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Notes: Having decided to put the uninspired 'Academia' on hold for however long, I thought I might as well write this string of connected vignettes (or, rather, somewhat longer-than-normal vignettes). The idea itself has been in my head for quite a while, I just haven't written it yet, oddly enough. I'm sure it's been done before, and better, but I might as well try to write something of an acceptable quality, no?
Feedback: Though I undoubtedly sound like a selfish monkey, I would be very appreciative of any feedback those who read would be willing to offer. I have no means (being fifteen and legally underage for most jobs) to subscribe to the advanced authors thing, which would help me know if people are reading, so, seriously, reviews are the only barometer I have. Sorry to be rude. :]
Disclaimer: I own nothing, not even my soul. I gave that to Jesus. The characters belong to Disney, Mister Stevenson, and whoever else bought a corporate chunk, and the lyrics are those of Everclear.
Set: Jim's fourth birthday.
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-- Father of mineTell me where have you been
You know I just closed my eyes
And my whole world disappeared…
-Everclear, 'Father of Mine'
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He woke, with the sudden giddiness that special days brought to mind, and tossed away his covers with clumsy motions, hands dwarfed in the overly long sleeves of his pajamas. Stumbling out of his bed, he tumbled to the floor, rolling onto his back and laughing as he wriggled his toes with the sheer glee of it all. "Mom!" he cried, waving his arms wildly as he sat up forcefully, scratching at his dark bangs and wiggling his nose. Planting one of his arms firmly on the planks at his back, he craned around, legs twisting to the side and one knee bending up as he peered anxiously at the wide open door that granted him a view of rectangle darkness. The sunlight dappled through his carefully paned window, splattering over bed and floor in speckles of dark honey, and he moved to rest on his hand and knees before shoving up into a cautious standing position. "Mom?" he asked anxiously, struck by the childish fear that maybe it wasn't his birthday after all.
"Jim!" she called with her laughing tone, swooping from one side of the doorway and into his room, hands held behind her back protectively. He clapped happily, laughing as he ran slipshod over his cluttered floor, sliding a little where his foot caught on a long pants leg, and he came to a respectful pause before her when she granted him a mock-serious face, lifting her chin and raising an eyebrow playfully. "Do you know," she said gravely, "what's special about today?"
He almost bounced on his feet, snapping his arm in the air and waving it recklessly as he grinned widely, nose wrinkling up from the force of his splitting lips. "I know, Mom!" he replied eagerly, near desperately, and he rocked forward on his toes, then back onto his heels with his toes sagely jutting above the floor into the cool air. "I know! Can I say it?" Jim, in all his pristine just-turned-four glory, widened his eyes as adorably as he could, deciding against sticking his lower lip out and settling for simply waving his arm happily about. "Come on, Mom!"
"Well," she drew it out thoughtfully, tossing her head to one side and rolling her eyes as if in consideration to the corners, tapping one slipper-clad shoe on the boards, "I suppose I don't have a choice."
"It's my birthday!" he all but exploded, the other arm shooting up to join its spread partner, and he beamed at her, fisting his hands in the sturdy cloth of his pale green pajamas. "Which means," he thought to add, moving a little to the side, trying to look around the straight skirt of her muted pink nightgown, "I'm not three, but I'm four." He flipped up the appropriate fingers and held them wisely for her to see, possibly count if she wanted to; the gap in his teeth not quite as visible as it once was when he smiled broadly again.
"Is that so?" she said, obviously impressed, and he nodded vigorously, drawing his fingers back and bouncing this time, wanting very much to see what it was she still held at her back. "Four whole years?" He nodded again, widening his eyes and stilling the smile on his face, jutting his lower lip up in a begging pout, and leaned forward hopefully, raising one of his feet to shake the pants free of his heel. "That's a very big number," his mother told him, her own eyes wide, smile just on the bright side of teasing. "Four years?" she repeated. "That's a special age, you know. You're a big boy now, Jim, and big boys get," she broke off, shrugging and looking to the ceiling as though to tell herself there was little to be discussed or done about it.
"What?" he pleaded, losing the ability to hold his adorable begging face, and he took a tentative step forward, continuing with, "Mom, what?" He pulled his hands from his pajamas, moving hastily toward her and trying to see the forbidden object she held hidden, and she merely sidestepped him, turning so her back was once more away from him as she pulled one hand out, wagging her finger reprovingly at him.
"Now, Jim, be patient," she scolded, and she pulled her other hand from the mystifying area behind her nightgown, a moderately sized box painstakingly wrapped with simple white paper and decorated by hand with small ships and celestial beings. "Here," she smiled gently, with an amount of surprise and delight when he snatched it away with nary a moment wasted, plopping gracelessly into a loosely crossed-leg sit. "Jim!" she laughed, falling into a smooth crouch in front of him as he eagerly tore at the ribbon tied into a looping bow at the apex of the box, slightly lopsided from the center. "It isn't going to run away, you know."
"Aw, Mom," he intoned with the exasperation of a small child, raising his arms, frowning, to peel the ribbon away and bunching it together, tossing it carelessly aside. "You don't get it," he added, staring intently at the box and scraping a fingernail, dirt clumped under the white crescent, over the paper left obscuring his prize. He hunched over it, moving one of his legs out of the way as he shoved the box onto a different side and stately ignored her wince, and studied the paper delicately for the adhesive lining where it had been attached into place. A few more rough tumbles granted him what he was looking for and he happily dug chubby fingers into the line of overlapping paper, ripping with little abandon and a boyish ferociousness.
"Don't cut yourself on the paper, Jim," she warned, gathering the paper gradually sinking out of its adopted square shape while he lifted the small wooden box from the wrapping. "We're going to try and keep any kind of boo-boo out of today's schedule, okay? It'll make it a lot easier for me." She picked the ribbon up from a spread pile of various toys, most wielding some sort of vicious and painful-looking weapon, and grimaced at the toys, sadly wrinkling the ribbon into a tangled ball and dropping it into her lap with the paper.
"I almost got it," replied Jim by way of defense, fumbling with the small latch at the front and beaming once more when he managed to flick it up, quickly plucking the compact chest's flat lid up and gazing deeply at its contents. When finally he spoke, interrupting her worried musings and unconscious chore of gathering together the present's trash, it was a breathlessly pleased single syllable: "Wow." He followed it with gushing praise after a second's respite, joyously grasping the immaculately detailed ship inside, cannons and pint-sized spacers etched in precise, unmoving detail, the forever billowing sails made from a light canvas.
"Mom!" he cried first, raising the ship aloft and peering at it in order to observe it in arguably better light. "This is the coolest! Where did you get it? Do the spacers move?" He prodded one in experiment and, though he was momentarily disappointed to find the small blue-suited figure did not move, recovered swiftly from the briefest flare of sadness. "This has to be the," he struggled for words, clutching his immediately beloved gift to his small chest as he somehow clambered up to his feet while holding it, "the bestest gift I ever got!" He added a punctual, wide-eyed serious nod at the end, to accent the absolute whole-heartedness he had used in his brief speech.
"Well, I'm glad," smiled Sarah back at him, pressing a quick kiss to his forehead as she pinned her nightgown's smooth skirt in her hands, keeping the trash from tumbling free while he made a disgusted face and wiped exaggeratedly at his skin. Standing again, she moved to leave his room as his eyes drifted back to his glorious present, and she smiled, saying brightly, "I have your breakfast ready downstairs, so you need to get dressed. I'll be opening the inn in a few minutes, and if you are very, very," she stressed the word carefully, "good, then I just might close up early so we can have the inn all to ourselves for a party." She placed a careful meaning in the last word, enunciating it that the meaning would be clear enough for her engrossed son to catch it, and her subtle ploy worked its efficient magic.
This unprecedented goodie, the prospect of an actual party, snagged his attention promptly and he gasped, delighted, twirling around and nearly losing his balance as he slipped in his pajamas, holding the ship close to his chest and wrinkling his top up from his belly. "I love you, Mom!" he found need to tell her exuberantly, dashing in a clumsy manner to his bed and setting his ship with surprising tenderness on the bedspread before tugging impatiently at his top, fingers catching in the miniscule buttons. "A real party," he told the ragged pirate doll on his bed, growing tired of fighting with the buttons and instead wriggling out of the confining cloth.
It took a few moments to skin his outer layer of clothing off, racing to a pile of clean clothes in the corner of his room pointedly overflowing the weave basket meant to hold them in, as he never gave himself the opportunity to put the clothes away. He grabbed the first two things he saw, a small grey shirt and yellow shorts that swept around his knees, and tugged them on hurriedly, snagging his toe on the basket and tripping to the floor with a soft exclamation. Falling only deterred him for a moment and he used it to grab a pair of mismatched socks from under layered clothing, yanking the tubes over his feet and planting both stiffly on the floor to help lever himself up, the better to dash back to his bed and reclaim his hand-crafted ship.
Jim grabbed it with eager hands, holding it in the air in diving motions with his arm as he provided his own running soundtrack, childish explosions and firing sounds coming from between his pursed lips to aid the realism of his imaginary Etherium battle. Running and sliding out his door, he caught his balance by propping his free hand on the opposite wall of the hallway, leaning dangerously towards the open door of his room before he jogged down the few steps leading to the main landing, from which he could descend into the wide room of the inn. "Look out, Captain!" he said gleefully, hopping the last step onto the main floor and swerving around round tables, the earliest guests settling themselves in with kind laughter and amused attention as he danced to the smallest table near the bar, where his mother could easiest watch him. A muted crashing sound ensued as he did his best to imitate a horrible landing with voice alone, knowing better than to actually smash his newly claimed toy on the table. "I'm hungry, Mom," he spoke plaintively, pushing the ship onto the table's glossy wooden surface and climbing expertly into the chair awaiting his birthday presence. "Can I eat now, please, please, please?" He smiled charmingly.
"How can I say no to a face as cute as that?" she teased, gently setting his laden plate before him, tousling his hair and earning a pleased smile in return. Her worn green dress had replaced the nightgown, a crisp apron pinned around it and a tightly drawn cap holding her hair up to keep it from getting in the way; by nightfall, the apron would be stained and her hair would be tumbling out of the loosening drawstring protection of her rough cotton cap. "Now eat up and be good, or no party," she said sternly, raising her eyebrows and thinning her lips impressionably so he nodded, fearful at the thought of losing his desired celebration.
"Okay," he agreed to the deal, holding the fork in his small fist and leaning close to the plate, working the pale green eggs into his mouth and chewing quickly, swallowing with a dramatic gulp. Wrinkling his nose distastefully, eggs not being his favorite morning food, he grabbed at the thick wood cup of purp juice, gulping at the sweet violet liquid as a tiny stream dribbled down his chin. "Icky," he ordered the painted captain of his ship. "Tell the cook not to make any eggs. But lots of purp juice," he added brightly, sipping at the cup again and crunching down on a glistening stick of warm bacon.
He ate in relative silence, occasionally making comments for the captain's silent benefit, staring at the lofted ceiling and kicking his legs absently under the table, and drank greedily at the deep cup welling purp juice up for his consumption. Sucking at the drink, his eyes fell on the front door and he wrinkled his eyebrows together, trying to remember something he knew was absolutely, without a doubt very important, slowly placing his purp juice down on the wooden table as he stared with purple-stained lips at the door. Puzzled, he tried to recall what it was, and his eyes snapped open with honest surprise, quickly changing with open, excited delight.
"Mom!" he yelled, hastily shifting his legs into the chair and moving to rest on his knees, hooking one arm protectively around the back of his chair as he waited impatiently for her to turn from replenishing a small, ragged Feline's drink. "Mom, Mom! It's really, really important!" She turned, lifting the pitcher protectively as she gave him a doubting, exasperated look, apologizing softly to the Feline, who nodded understandingly. "Really, it is!" he defended, nodding powerfully as he settled back on his legs and she sighed, crossing the floor anyway.
"What is it, Jim?" she asked, resting the pitcher on the table for the moment as she patiently awaited his answer. "And it had better not be another animal you dragged in, because we've gone over this time after time after time," she hastened to clarify, inwardly cringing at the mere image of another terrified furry creature skittering around in her kitchen.
"No, Mom," he said in a voice suggesting he thought her weird, though he asked quickly, "But could I have a pet?"
"No," she flatly echoed his first response, narrowing her eyes in a way that clearly emphasized her standpoint on the issue. He looked temporarily deflated, shoulders sinking a little before he regained his important thought, straightening his shoulders and back as his eyes lit.
"He's coming today, Mom!" he cried happily, fanning his toes out in order to burn the smallest amount of energy that was swamping over his very being.
She felt a pang and quickly covered it with a falsely bright smile, replying with a forced jesting tone, ruffling his short hair, "Of course Doctor Doppler is coming, Jim, you know he wouldn't miss your birthday." She was swift in picking up the pitcher by its elegant swan handle, pausing for a fateful moment to refill his cup with the rich purp juice held within its silver confines, and it was enough time for him to shake his head in violent disapproval of her answer.
"Not him, Mom," he responded, wrapping his hands around his cup and holding it still until he was to be done speaking. "I know he's coming, 'cause he's always here anyway, but I mean, you know," he found himself overwhelmed with the emotional happiness springing up inside, flashing his widest smile at her. "Dad's coming!" he finally crowed triumphantly, tossing his hands into the air again and nearly upsetting his cup with the momentum. "He said he was gonna come to my birthday when he left," he counted on his fingers, "five months ago, and today's my birthday, so Dad's gonna be here." The logic was foolproof in his youthful mind, a concrete truth that could not be argued against or ever possibly denied, and he persisted, "He said so, Mom." A sudden flicker of doubt struck, a deeply-rooted worry, and he asked in a quivering voice, "He'll be here, right?"
"Of course he will, Jim," she answered automatically, smiling the same false smile that could still fool him, and she leaned to kiss his forehead again. Jim allowed her to and even gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, attention riveted yet on knowing resolutely that his father was coming, and he tilted his cup carefully to his mouth, sipping at the juice. Her smile hesitated, and then dwindled before collapsing, and Sarah turned away in the passage of a few seconds, certain that she could not permit him to see whatever truth he might read from her face. She sent a quick prayer up, wanting desperately for her husband, his father, to return from the distant voids of the Etherium, back to the family that was waiting for him and the son that worshipped him.
"My dad," she heard him say to the docilely listening spacers of his small ship, "is a hero. Of course he is! 'Cause I know my dad's gotta be fighting pirates or something, and he's coming back today, 'cause it's my birthday. He said he would."
Sarah tightened her grip on the pitcher and hurried to attend to the customers waiting her assistance, trying to lose herself to the everyday pressures of running her own business as her son chattered to his inanimate companions.
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He waited by the window, the small party forgotten as the silent duo watched him gazing anxiously out the glass separated into perfect squares, all but pressing his nose to the cold surface, eyes flickering in all directions to try and peer through the dark for the familiar broad-shouldered figure of his father. "He's coming," he said quietly, despairingly, to the ship he held clasped to his leg, kneeling on the cushions under the wide bay window, hands reaching up to rest flat on either side of his head. He knocked his head along the glass, shoulders very slowly beginning to slouch down, his entire body motionless as his eyes continued to move endlessly, his body wired with the small hope that his father was coming.
Once, he thought he saw a figure shuffling through the dark, trudging through pooling mud as the sky split through the heavens, rumbling a dark burst and sending a thimble raindrop to splatter on the smooth glass, heralding the downpour of more shivering drops. He straightened, clothes exchanged for pajamas and palms pressing harder with his happiness, nearly crying out that his father was finally here until he saw, with a sharp pain inside his chest, that it was nothing but a hobbling bird ruffling feathers in the impromptu natural shower. With that, seeing that there was naught outside but a mud-spattered crane, he sank back, one hand trailing down the glass to rest with fingertips alone touching it.
"Jim," Sarah said helplessly behind him, padding over the floor to wrap her arm around him and hug him with all the gentle, saddened breaking they both felt inside, and he turned to look at her, blinking his eyes quickly to hide the tears that were gathering. His father had always said crying was a weakness.
So Jim turned back to the window, watching with no hope for a figure that would not come.
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End Notes: The end scene was probably familiar…was this all right? What say you? :]