Chapter Seven:
May 11 1952
The sound of soft unsure knuckles tapped the door.
"What?" was hollered from the other side.
Seymour hesitated. It's now or never he thought, slowly turning the handle.
The room was dark, lit only by the streetlights through the venetian blinds and a small lamp on the desk. There was a grey haze in the air as a result of the still burning cigarette in an ashtray on the desk. Mr. Stanley was at his desk, his elbow propped on the desktop and his forehead resting in his palm. A look of clear annoyance on his face, which didn't waver as he glanced up and saw who it was.
"Sir…" Seymour didn't know what to say. He closed the door behind him, and turned back around. He stood there wringing his hands, not knowing whether to sit down or ask questions first.
"It's your last night here Krelborn, ain't it?" he asked interrupting his thoughts.
Seymour smiled and nodded. The week had been a whirlwind since Mr. Mushnik's sudden arrival. Seymour was still in disbelief about leaving. He figured he'd spend his whole life in this little dump of a Home, as opposed to before he even finished 5th grade. However, the thing that startled him more was the information he had been given about his parents, no matter how brief. Over the past few days he had desperately been trying to get Mr. Stanley's attention to ask more but he was never in the mood to be asked and Seymour knew better. However he had now run out of time. It was his last night and if he ever wanted to find anything out it had to be tonight.
"You should be grateful. Gravis isn't the kind of man to run a charity."
"I am truly grateful sir," his eyes fell to the floor.
Mr. Stanley didn't say anything after this, but continued to shuffle papers around on his desktop. After a moment he glanced up realizing Seymour was still there.
"What?" he asked, clearly irritated.
Nearly shaking, Seymour moved closer to him. He hovered next the the chairs but didn't bring himself to sit down. Now! Do it now, idiot!
"Sir, the other day you said it wasn't the time, and I figured since I'm leaving in the morning…" he trailed off. He'd never been courageous and it was obvious.
"Huh?"
Seymour chewed his lip momentarily and continued to wring his hands. "I'd like to learn about my parents, sir."
Mr. Stanley thought for a beat before exhaling sharply and moving his palm over his eyes. He motioned his other hand to the chair not looking up. Seymour sat himself down.
"You said you knew my mother?"
"Yeah, in a way, I did," he said, his eyes still hidden by his palm.
"How?"
He moved his hand down and straightened his neck. "Don't push your luck kid."
Seymour's eyes fell to his lap. He tried to think back to the list of questions he had mentally made earlier.
"What was she like?"
When he didn't immediately respond Seymour looked up. All the annoyance had left Mr. Stanley's face. He wasn't looking at Seymour. Instead he gazed just past his shoulder with a look of somber melancholy.
"Sad," was all he replied.
Seymour considered this, not knowing fully what he meant. He looked at Mr. Stanley and for the first time in his life he began to wonder more about him. Stanley was the only guardian he'd had all his life, or at least as long as he could remember. He wasn't mean, at least compared to some of the others, and at this point Seymour was used to it. The other guardians had come and gone all throughout the 1940's for obvious reasons, but he stayed back. Seymour was too young to remember life before the war, however he knew it had taken its toll on the world and the people in it. Briefly he wondered what Stanley was like before the war. Was he always this mean or was he different? And how much of his anger and teasing was a facade?
"Sir?" he asked.
Stanley slowly moved his eyes to Seymour's face but didn't change his expression.
"Umm… Do you have a picture?"
Mr. Stanley came back to reality at this point and rolled his eyes. "No kid, I don't have a picture."
Seymour's gaze moved back to his lap, embarrassed. "Well what did she look like?"
Mr. Stanley looked at Seymour. He had a round face and a mess of brown curly hair. He wore glasses too, a pair he had fished out of the garbage and were held together by tape and just a little too big. But behind them he had grey blue eyes.
"Like you," Mr. Stanley replied with an unusual sense of warmth.
Seymour's eyes shot back up.
"Really?"
A faint smile formed in the corner of Stanley's mouth. Seymour considered this, smiling and blushing, before he returned to his questions.
"And… she came here?"
He nodded.
"What happened?"
Mr. Stanley paused before he rose from his chair. Crossing the room to the window he looked out past his venetian blinds onto the street. He didn't want to answer, but figured he owed this much to Alana. Her kid should know eventually.
"She stumbled in one night, looking like hell. Open cut on her head, bruises in every shade. Looked like someone really got to her."
Seymour bit his lip and held back tears. He continued to fumble impatiently with his hands. "What happened?"
"I don't know," he replied still looking onto the street, "I asked and all she said was 'he found out'."
Behind him Seymour let out a soft sob. He didn't know exactly what this meant, but he had ideas. He didn't want to ask any more, knowing none of it would be good news, but the questions burned inside him.
"Was it…" he trailed off. Putting his face in his hands he started to bawl. Mr. Stanley turned around at this and looked at the poor child. He returned to his desk and extended a handkerchief from a drawer. Stunned, Seymour glanced at it. He had never been shown this element of kindness from him before. Smiling behind his tears he took it and wiped his face. After several deep breaths he was ready to continue.
"Do you know who my father is?"
Mr. Stanley didn't respond right away, pondering whether or not he should tell the truth.
"No," he answered finally.
Seymour glanced down at the handkerchief clutched in his hand. It was covered with dark stains.
"And I don't have any brothers or sisters?" It was more of a statement than a question, but Seymour felt the need to ask anyway.
"No," he lied again.
"So… that's it then," he whispered mostly to himself.
"Here," Mr. Stanley rose from his swivel chair and crossed to his filing cabinet. It stuck at first but after a few tugs the drawer screeched open. He fished in for Seymour's folder and pulled it out. "Here you can have this now." he said nearly dropping it in his lap. Seymour looked up at him wide eyed.
"We have no more use for it now that you're leaving, so there. Take it, happy mothers day," he replied uncomfortably. He stroked his scalp and paced the room. Seymour looked down at his folder. He didn't want to open it. He knew what was inside. Reluctantly he peeled it open. He flipped past his birth certificate and his mother's death certificate. Inside there was an envelope which had gone unnoticed at first. A white envelope, the kind that contained letters. With shaking hands Seymour lifted it up to examine it. There was no writing on it and it wasn't sealed. Slowly he lifted the flap and it's contents spilled out onto his lap. A pressed flower without a stem. He picked it up to examine it. It was a carnation, that much he could tell. It was brown with age and was falling apart at the touch of his fingers. After close examination he recognized a small outline of color on the edges of each outer petal. Pink. The flower had once been pink.
"That was hers," Stanley said stopping his pacing upon seeing the flower, "does it mean anything to you?"
Frowning Seymour shook his head.
"I didn't think so."
Mr. Stanley sat himself back down at his desk and quickly returned to his papers as if nothing had stopped him in the first place. Seymour slipped the carnation back in the envelope and sealed it back in the folder for safe keeping. Closing the manila folder he held it close to his chest and sighed.
"Sir, may I ask... one more question?"
Stanley nodded without looking up from his paper. Though Seymour said nothing. After a few seconds Stanley raised his head. Seymour wasn't looking at him. He was staring off, tears pouring out of his eyes again. He was chewing on the inside of his mouth as if he was choking on the words themselves as they refused to come out.
"Yes Krelborn, what is it?" Stanley asked as sweetly as he was able.
Seymour looked down at his lap and then back up again.
"Did she… did she want me?"
Tears were flowing down Seymour's face before he could even answer and his face scrunched up as he cried. Stanley didn't have to lie about this.
"Yes Seymour, she did."
Seymour immediately stopped and stared.
"Really?" he breathed barely above a whisper.
Stanley smiled and nodded.
Seymour's tears continued to flow as he held his folder tighter and a wide smile spread on his face.
"Thank you sir," he said rising from his seat and wiping his eyes one last time before placing the handkerchief on the desktop.
Mr. Stanley nodded in response and pulled one of his forms closer and started writing. Seymour kept his eyes down at the folder still clutched against his chest as he turned to leave.
"Hey kid," Seymour spun around, "Do me a favor. When you get your first paycheck go buy yourself a pair of real glasses."
Seymour smiled uncomfortably and nodded.
"Thank you sir," he said again.
Mr. Stanley glanced up at him shortly before looking back down. With the folder still clutched hard against his chest, Seymour closed the door behind him.
