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Symphony for Growing Hearts
by kaeera
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FIRST MOVEMENT: GRIEF
+Bad behaviour+
Jeff found his second-youngest in the graveyard, kneeling in front of the tombstone with a look of utter confusion on his face.
After having searched for hours – it was eight pm! - he wasn't in the mood to be gentle.
"Gordon!" his voice was sharp – not too loud, because they were still in a cemetery and one didn't shout where the dead rested – but nonetheless the head of the red-headed boy snapped up.
"Dad!" A sheepish expression crossed his face, but no guilt.
"What are you doing here?" Jeff walked closer, his heart lurching painfully as he reached the tombstone of his deceased wife. Two years later, and it still was as painful as before.
Gordon shifted his weight, looking uncomfortable and embarrassed. "I wanted to talk to Mom," he mumbled, chin set in a stubborn frown.
"You wanted what?" Jeff raised an eyebrow, not trusting his ears. He would expect such a reply from John, or maybe Virgil, but definitely not from his second-youngest, who was far too loud and brash. "Why?"
The frown became sullen. "The teacher wanted me to. Because I was bad at school, even though it wasn't my fault, and so she said that I should go home and tell my Mom about it and ask her why I shouldn't act as I did, even though I think I was right and..."
"Wait, wait," his father raised a hand. "A teacher told you this? Which one?"
"Miss Rabikoff. She's new."
Well. That explained why she didn't know about Gordon. "You could have told her."
"I didn't want to. I don't like telling other people about Mom. They always look at me funny. And then they say weird things."
Jeff frowned. "And so you came here after school instead of going home?"
Gordon nodded, a stubborn tear glittering in his eye. "I talked to her, really, I did. But I still don't understand why it was wrong to sneak into the girl's dressing room, I just wanted to get back my ball, and Sandra stole it, so it was all her fault, I don't understand what's so special about girls anyway and I just wanted my ball because it's yellow and shiny and looks much better than Alan's..."
Jeff sighed, wondering where his son had picked up the habit of raving. It was hard to follow his chaotic monologues on a good day, but here in the cemetery, faced with the still open wound of the loss of his wife and the fact that he had been worrying about a certain redhead for the last three hours made it difficult to follow.
"The next time a teacher says something like that," he clarified, interrupting the jumbled words, "You can come to me, or to Grandma, or to your brothers." Jeff held out his hand. "And now lets go, you missed dinner already. I'll see what we can do about that teacher; after you tell me the full story, of course."
Huge eyes looked up at him. "So I can come to you even though they're saying I should talk with Mom?"
The reply was soft. "You can always come to me, Gordon."
"That's good," Gordon said, suddenly cheerful. "Mom wasn't answering, anyway. Maybe she's busy in heaven." He took his father's hand and missed the astonished look that crossed the Jeff's face. For a second, his face was tense – then he smiled, looked up at the sky and nodded. "You know, son, you might be right about that."
Fin.