(Posting a little early! :x )
Who: Dietre and Albert. What: D is in need of some fatherliness. Where: The Jones' home. When: Thursday. Rating: Low.
He had been thinking about what Mrs. Walker had said. Talk to your parents. It sounded like good advice, and Dietre often felt that he would like to speak to his mother and father, visions of them sitting at the dining room table together, smiles on their faces, but...Well, there were many buts. Today, though, he had somehow managed to work up the courage to step into his mother's study. She sat bent over her desk, diligently writing, several books spread out before her. She did not acknowledge his presence for a long while, but Dietre waited, eternally patient though his heart pounded in his chest.
Finally, she spoke, not looking up from her papers. "...What is it, then?"
"Mother..." The words did not come easy, the boy stood, trying his best not to wring his hands as he spoke. "I was wondering..." He paused, not sure if he could go on. The silence began to stretch.
His mother looked up, her lips thinning with impatience. "Yes?"
"...I was wondering if...you would...like to play the piano with me?" Somehow he got it out, there was a wild lurching of his insides, hope and panic all mixed together. He almost dared to look at her. Silence again, and then...
"Can you not see that I'm doing something at the moment? I am much too busy. I don't have the time."
Dietre felt his heart sink. Of course. What had he been thinking? Even so, he felt something hot, a flicker of what must have been anger, he heard himself mumble as he stared down at his shoes. "You did. Once."
His mother sighed, "That was different. You were much...cuter then. But now..." She trailed off, lifting a shoulder with a smile. It was not a kind smile. She turned back to her notes, dismissive, her tone cool. "Unless there are more pressing matters at hand, I would like to return to my work, Dietre."
His chest felt very tight. The mask of his face did not betray him as he gave a silent nod. The world seemed oddly muffled, there was a rushing in his ears as he turned and slowly made his way out of the room. He found himself standing on his front walkway, not remembering leaving the house. He looked up at the sky. It was so big. ...And he was so small.
His gaze shifted, straying past the driveway to the house next door. Mr. Jones said he was welcome to talk to him if he wanted...Dietre took a few steps forward, then stopped. But had the man really meant it? The boy commenced with an awkward sort of pacing, walking towards the Jones' home, turning around back to his own, then shuffling toward his neighbor's, then stopping again.
Eventually he had managed to creep close to the fence that separated the two front yards, close enough to place his hand on it. Unfortunately, that seemed as far as he had the nerve to go. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't bring himself to cross over.