|eebee! (eebee) wrote in qaf_prompts,|
@ 2010-03-08 21:34:00
Rating: PG for references to violence…if you squint and tilt juuuust right
Author’s Notes: For the prompt “Fathers and Sons”. I really loved writing it. Although I wrote it waaaaay in advance and then got scared of posting it early....then missed the original deadline...I'm posting it now! yea! I'm so on top of things! >.>
There was shouting downstairs, and even though he was only eight, the little boy knew well what shouting meant. It meant that dad was angry, probably drunk, mom was probably drunk, and dad had had a bad day at work. It was Saturday, and he’d had a soccer game today – neither parent had shown up, he’d had to get a ride with that awkward comic-book friend of his. They’d won the game. He’d known that they would – he worked hard to make sure that he was the best player and they hadn’t lost a game yet this season. But when he’d gotten home and his sister had been leaving, he knew that there was something going on. It was almost midnight now, and their mother would surely go to church tomorrow to pray for all of them, but right now he just had to make sure that he wasn’t in the way. Last time he’d gotten in the way of his father’s anger, he’d gotten a broken arm for his efforts.
He sighed and curled up in his dark blue sheets, trying to drown out the sound of the yelling and the furniture being pushed around downstairs. He was used to his parents’ fights these days. They’d been going on since he was born.
“Daddy! Daddy!” a little boy squealed as he was pushed on the swings. He was four, and the height of the swings made him dizzily excited. His daddy was the strongest in the world, and could push the highest, and could even make him fly. His daddy was the bestest. They were at the park now, but after the park Daddy was going to take him for ice cream and they would keep it Just Between Us because Mommy would be upset with them. She said that ice cream ruined his ab-i-tight and made him not hungry for dinner. But he was always hungry for dinner. Sundays meant Mommy would make his favorite and then he would get a nice warm bath and put on his snuggly footie pajamas and curl up with mommy on the couch and watch her tv shows that he didn’t understand. He’d fall asleep and then Daddy would carry him to bed, tuck him into his dark blue sheets, and in the morning he’d start school.
He giggled and his daddy brought him down off the swings and then he was off to the slide and the see-saw and his father smiled a little smile as the blond ran around, shouting for his father to join in his excitement.
He’d never actually met his father, but his mother told him stories about him all the time. He was six and he didn’t understand everything that Ma said, but it was exciting to listen to. His dad was like GI Joe or Captain Astro – off saving the world and he was so happy to go tell people at school that. His dad was a real superhero. He was sitting on the floor – it was Monday, and he had school tomorrow, but Ma told the best stories. And he loved listening to them. They were full of adventure and excitement and though he knew that he would probably never be as awesome as his dad had been, but he liked to pretend that someday he would be.
“Did I ever tell you about when he first left? He looked so big and strong, in that dark green uniform and the big hat.” The boy beamed at her. He knew this story but he shook his head anyway, knowing that Ma would tell it in her big, dramatic way that made the boy all the more excited and proud that his father was who he was. There was no doubt that, even though they had never met, this relationship would’ve been good and big and strong.
The little boy was always excited when he came down from Canada to see Daddy and Papa. Unlike when his father was excited the little boy’s emotions were plain for everyone to see and he wanted to be there now and he wanted to see Daddy and Papa and Gamma and everybody! He’d missed them. Mommy had said that Daddy was being “a prat” – or that’s what his little ears heard her tell Mema. He was eight years old, and his birthday was soon and he would be a whole Nine. And he always loved seeing Papa and Daddy. Papa would take him to the Museum where he worked and show him all the big colorful paintings and then they would go back to the big house that he remembered exploring top-to-bottom and they would make paintings of their own. Daddy would come home and he would look at them and he would sigh, and he would kiss Papa in that way that made the boy know for sure that no matter what happened, Daddy loved Papa and Papa loved Daddy.
“Papa? When Daddy gets home, can we go swing?” the boy asked.
Papa looked at the little boy and smiled. “You really like the new tree swing?”
“Daddy pushes me so high! He’s a superhero!”
The blond man smiled down at the little boy, watching when the door creaked open and the little brown head dashed off to find his mirrored image. Brian picked Gus up with a grin that was reserved only for them, and looked over at Justin. “Everything okay? Linds said that you looked a little out of things.”
Justin just smiled. “Everything’s great.”