammy… and Sammy was becoming too much like Spike. He was fiercely loyal,
and brave, and didn't understand why his mother kept such a close watch on him.
It's because
there was another Dudley I didn't keep a watch on a long time ago, and because
I didn't, he left. Molly thought, wiping her tears away with the back of
her hand.
The truth was,
she didn't hold it against Spike because of dying; yes, he'd died for her, but
she couldn't do anything to stop that. What hurt her more was, even after he
was dead, he'd come to see her… and then, that night, when he'd come to solace
her after her dream, he had left for good, saying she didn't need him.
But he didn't
understand how much she truly, truly needed him.
//One is love
And two is hate
Your perfumed halls
Will leave a trace
Of you//
Molly jumped as
she heard the door slam. "Mom! I'm home!" Sammy's familiar voice cried out.
Molly hurried
to put replace the contents of the box, as gently but as quickly as she could.
She had just
finished putting everything back in, and just as Sammy opened the door, she
shoved it under the bed, not noticing the one corner sticking out from under
the bedcover.
Sammy frowned,
watching her. "Something wrong, Mom?"
Molly shook her
head, smiling gently. "No, Sam. Where's your dad?" But you don't know where
he is… or who he is… Molly thought sadly. She shoved the thoughts to the
back of her mind.
"He's having
lunch with Uncle Tazz, Jericho, Buh Buh and D – Von. I wanted to come back here
with you, though." Sammy gave her that same warm smile, the one that Spike had
always worn.
"Well, then I'd
better get lunch ready. Why don't you clean up? I'll be waiting in the
kitchen." Molly said, already turning to go.
//Thought if you kept it ugly
Maybe you could keep it safe//
Sammy glanced
into Molly's room, just past the open door. He could see the corner of the box
sticking out from under the bed. What was it? He'd never seen it before. Or
heard about it. It was completely new to him.
But it also
wasn't his business; it was his mom's. So he instead went back to his room,
changing from his wrestling clothes into camouflage patterned jeans and a '3D'
t – shirt, given to him by Buh Buh.
He passed by
his mother's room, on the way to the kitchen, and stopped. There was that box,
still unmoved, under the bed, seeming to leer at him there. 'Look at me, I'm
in your reach, and you won't even touch me!'
Curiosity
overtook him, and he crept in, as though he expected his mother to burst out
and catch him at any moment.
He sat on the
floor, and opened the box. It was large, and expensive looking; made of some
kind of polished wood or lacquer. Just the sight of it seemed to promise
secrets revealed.
Sammy opened it.
This wasn't really what he was expecting; a beat up old envelope, nearly
bursting with it's contents, an old issue of 'Raw' magazine, a shirt that read
'D – Von… Get the tables' with the pictures of Buh Buh and D – Von crossed out,
an old 'get well soon' card, a pair of thick black glasses with tape on the nosepiece,
and two faded, dried flowers: a rose and a daisy.
Sammy stared at
it, puzzled. Why was his mother keeping all of this? It seemed like a bunch of
old junk, to him.
He opened the
envelope, emptying it's contents onto his lap. It was a bunch of pictures. As
he looked closer, Sammy was shocked to see who they featured.
A young man,
with messy blonde hair and large black glasses, almost too big for his face,
and a scruffy brownish spattering of hair around his mouth and on his upper
lip… a man Sammy had never seen before. And what shocked him most was that the
man looked just like Sammy, only a few years older than him.
Looking closer
in the picture, he realized that the glasses and shirt in the box were the same
the man wore.
//So I will only take you out
When it hurts to cut//
"Sammy? Why are
you taking so –" Sammy heard his mother's voice, and then Molly was standing in
the doorway. She stopped in mid – sentence, her face shocked.
"Mom?" Sammy
asked in a small voice, feeling like a little kid again. "I'm not a Cole, am I?"
//Thinking that eventually some heart will say
It's had enough//
He didn't need
to wait for his mother's mute nod to know the answer. "Who is he?" Sammy asked,
pointing to the pictures. "Just tell me who he is."
Molly came and
sat down on the floor, in front of Sammy. "He's your father."
"But… Dad…
Michael Cole…" Sammy stammered. Molly shook her head.
"His name was
Spike Dudley. He's your father; he was, long before I even knew Michael that
well." Molly said quietly.
Sammy was quiet
for a long time, and Molly was afraid he would be angry. But instead, Sammy looked
up at her, hazel eyes stormy and troubled, and said, "Tell me about him. Tell
me about… Spike." The name felt odd in his mouth.
Molly told him.
And in one young boy, Spike Dudley was alive again.
//Last minute reprieves that weren't yours to give to me//
