Re: Quicklog: Sadie and Misha
He wasn't real sure what advice to give 'bout her family that gave her up, and he reckoned being honest was better than trying to say the right thing. Whenever he went and specifically tried to say helpful things, they ended up not working. Like trying too hard made things go wrong or something, and he hadn't been taught how to make folks feel better any like this, sitting in front of them and using words. In fact, Heaven had taught that wasn't something meant to be done at all. And, course, it wasn't nothing he'd learned small, not in his foster family. So, he'd failed plenty at making folks feel better, and now he was just being honest 'stead. "Could be they let you go for some reason that didn't have nothing to do with not wanting you. Now, I ain't saying that don't happen, and I ain't meaning to get your hopes up, on account of sometimes things like that do happen. But it ain't always that way, Sadie," was what he said.
"My momma was real beautiful and sweet," he said. "Pale as you can imagine, and with hair that was so blonde it was nearly white. And her smile, it was soft as petals." Some time earlier, he'd taken to being ornery with her for what she'd done, his momma, but that had mostly been an effect of all the folks 'round him. He soaked up emotions like a sponge, and he didn't even ken he did it, and being 'round hate made him hateful. But, sitting there, there wasn't no hate 'bout. "My foster folks weren't real kind," was all he said at first. Then, after a bit of pause, adding: "I miss my foster daddy sometimes. Never my foster momma."
But parties outdoors, summer and lightning bugs, that made the boy smile bright, and all them shadows that had settled on his features were gone, and just as quick as snapping your fingers. "We could round up plenty of folks. Nothing this town likes as much as a good party, and summer's a time for them." There wasn't much doing nights in Repose, so anything with music always drew a crowd. "There's bonfires down by makeout point in the summer. When they do the first one of the year, you should go on out and meet folk."
He watched her paint her nails, and he listened to her tale. It was nice, just sitting and talking, and he blew on his own nails, helping them finish along drying. "I reckon I would've liked her too. She sounds real fine," he said honestly, adding: "My foster daddy, his momma was sweet as sugar. She treated me real kind. She's been gone a whole long time now," he said, his own trip down memory line curling itself 'round him. "Your momma too, and she wouldn't need to give up her seat, though I reckon that means she was real nice. I'd stand. It's proper, letting a woman have the seat," he said, that old-fashion southern teaching, and it didn't have much place out here. But, home, that was how you did. Even in church on Sundays, you let the womenfolk sit, and he hadn't thought on that in a good long while.