Title: A Hero's Sin
Author: Buttons
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Drama/General
Chapter Four: My Tree, My Fire Escape
Our flat seemed to be taken over by the tree. No matter what, every year Mama got a tree. This year the tree was wide and tall, but Mama got a deal on it because one side was browning and dead. How can one side be alive and one be dead?
I spent half the day popping popcorn and listening to Ava's record player. I strung the popcorn onto a line of fishing wire and lay the garlands over the side of the kitchen chair. I took the tin star out of the cupboard and placed it on the table.
Everything is ready for when Mama gets home, I thought to myself. I made my bed and Mama's bed in my solitude. I opened the window a little bit, so that a wafting breeze found its way inside. I liked a but of a draft.
Beethoven's fifth was playing through the silence. The flat smelt like corn and pine. The dead side of the tree was shedding onto the ground, leaving a blanket of yellowing needles on the rug. I swept them up with the broom in Mama's closet and threw the needles in the garbage.
Suddenly my eye catches on something. It is a plain brown cardboard box and the memory of it claws its way to the front of my mind. Shocked that I forgot it, I pull it out of the closet, cradling it because it holds some of our most cherished holiday memories. I set it on the bed: a small box of penny Christmas ornaments Mama had collected over the years.
The box, which had become dusty over the year, and I blew the layer off the top and carried it to the kitchen where I set it down on the table. I pried open the flaps of the cardboard and reached in the box delicately.
Mama wrapped the ornaments in tissue and newspaper. There were angels and fragile glass icicles. I put them out around the tin star.
We also had a 'Baby's First Christmas' which my grandma bough me in 1902. I unwrapped it, staring at the pink ceramic cradle and the tiny baby inside of it. I pulled it out of the yellowing newspaper and began to place it one the table, but…
There is was. His face. Staring up at me from the picture. There was a wrinkle running through his nose and everything was yellow. Uncle David's face was contorted in a mixture of surprise and pain. My father had his chin up, grinning broadly. Like a leader. Brave, strong and committed. Committed to a cause.
I smoothed the paper out, slammed the ceramic ornament down and retreated to my bed.
Even from there I could see the chip on the smooth pink side.
0o0o0o0o0
Mama came in clutching a brown-paper wrapped box. It had neat scrawl on the side and three postage stamps on the top.
"Look what arrived from Uncle Les," said Mama breathlessly. She put the box down on the table, beside the ornaments and pulled the twine rope off. From the depths of the box she retrieved two boxes wrapped in colorful paper. She also found two letters enveloped in pink that smelt of rose water.
Uncle Les is my Mama and Uncle David's younger brother. He is thirty-one years old and lives in New Jersey with his wife, Aunt Ruth, and their three kids, my cousins, Elijah, Marilyn and Samuel. They all have very Jewish names because after Uncle Les married Aunt Ruth they started going to temple every Sunday and reading the Torah every night.
Mama folds the box carefully, placing the gifts on the tabletop with frailty. The folds of the box collapse easily into each other and Mama clears it off the table. She smiles as she glances around at the ornaments on the table, the popcorn probably still slightly warm and the tin star a little dusty.
Mama picks up my 'Baby's First Christmas' cradle and runs her finger over the chip. "What happened to this?" she asks.
0o0o0o0o0
Winters in New York City had always been a combination of oxymorons. It was alive, but eerily dead and lifeless. It was bustling and busy, yet slow and reserved. Things were flashy while maintaining a soft subtleness. Nothing was predictable or quite what it seemed. Everything was a surprise.
Shop fronts boasted Christmas trees and candle lit displays. Shoppers moved from place to place, clutching their purchases to them like children. Shiny black boots peeked out from layers of skirt, swirling in the cold and snow. On especially cold days I liked to sit out on the fire escape and watch the city moving below me. Once Uncle David said:
"You know, your father liked to sit out on our fire escape too. He would stay out there for—" but he was cut off with a look from my mother.
On the fire escape I could hang my legs over the side and I could feel the crispness of the air around me. I liked the winter atmosphere and the winter attitude. Everyone looked serious and sharp in their dark colours and bundled up selves. I enjoyed the softness of the harsh city after a snowfall, the way all the edges looked smoother and how it was so quiet in the streets.
I liked the serenity of it all. The nighttimes atop my fire escape, gazing down at the lights below me. That's where I was when she said it. On my sanctuary.
Mama stuck her head out the window and suggested I come in.
"I like it out here."
She shook her head with a hidden smile. "You really are you father's daughter." As soon as she said it her face froze. She looked away and mumbled a quick apology. Then she shut the window and retreated inside.
My father's daughter. Is this something that can be inherited? The love for the fire escape? To feel higher than everyone and in control of everything?
Are there fire escapes like this in Santa Fe? I wouldn't leave these for anything. Not even a dream of ridiculous misplaced responsibility and abandonment.
End Chapter
((Wow. I've just updated all of my 'In the Works' fics. Yes, all of them today! Wow! Be proud people! And go read them!))
Shoutouts:
Two-Bits—Yes, I am the master of suspense!
Charlie!Muse: That's not a good thing. You confuse me.
Buttons: No you confuse me!
Lady of Tir Na Nog—Thanks for understanding. I solemnly swear to update faster in order to get Irish in quicker!
Pancakes—Thanks so much for the review and the very kind words! I love people like you! (grin)
Hawk Kelly—(stares into crystal ball) I see the appearance of Jack in the future…the near future? Hmmmmmm…
Coin—I think Nichole is kind of boring. She doesn't have a lot of personality and I think this is because I don't want to Mary Sue-ify her. It's this phobia I have.
Ccat—Well I'm glad you liked the questions. They were surprisingly hard to think of.
C.M. Higgins—We don't know that it won't be answered, now do we?
XBeLLaViTaX/andthenyouwokeup—Um…are you married to Blink? (checks notes) Yes! You are!
Cyanne 76—That's so sweet of you to notice (the research). It is actually a pain.
mistymixwolf—Jack has gone…to Santa Fe! (breaks into punk-rock rendition of Santa Fe)
Gypsyruth—You just did read more! Good for you! (shakes your hand enthusiastically)