My Little Man

Disclaimer:

I do not own Full Metal Alchemist... I just own this idea...

When I was younger, I wondered if Father loved us.

I can't really picture him, but I remember he was always in his office; studying diagrams, books, and old scrolls, as if searching for something. He was always one to be avoided. If I scrapped my knee, Mom would he there. If I had a drawing I wanted to show off, she was the one to go to. He was just too distracted to take notice.

I don't tell Al this, but I'm jealous that he can't remember Father. I'm glad that he never suffered the pain of him leaving, but I wish I'd had the luxury as well.

I can still see it. I can still picture the day he left so clearly.

He kissed Mom once; she was crying. I was in her arms, but didn't understand that Father was saying goodbye goodbye. I didn't understand.

I just knew he was leaving us for a while, or at least that's what Mom explained to me. Al was still just a baby, not even close to being a toddler. He was in his crib, fast asleep. Father tousled my hair once (my face was buried in Mom's neck because I was embarrassed of them kissing), turned, and walked away. I wiggled out of Mom's arms when the door shut behind him, went over to a left-out toy, and started playing with it, as Mom sat down at the table.

When I looked back up to her, she had a pained expression on her face, tears falling silently down.

I remember asking, "Mama, why you crying?"

She didn't speak for a bit, before finally replying, "I'm crying because I just miss Daddy." I asked her why, she missed him, "he'd be back soon," but she didn't answer.

A little while later, I was engrossed with the toy again, she got up, a big, bright smile on her face.

I looked up at her and smiled back. She walked over and lifted me up and hugged me; just hugged me. I hugged her back, of course, just thinking she missed Father. She let out a breath and suddenly Al was crying in our shared room where his crib was. We started, and she looked back at me and grinned.

"Well, my Little Man, let's go see what your little brother needs, okay?" she'd said cheerfully. I grinned and agreed. We went on to go comfort Al in his crib.

I didn't realize that my nickname symbolized that father would not return. It was only later on when I realized that that was the first time she called me her Little Man, and that it meant I was meant to protect and help out more.

I had just smiled, feeling proud that, in her eyes, I had grown up a little.

And later, when I realized Father had ditched us, I felt proud that I could be better than father in her eyes.

It wasn't until the night she died that I realized she had just considered me a younger version of the man I hate more than anything in the world.

That was when I started hating being called "short" or "little."

And there isn't a minute that goes by that I wish she'd just take back that nickname…

The End…………..