This one breaks the mould a bit. For one, it's not Bruce, it's Alfred. For another, there's no food at the end (sorry). And, for a third, well...it's not quite about apathy. But, it is. Um. Yes.
Anyways, this is actually the product of my processing the passing of a friend's father, just four months, or so, after their mother died.
The television set glowed brightly, even in the afternoon's light that came pouring through the windows, flickering as the shot changed, and then again each time the button on the remote was pressed to change channels. The noise was low. Meaningless, really. Just background noise with images to match. Just for the boy who sat in front of it.
The butler stood behind him, behind the couch, also facing the TV. But, he wasn't watching the screen. He was watching the small black head that just peeped over the top of the couch's back. He was such a small boy, the man noted. Slight, but fit. And...tiny. And much too quiet.
Yes, the boy talked at length with the butler and the master of the house. He chattered about silly things, and even laughed brightly as the morning sun – often with it, too. But he was much too quiet. And the butler couldn't stand it.
"Why are you hiding, Master Richard?"
The boy spun around, surprised at the "sudden" appearance of the old man. "I'm not hiding, Alfred. I'm right here on the couch."
With a sigh, Alfred walked forward, coming to sit on the edge of a cushion at the end. "I didn't mean like a game of hide-and-seek."
Confused, Dick asked, "Then what did you mean?"
"I mean, you're hiding." Alfred looked so directly at him – just shy of a glare, but an earnest gaze nonetheless – that the boy almost cowered.
Then the boy's eyes lit up. But, in a strange way. They did not light up as when he was delighted, nor was it quite the same as when he discovered a new fact. No, it was a darker light. A light of understanding. A light of fear and trembling, anger and bitterness, sadness and decay. A light that betrayed his inmost feelings. "No, I'm not."
The butler looked kindly at the ward. "Master Richard. It's quite alright to come out."
Dick pursed his lips. "I don't want to."
"I know. But you must."
The young acrobat turned away. "I don't need to. I'll be fine."
Alfred smiled with a melancholic air. "My dear boy, I know you want to be strong. I know you feel like you need to, so you can pick up the pieces, and live on with life, because that's what feels like the right thing to do. But, it's not."
Dick curled up where he sat, he face partially buried between his knees, his arms wrapped around them tightly. "Be quiet."
"No. You need to hear this. You won't admit it, but you are very weak right now. You can't think straight when you're in your right mind, so you hide away. Just because you were sad at the funeral, doesn't mean you can't be sad anymore." Alfred tried to catch his eyes. "Master Richard, you don't need to be strong. Master Bruce and I are here to be strong for you. We are here to help you along the way."
Dick lifted his head slightly, his voice sounding broken. "But, they wouldn't like it. They never liked it when I cried. They said I'm their cheerful little robin. I can't stop being that."
Alfred put a hand on his shoulder. "Even a cheerful little robin stops singing enough to rest and recover."
"But if I stop being that, I won't remember them."
"Yes, you will."
"How do you know?" The boy looked back up to him, tears spilling over. "How do you know I'll never forget them when I stop?"
Alfred leaned in. "Because, when you grieve, you remember them for living, thanking them for their words and love, and honoring them for who they were. You'll be able to be a cheerful little robin again, don't you worry. And you'll be even better for it."
Dick nodded, resting his head against it knees.
And he came out of hiding.
Well, how'd I do? This isn't to say that it's how my friends are acting. It's just me processing. -Jimmy C.
