LIGHTER CHAPTER TO... WELL, NOT 'WARE' OUT THE ANGST THAT'S COMING NEXT. ENJOY! I HAD FUN WRITING THIS SCENE, BUT IT TOOK ME A WHILE
At first, the other realities - the realities of the past - normally, he'd call them memories, but they didn't feel like that.
These were…
Immersive. Comforting.
And, with the pain intensifying the longer he stared into the void, these were ways to escape.
The pain.
The noise.
The lights.
Instead of enduring, he ran away into the past. Away from anything but the ability to relive a time gone by.
"Thank you very much, Ms. Harper. We will talk with her."
Henry looked up from the stack of papers in front of him at the desk when his wife ended her phone call. From the tone in her voice, Henry knew the hint of frustration didn't bode well after a conversation with Emma's teacher.
Elizabeth set the phone down in the cradle, and rubbed her temples. They'd been sitting in their after work, stained and ripped sweatshirts, both grading papers, sharing in their misery of academia with the first papers of the semester in their respective classes. Henry, grading his papers from the Origins of Middle Eastern Religion class, and Elizabeth muttering to herself about how Cold War Politics had nothing to do with the temperature in Russia, as one student baselessly claimed in his essay.
"Uh oh," Henry said, "What did she do now?"
Elizabeth sat down behind her desk in the study across from his, leaning back in her chair as she, with exasperation, said, "Her teacher said that Emma is pretending that she can't read."
"What?" Henry asked, more to the room than to his wife. Now it was his turn to take off his glasses and lean back in his chair, questioning, "But she's been…"
He racked his brain, trying to think down a thought pattern that their first grade child would be thinking, which Henry always found difficult to understand Emma's reasoning, even though she was only six.
"She's been reading since she was four." Elizabeth finished while shrugging her shoulders. "But yesterday and today, her teacher says she will look down at a page and say she can't do something because she can't read."
A thought sprang into his brain, and he sat forward, looking out the open door of their study into the living room, where the kids had been entertaining themselves. Stevie, two textbooks and a calculator out on the coffee table, Alli with her colored pencils and drawing pad, Jason with a set of Legos quietly muttering to himself as he worked through the instructions. This was normal in the McCord household, after all. They'd get done with dinner, the kids would clean up the dishes, and then it was homework or quiet play for an hour or so while Henry and Elizabeth finished up any grading they brought home with them from their classes. And, as the routine worked, they'd take turns rounding the children up and putting them to bed.
And then he saw it, the very normal scene was used to, and he gestured for Elizabeth to come over and look.
There, stretched out along the ottoman was Emma, her feet at one end, and her head resting on the floor hanging upside down. Halfway through one of her favorite Magic Treehouse chapter books also held upside down as she read.
Henry met Elizabeth's gaze, confusion mingling with the attempt to unravel whatever convoluted train of thought that their first grader might be pulling.
"Emma Suzanne McCord, can you come in here, please?" Elizabeth said, loud enough to be heard in the other room, and she walked back over to her desk and mouthed to Henry, "What the…?"
From Henry's desk, he watched over the rims of his glasses as their rambunctious six year old threw her feet over her head, thudding to the ground, but coming up like her body had not just hit the floor with force.
Even before she was fully on her feet, Emma called out, "I didn't do it," probably referencing the full name her mother had called her.
Henry and Elizabeth met each other's gaze, but quickly turned their attention to the tiny human who walked into the room.
"How do you know what you did or didn't do if you don't know what we're talking about?" Henry asked, sitting back in his chair.
Emma shrugged, "I just know things like that, Dad."
Elizabeth pointed to the phone on her desk, "I just got a call from your teacher. Care to explain what's been going on at school?"
Henry desperately tried to keep a straight face, which was more difficult than it sounded as Emma's face squished into a genuine thoughtful look, her eyes drifting up to the ceiling like she was in deep thought.
"Well, let's see…" Emma pondered, obviously stalling. "Thomas L. got sent home early because he watered the flowers at recess."
After taking a beat, Elizabeth said, "I know I shouldn't ask," mild curiosity filling her voice, "But why did he get sent home?"
Henry should've known by the way Emma's lip curled that something was coming.
But to hear, "Well he watered them with his pee." was not something Henry even thought was in the realm of possibility to come from his daughter. And he closed his eyes, telling himself that he couldn't laugh, no matter how absolutely unhinged the story seemed.
He stole a glance over at Elizabeth, who miraculously kept a straight face, simply swirled a pen in her hand, the only sign of her breaking was the way her eyebrows rose for a second.
"Well, as riveting as that story is," Elizabeth continued, "Your teacher didn't call to tell me about Thomas. She called…"
"Thomas L." Emma interjected as she catapulted into the wingback chair in the corner of the office. "Thomas W. got sent home because he ate all the valentine candy from everyone's mailboxes and threw up all over the classroom."
Henry could see the serious face breaking on his wife, so he jumped in to save her, "Your teacher didn't mention any Thomas' in her call." Elizabeth's hand now covered her mouth to stifle a smile. "How about you try again and tell us what is happening at school with you."
By this time, Emma was now stretched sideways across the chair, her legs up in the air hanging off the chair's arm, her head propped up against the other, reclining without a care in the world.
"Let's see…" Emma meandered, her fingers fiddling with the buttons on her overalls. "We got a new line leader yesterday, but she doesn't know how to keep a straight line, so we're all just…" Emma put her hand in the air, moving it back and forth like a snake.
"Ok." Elizabeth interrupted her daughter, sitting forward with her elbows on the table, "Why are you pretending you can't read at school?"
Nonchalantly without a care in the world, Emma said, "Oh, that."
"Yeah, that." Henry chimed in. "Care to explain?"
"It's for ware-ness." The words were spoken like a fact that both Elizabeth and Henry should know, and that, perhaps Emma was a little offended they even had to ask her the question.
Henry searched his brain, trying to figure out what Emma might be talking about.
"For what?" Elizabeth asked.
As if they'd changed places, Emma acted like she was lecturing her parents instead of the other way around. As if she was explaining to an unruly college student why class attendance was mandatory after six weeks of class.
"For ware-ness." Emma said, "You know, like those pink ribbon people about their breasts."
"Awareness?" Henry choked out through a clenched mouth, yet again almost betraying himself at Emma's crazy explanation all the while trying to find the line of thinking between reading and awareness. "Breast Cancer Awareness?"
"Yup." Emma said, nodding her head. And then offered no other explanation, as if she was sure all the points had been made that she needed.
But nothing had ever been less clear to Henry, and, from the look Elizabeth was giving him, she hadn't connected any dots at all.
Elizabeth took a breath, "So you're pretending to not know how to read for Breast Cancer Awareness?" She expelled the air in her lungs that Henry was sure would've been a laugh had she not concentrated on that.
"No." Emma said, as if offended at their lack of understanding. "For literal ware-ness. You know, like people who can't read."
Henry wanted to have the pieces fall into place, but there were pieces, and he knew them, but there was no place to put the scrambled logic pieces from their child reclining in front of them.
"Literacy awareness?"
Elizabeth asked it as a question, but Henry had a feeling her sentence jumped at the end, not from questioning, but from masking all the humor both of them were feeling at the moment.
The nod Emma gave her was full of relief that finally her parents had understood something so basic.
"Where did you…?" Henry started, unable to finish without the laughter entering his voice, so he started again, "Why pretending not to…" and again, "Who told you…" He sent Elizabeth a look, a cry for help. But he was only met with her eyes brimming with held back tears as her hand covered her mouth as she silently laughed.
No help there.
Emma took over, her antsy fingers having moved to play with the seam on the chair's arm.
"I saw on the PBS show about kids not being able to read." She explained, "And that I could call and give them money to teach people how to read." The way frustration entered her face as she scrunched her eyebrows, "But I called them and they said I had to pay them to help people. When I said I didn't have any money, but that reading is good…"
By now, Elizabeth had turned her chair away from their daughter, and Henry could see her shoulders shaking from silent laughter. His turn to cover his mouth to keep his face from breaking, he listened on as Emma continued.
"... they said that I sounded smart and that I should make people ware of people not reading."
A small framework for the pieces opened in Henry's brain. And he choked out, "So you decided not to read to tell people how reading is important?"
"Yup." Emma said, "So that's why."
Elizabeth wiped her eyes, taking in a loud breath before turning around to face their daughter. "Emma, it's a good thought, but there are better ways to…"
"I gotta do it a whole month, Mom." So logically flawed and yet sincere. "Like the breast stuff."
As funny as all of it was, the way she couldn't even say most of the words, the way she just assumed Henry and Elizabeth knew exactly what she was thinking, Henry put on his parenting pants.
"You can't go a whole month without reading, little girl." Henry said, and when Emma opened her mouth to argue, he held his hand up and continued, "School is important, and you need to learn for this month, so pretending you can't read isn't going to help you learn things."
And he saw the stubbornness settle into Emma's face, and she even crossed her arms and sat up in the chair. He knew this wasn't good.
"I'm standing up for what I believe in." As if the issue was over, and there was nothing they could make her do. So self assured and completely resolute. Despite being so little her bare feet couldn't reach the bottom of the floor from the chair. "It's just at school though, at home, I can read. Because you already know I can read."
Elizabeth's voice, the perfect motherly combination of understanding and insistence, said, "Come over here." Emma hopped down from the chair, and slowly walked over to behind Elizabeth's desk, her feet dragging on the line of carpet under the desk. Setting her hands on Emma's shoulders and making eye contact with Emma, Elizabeth said, "Your dad and I love that you are standing up for what you believe in." Capitulating for only a second, and Henry knew that the not so distant tradecraft was coming. "And we want to make sure we support you in your beliefs. So…" Elizabeth pointed into the living room behind Emma, "Go get the books you got at the library yesterday."
Emma's eyes now darted between Henry and Elizabeth.
And Henry marveled at how well Elizabeth could read the situation and see the solution.
"Why?"
"Well, consistency is very important when you're bringing awareness." Elizabeth explained, "And you don't want to commit to a cause and not do it all the way, do you?" Henry saw understanding and consequences flash over Emma's face as she shook her head slowly, the activist in her coming up against the avid reader she'd' been for a long time. Elizabeth turned Emma around, and pointed toward the door, "Why don't you start with that book you were reading? Bring that here and I'll drop it off at the library on the way to work tomorrow."
Hand still covering his mouth, Henry grinned as the girl's shuffle toward the door got slower and slower the closer she got to the doorway, as if she was trying desperately to work her way out of the hole she'd dug for herself.
"Dad?" Emma asked, still looking at her feet even when she stopped moving.
"Yes?" He mumbled over his hand.
The mental gymnastics of a six year old attempting to still be right but get to finish her mystery book took a bit longer before Emma asked, "Do you think having literal ware-ness for one day is good?"
The chuckle escaped as he said, "Yes, I think it's honorable."
WIth that, Emma twirled around and as confidently as she could say as she almost slipped, turning too fast, she said to her mother, "I think I'm a one-day ware-ness person, Mom."
"Ok." Elizabeth said, again pointing out the door, "Now go finish your book. And next time you want to be 'ware' you need to ask permission first."
Emma had already escaped the room, her feet running at a pace faster than she should be running in the house.
"Emma, don't jump on the…" And the sound of the six year old somersaulting onto the ottoman silenced the rest of his sentence.
Elizabeth walked over to Henry's desk, checking the door to make sure Emma was out of earshot before she leaned down and said, "Henry, where did she come up with that?" Henry shook his head, the smile finally coming to his face. And Elizabeth whispered, "If she's like this at six…" He reached out, and gently pulled Elizabeth into his lap, her feet hanging off the side of his office chair. She laid her head on his shoulder, like that was right where she belonged. And he could feel the warmth of her breath on his neck as she finished her statement, "Imagine her as a teenager."
Henry smiled, nestling his face in her hair, he quietly said, "I think she'll be just like her mother. A force to be reckoned with."