Eighty Four - BF
In Jeff's bedroom, Scott placed the box on a chair but didn't open it. "Do you know what's in here?"
"I've got an idea. I hope I'm wrong. How was he when you left?"
"Pretty uptight. You know how he was going to work on Thunderbird Two..." Jeff nodded. Scott continued on. "We never got there. He saw the piano and rushed straight back to his room. When I got there he was drawing a picture. My eyesight's still not good, but I'm pretty sure it was an eagle, carrying off a lady holding a lyre. She was dead and they were flying into a thunderstorm."
"Or it could be a Thunderbird carrying off the Muse of Music. So he thinks he's lost his music forever?"
"That's the way I see it." Scott sighed. "He's convinced that his hearing's getting worse, not better."
Jeff pulled back the flaps of the box. It was filled with papers. He removed the top one and studied it. "I thought so. It's his music certificates."
"What! But he worked so hard for those. Why..." then Scott stopped. "No. I understand. I did something similar." Jeff looked at him in surprise. "I threw my pilot's wings away." Scott explained. "But why destroy his certificates? It's as if he's given up! I didn't do that!"
"Excuse me!" Jeff said wryly. "Who decided he was going to spend the rest of his life in bed on his first day in rehabilitation?"
Scott looked sheepish. "I said that to the wrong person didn't I. Okay. So maybe I did give up, but I knew my blindness was permanent. He's going to get his hearing back!"
"But now he knows that there's every chance that it won't be as good as it was. His music is so important to him..." Jeff removed more papers from the box. "They're all here. Trinity College... American Academy of Music... Hang on. What's this?" He pulled out another piece of paper. This wasn't a music certificate. It was a painting.
Scott looked over his father's shoulder at the painting. "Isn't that Ma? Is that something written there? I can't read it."
"It says 'Happy Birthday Ma. I'm sorry.' It's dated her birthday 2068." Jeff looked back into the box and removed another painting of his wife. "Same words, only this one was painted in 2067."
"Huh?" Scott reached in and retrieved more pictures. Some were done in oils, some water colours and others were drawn in other media. "These are all done in different years aren't they?"
"Yes." Jeff started to lay them on his bed, in chronological order. When he'd finished he had 22 paintings spread out. The style changed from a childish scrawl to an impressionist style to almost photographic quality. Each picture was a representation of Lucille. Each picture contained those same words. 'Happy Birthday Ma. I'm sorry'.
"This is amazing." Scott said. "You can see how he's developed over the years. Starting when he was five..."
"The year she died." Jeff said quietly.
"... Right through to last year. They must be his birthday present to her. But why only 22? Did he stop doing them?"
Jeff looked through the certificates in his hand. "There's 23, Scott." He placed the final picture at the end of the series.
Scott squinted at the words on the corner. "They're not the same words are they? I can't read them. I'll have to talk to him about his penmanship when he's feeling better."
"No, they're not the same." Jeff swallowed before reading them out. "'Happy Birthday Ma. Please forgive me.' It's dated 2069"
"After we opened the police file."
"I can't believe how blind we all were." Jeff sank into a chair beside his bed and surveyed the artwork. "We should have realised he felt like this."
"Now what do I do?" Scott asked. "I feel as if I'm betraying his trust, but I can't destroy all this! But I told him I would. What am I going to do?"
"Get another box. We'll put everything into that one and I'll store it in my cupboard. You can destroy this one..."
"...And if he asks I can say I've destroyed the box." Scott finished. "You want me to lie to him?"
"No I want you to tell him a half truth. And when he's better you can tell him the whole truth. With any luck he'll thank you."
Scott was silent for a moment. "I've only just realised... Tonight was the first time he'd been into the lounge since the accident... apart from the debriefing and we didn't have the prognosis then. He's been avoiding the piano."
"He's good at hiding his emotions. He's having a harder time with this than we've realised."
"Do you think...?" Scott began.
Jeff waited. "Do I think what?"
"Do you think this is my fault? That the tinnitus is a result of that 'emotional disruption' that the Professor was talking about? The explosion may just have been the catalyst."
"I wish I could say 'no it's not your fault'. But I don't know, Scott... It probably is a result of physical rather than emotional trauma, otherwise why didn't it happen sooner?"
"But you don't know..."
"No I don't..."
Saddened, Scott went to the storeroom and got another box. When he returned his father was still seated in the chair, mulling things over in his mind. "Scott?"
"Yes."
"You said you'd thrown your wings away. How?"
"I just threw them, in my room. I couldn't see where they'd fallen and at the time I didn't care. They'd gone down behind a chest of drawers. Virgil helped me find them last week, just before I tried to talk to him."
"You'll have to try to talk to him again, Scott."
"Me! Why me?"
Jeff waved his hands. "Because you can communicate with him! By the time I've spelt out every word, we'll both have forgotten what I was talking about."
"Oh." Scott said quietly. "I'll do my best. But the hard part will be finding the right time to talk. Then the next hard part will be deciding what to say."
"You could start with 'I think I understand what you're going through'. You probably do, more so than any of us, no matter how good our imagination is. At least you'll both be on an equal footing."
"Yes." Scott said reluctantly.
"Or, as another angle of attack. You can thank him for helping you find your wings..."
"...And say how glad I am that I hadn't lost them permanently. At least that'd be the truth." Scott heaved his shoulders in a deep sigh. "I guess after all the support he's been to me over the last year, it's the least I can do. I'm not looking forward to it though."
"I know. Sometimes the most important tasks are the most difficult."
"Just another job for International Rescue... Only this time I'm going solo..."
In Jeff's bedroom, Scott placed the box on a chair but didn't open it. "Do you know what's in here?"
"I've got an idea. I hope I'm wrong. How was he when you left?"
"Pretty uptight. You know how he was going to work on Thunderbird Two..." Jeff nodded. Scott continued on. "We never got there. He saw the piano and rushed straight back to his room. When I got there he was drawing a picture. My eyesight's still not good, but I'm pretty sure it was an eagle, carrying off a lady holding a lyre. She was dead and they were flying into a thunderstorm."
"Or it could be a Thunderbird carrying off the Muse of Music. So he thinks he's lost his music forever?"
"That's the way I see it." Scott sighed. "He's convinced that his hearing's getting worse, not better."
Jeff pulled back the flaps of the box. It was filled with papers. He removed the top one and studied it. "I thought so. It's his music certificates."
"What! But he worked so hard for those. Why..." then Scott stopped. "No. I understand. I did something similar." Jeff looked at him in surprise. "I threw my pilot's wings away." Scott explained. "But why destroy his certificates? It's as if he's given up! I didn't do that!"
"Excuse me!" Jeff said wryly. "Who decided he was going to spend the rest of his life in bed on his first day in rehabilitation?"
Scott looked sheepish. "I said that to the wrong person didn't I. Okay. So maybe I did give up, but I knew my blindness was permanent. He's going to get his hearing back!"
"But now he knows that there's every chance that it won't be as good as it was. His music is so important to him..." Jeff removed more papers from the box. "They're all here. Trinity College... American Academy of Music... Hang on. What's this?" He pulled out another piece of paper. This wasn't a music certificate. It was a painting.
Scott looked over his father's shoulder at the painting. "Isn't that Ma? Is that something written there? I can't read it."
"It says 'Happy Birthday Ma. I'm sorry.' It's dated her birthday 2068." Jeff looked back into the box and removed another painting of his wife. "Same words, only this one was painted in 2067."
"Huh?" Scott reached in and retrieved more pictures. Some were done in oils, some water colours and others were drawn in other media. "These are all done in different years aren't they?"
"Yes." Jeff started to lay them on his bed, in chronological order. When he'd finished he had 22 paintings spread out. The style changed from a childish scrawl to an impressionist style to almost photographic quality. Each picture was a representation of Lucille. Each picture contained those same words. 'Happy Birthday Ma. I'm sorry'.
"This is amazing." Scott said. "You can see how he's developed over the years. Starting when he was five..."
"The year she died." Jeff said quietly.
"... Right through to last year. They must be his birthday present to her. But why only 22? Did he stop doing them?"
Jeff looked through the certificates in his hand. "There's 23, Scott." He placed the final picture at the end of the series.
Scott squinted at the words on the corner. "They're not the same words are they? I can't read them. I'll have to talk to him about his penmanship when he's feeling better."
"No, they're not the same." Jeff swallowed before reading them out. "'Happy Birthday Ma. Please forgive me.' It's dated 2069"
"After we opened the police file."
"I can't believe how blind we all were." Jeff sank into a chair beside his bed and surveyed the artwork. "We should have realised he felt like this."
"Now what do I do?" Scott asked. "I feel as if I'm betraying his trust, but I can't destroy all this! But I told him I would. What am I going to do?"
"Get another box. We'll put everything into that one and I'll store it in my cupboard. You can destroy this one..."
"...And if he asks I can say I've destroyed the box." Scott finished. "You want me to lie to him?"
"No I want you to tell him a half truth. And when he's better you can tell him the whole truth. With any luck he'll thank you."
Scott was silent for a moment. "I've only just realised... Tonight was the first time he'd been into the lounge since the accident... apart from the debriefing and we didn't have the prognosis then. He's been avoiding the piano."
"He's good at hiding his emotions. He's having a harder time with this than we've realised."
"Do you think...?" Scott began.
Jeff waited. "Do I think what?"
"Do you think this is my fault? That the tinnitus is a result of that 'emotional disruption' that the Professor was talking about? The explosion may just have been the catalyst."
"I wish I could say 'no it's not your fault'. But I don't know, Scott... It probably is a result of physical rather than emotional trauma, otherwise why didn't it happen sooner?"
"But you don't know..."
"No I don't..."
Saddened, Scott went to the storeroom and got another box. When he returned his father was still seated in the chair, mulling things over in his mind. "Scott?"
"Yes."
"You said you'd thrown your wings away. How?"
"I just threw them, in my room. I couldn't see where they'd fallen and at the time I didn't care. They'd gone down behind a chest of drawers. Virgil helped me find them last week, just before I tried to talk to him."
"You'll have to try to talk to him again, Scott."
"Me! Why me?"
Jeff waved his hands. "Because you can communicate with him! By the time I've spelt out every word, we'll both have forgotten what I was talking about."
"Oh." Scott said quietly. "I'll do my best. But the hard part will be finding the right time to talk. Then the next hard part will be deciding what to say."
"You could start with 'I think I understand what you're going through'. You probably do, more so than any of us, no matter how good our imagination is. At least you'll both be on an equal footing."
"Yes." Scott said reluctantly.
"Or, as another angle of attack. You can thank him for helping you find your wings..."
"...And say how glad I am that I hadn't lost them permanently. At least that'd be the truth." Scott heaved his shoulders in a deep sigh. "I guess after all the support he's been to me over the last year, it's the least I can do. I'm not looking forward to it though."
"I know. Sometimes the most important tasks are the most difficult."
"Just another job for International Rescue... Only this time I'm going solo..."