IX. Gift

Ian found her that way sometime later. She did not explain her posture, worshipping at a wall like a Rabbi at prayer, but instead asked what he was doing up.

"Won't you come sit down?" he asked her, as though rehearsing a deportment role-play from one of his other lessons. She noticed as he remembered to extend one hand and gesture to Irons' chair positioned, as always, near the fireplace.

But she was not yet ready to surrender her newfound interest in the far wall, and sat in a nearby chair instead.

Ian walked to her side and produced a hinged jewelry box from somewhere on his person. "A gift for you," he said, offering it to her. "You should have this."

She took the box from him, not sure what was taking place, the glow of the once-impressive fire now muted, giving the room, and her thoughts, a murky atmosphere. The boy settled Indian-style at her feet, all thirteen-year-old knees and knobby elbows, his eyes looking up at her with uncommon hope and anticipation. She held back a frown and a reply, trying not to communicate the concern she felt at this uncertain turn of events.

The silk-lined box held a primitive-looking silver cuff bracelet with a candy red stone, and if she hadn't been so off-balance in the wake of her discovery of the far wall she might have said the stone winked at her.

She did not take the bracelet out of the box, but instead, after looking at it a moment longer, asked him, "Where did you get this?"

"It was my mother's," he said. "It's mine to give," he lied, a teenage pout momentarily gracing his brow.

"I cannot accept it, you understand." This was not a talk she wished to have, really, at this time of night--in this place.

"Why?" he seemed confused, as though it were not a gift that could be rejected, as though it were an item so close to perfection that no matter what you had hoped for when you opened the box, finding it inside would put your original wish so far from your mind as to have it fall completely out of focus and memory.

"I cannot accept it because I am not your mother, Ian. I am your instructor, your teacher." She extended the box--still open, the bracelet untouched--back to him. "Your friend."

"Yes," he said, disappointed, and then added, more petulantly than she would ever have expected of him, "I know."

"Do you?" she asked, but did not expect an answer.

...to be continued...

2002 (c) Neftzer
See Chapter One for disclaimers.