Chanukah night 5
Dec. 15th, 2009 06:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
queenrileyTitle: Chanukah, Night 5
Fandom: Power Rangers SPD
Rating: K/G/general audience
Summary: In the Holiday Series. Fifth of eight fics for Chanukah.
Disclaimer: not mine, alas
Thursday December 10, 2015
Age eleven
Bridge came tearing into the house, slamming the door behind him. If he missed dinner, his mom would have his head. He was already home later than promised. He could smell frying potatoes and he heard the sizzle of the hot oil all the way from the kitchen.
“Mama, I’m home!” he called. He headed towards the back of the house, the smells from the kitchen calling to him as they wafted through.
“You’re late,” she yelled back at him. He pushed his way through the swinging door into the kitchen and found her standing over the stove, tentatively dipping a slotted spoon into her big frying pan.
“I’m sorry. I found a lost dog. Had to trace his path back to home. But I can’t be too late. You’re still cooking.” He spied the plate of cooling latkes next to the stove and covertly moved towards it. His stomach rumbled.
“Both you and dinner can be late at the same time, y’know.” He reached for a latke, slowly sliding his gloved hand up the cabinets in the hopes his mother wouldn’t notice. She did, of course, and smacked his hand away with the spoon. He frowned.
“But if I’m late and dinner is late, does that mean we’re really late? Or are we on time, since we show up together? And if dinner is late and I’m here before dinner, am I really late? Or am I early?” He was pondering the intricacies of time when his mother, having pulled the last of the latkes out of the pan, shoved the plate into his waiting hands.
“Oh, go put those on the table. You’re both late. Time ticks away, regardless of who wishes it to stop.” She nudged him through the door and to the dining room, following behind with a plate of chicken and a bowl of green beans.
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They enjoyed a mostly quiet dinner and, despite being a bit late, lit all five Chanukah candles together. Bridge made himself comfortable on the couch, leaning over the edge for the best view, and settled in to watch them burn down. He heard the dishwasher start in the kitchen and then the couch dipped beside him as his mother sat down.
“You… you may not want tonight’s present,” she said with a sigh. Bridge turned to squint at his mom. Not want a present? Was she crazy?
“Not want the present? What is this madness you speak of?” he asked
“Of which you speak,” she corrected automatically. He rolled his eyes as she continued. “It’s… well it’s an emotional thing. I’m just not sure it will be welcome. But I promised, so here.” She thrust a small box in his face and he turned to open it. He couldn’t think of much he wouldn’t be excited to get. Even socks could be fun if they had the right personality.
Inside was a gold watch. Bridge wasn’t much for gold, but it seemed an interesting watch. There were lots of little dials visible and knobs that did who knew what. He examined it carefully. He really didn’t have a need for a watch. He had a cellphone to help him keep track of time and he was never far from a computer, but it was an interesting gift nonetheless. Maybe he could take it apart to see how it worked.
“It’s a neat watch,” he said, playing with the little knobs. His mother sighed.
“It was your father’s.” He immediately dropped it as if it had burnt him. It clattered to the floor and he didn’t care if it was broken or not. She picked it up and held it carefully in her lap.
“I don’t want it.” He felt the world spin around him, like he was watching a wave rush away from his feet at the beach. She didn’t offer it to him again and he was grateful, though he knew she’d try to convince him to take it.
“I promised him I’d give it to you when you were old enough,” she said. He crossed his arms and shook his head.
“He left me. Twice. I don’t want his stupid watch.” He hated his father. Hated him with the same boiling storm of emotion his father had always directed at him. He didn’t want to be like the old man, but he couldn’t help it sometimes.
“I know, baby, but a promise is a promise.” She reached out to stroke his hair and he jerked back.
“I’m not a baby. And you can break your promise to him. He broke all his to you. And to me.” His eyes were hard and he thought maybe if he clenched his teeth a little harder, she’d get the point. He watched as she fingered the metal band of the cursed watch. He wasn’t going to take it.
“You will always be my baby. He may have let us down, but I won’t break my promise to him. I don’t break my promises.” Bridge sighed and collapsed back, the anger rushing out of him. He knew she was right. His mother would never let anyone down. She wasn’t like that, not at all. She was better than his father.
“He left us, Mama. He hated me. I could see it all the time. He was energy and stormy and angry. He walked out on us and I never saw him again. Seven years and he never even tried to see me! And then he left us again when he went and killed himself last summer. A stupid watch can’t change that. He didn’t want us and I don’t want him. I don’t want anything that ever was his!” He could feel the anger coming back. He wasn’t as good at forgiveness as his mother. He couldn’t ever forgive that man for what he’d done. He never wanted to, and he knew it would mean he’d be angry forever. But he didn’t care right now.
“I was once his. Not everything he touched was bad. He gave me you.” Her voice was soft and that almost made it worse.
“He called me damaged goods, Mama! He said he ruined me! You can’t fix genetics, remember?” His voice wavered and cracked. He mentally cursed himself that he couldn’t control it.
“But you know that’s not true. You aren’t damaged and you aren’t ruined. You’re a wonderful boy, turning into a wonderful young man. He couldn’t see it and that’s his fault, yes, but you can’t hate him forever. He is a part of you, Bridge, whether you want him to be or not.” She was right again. She was always right. It was infuriating. Even worse, he couldn’t be angry at her, not when she glowed so strongly with such warmth and compassion. She was the only person who could break through the barrier of his gloves and he both hated and loved her for it at the same time. It was so confusing.
He reached out for the watch. She passed it to him and he reluctantly clutched it in his hand. He gripped it tight and felt the hatred surge again. He looked from his mother to the watch and back again. She seemed nervous almost.
“I don’t want it!” he yelled. He pulled his arm back as if to throw it but stopped himself. He didn’t know why, but he just couldn’t do it. He wanted to. Oh he wanted to smash it so much, but something wouldn’t let him. Something inside was stopping him. He visibly deflated, sitting back and slipping the watch over his hand. It went right past his glove to rest on his exposed wrist. It hung loosely and was heavier than he expected. He was grateful that most of the memory flashes he got from the skin contact were of his mother. She’s apparently handled it a lot in the past few months. There were some traces of the lawyer he’d met only once when they settled his father’s will, but that was it really. He could feel an undercurrent of his father there, emotions pushed to the background, and he tried not to focus on it. It wasn’t as angry as he remembered though. It was almost sad, regretful. But he wouldn’t focus on that now. It was easier to hate him still.
“I don’t want it,” he whispered, curling against the arm of the couch. He rested his chin on his crossed arms and looked away from his mother. He focused on the candles again. The warm glow had carried him through so much before. They could get him through this night. He let his mother stroke his hair like she had when he was a baby. It had gotten long, past his ears now, and she was able to curl it around her finger. She overwhelmed him with as much love and calm as she could send and he let it wash over him. It chased away the anger, covered up the hate he felt. He settled almost immediately. They sat like that, him watching the flames and his mother playing with his hair, until the candles sputtered out.
Fandom: Power Rangers SPD
Rating: K/G/general audience
Summary: In the Holiday Series. Fifth of eight fics for Chanukah.
Disclaimer: not mine, alas
Thursday December 10, 2015
Age eleven
Bridge came tearing into the house, slamming the door behind him. If he missed dinner, his mom would have his head. He was already home later than promised. He could smell frying potatoes and he heard the sizzle of the hot oil all the way from the kitchen.
“Mama, I’m home!” he called. He headed towards the back of the house, the smells from the kitchen calling to him as they wafted through.
“You’re late,” she yelled back at him. He pushed his way through the swinging door into the kitchen and found her standing over the stove, tentatively dipping a slotted spoon into her big frying pan.
“I’m sorry. I found a lost dog. Had to trace his path back to home. But I can’t be too late. You’re still cooking.” He spied the plate of cooling latkes next to the stove and covertly moved towards it. His stomach rumbled.
“Both you and dinner can be late at the same time, y’know.” He reached for a latke, slowly sliding his gloved hand up the cabinets in the hopes his mother wouldn’t notice. She did, of course, and smacked his hand away with the spoon. He frowned.
“But if I’m late and dinner is late, does that mean we’re really late? Or are we on time, since we show up together? And if dinner is late and I’m here before dinner, am I really late? Or am I early?” He was pondering the intricacies of time when his mother, having pulled the last of the latkes out of the pan, shoved the plate into his waiting hands.
“Oh, go put those on the table. You’re both late. Time ticks away, regardless of who wishes it to stop.” She nudged him through the door and to the dining room, following behind with a plate of chicken and a bowl of green beans.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
They enjoyed a mostly quiet dinner and, despite being a bit late, lit all five Chanukah candles together. Bridge made himself comfortable on the couch, leaning over the edge for the best view, and settled in to watch them burn down. He heard the dishwasher start in the kitchen and then the couch dipped beside him as his mother sat down.
“You… you may not want tonight’s present,” she said with a sigh. Bridge turned to squint at his mom. Not want a present? Was she crazy?
“Not want the present? What is this madness you speak of?” he asked
“Of which you speak,” she corrected automatically. He rolled his eyes as she continued. “It’s… well it’s an emotional thing. I’m just not sure it will be welcome. But I promised, so here.” She thrust a small box in his face and he turned to open it. He couldn’t think of much he wouldn’t be excited to get. Even socks could be fun if they had the right personality.
Inside was a gold watch. Bridge wasn’t much for gold, but it seemed an interesting watch. There were lots of little dials visible and knobs that did who knew what. He examined it carefully. He really didn’t have a need for a watch. He had a cellphone to help him keep track of time and he was never far from a computer, but it was an interesting gift nonetheless. Maybe he could take it apart to see how it worked.
“It’s a neat watch,” he said, playing with the little knobs. His mother sighed.
“It was your father’s.” He immediately dropped it as if it had burnt him. It clattered to the floor and he didn’t care if it was broken or not. She picked it up and held it carefully in her lap.
“I don’t want it.” He felt the world spin around him, like he was watching a wave rush away from his feet at the beach. She didn’t offer it to him again and he was grateful, though he knew she’d try to convince him to take it.
“I promised him I’d give it to you when you were old enough,” she said. He crossed his arms and shook his head.
“He left me. Twice. I don’t want his stupid watch.” He hated his father. Hated him with the same boiling storm of emotion his father had always directed at him. He didn’t want to be like the old man, but he couldn’t help it sometimes.
“I know, baby, but a promise is a promise.” She reached out to stroke his hair and he jerked back.
“I’m not a baby. And you can break your promise to him. He broke all his to you. And to me.” His eyes were hard and he thought maybe if he clenched his teeth a little harder, she’d get the point. He watched as she fingered the metal band of the cursed watch. He wasn’t going to take it.
“You will always be my baby. He may have let us down, but I won’t break my promise to him. I don’t break my promises.” Bridge sighed and collapsed back, the anger rushing out of him. He knew she was right. His mother would never let anyone down. She wasn’t like that, not at all. She was better than his father.
“He left us, Mama. He hated me. I could see it all the time. He was energy and stormy and angry. He walked out on us and I never saw him again. Seven years and he never even tried to see me! And then he left us again when he went and killed himself last summer. A stupid watch can’t change that. He didn’t want us and I don’t want him. I don’t want anything that ever was his!” He could feel the anger coming back. He wasn’t as good at forgiveness as his mother. He couldn’t ever forgive that man for what he’d done. He never wanted to, and he knew it would mean he’d be angry forever. But he didn’t care right now.
“I was once his. Not everything he touched was bad. He gave me you.” Her voice was soft and that almost made it worse.
“He called me damaged goods, Mama! He said he ruined me! You can’t fix genetics, remember?” His voice wavered and cracked. He mentally cursed himself that he couldn’t control it.
“But you know that’s not true. You aren’t damaged and you aren’t ruined. You’re a wonderful boy, turning into a wonderful young man. He couldn’t see it and that’s his fault, yes, but you can’t hate him forever. He is a part of you, Bridge, whether you want him to be or not.” She was right again. She was always right. It was infuriating. Even worse, he couldn’t be angry at her, not when she glowed so strongly with such warmth and compassion. She was the only person who could break through the barrier of his gloves and he both hated and loved her for it at the same time. It was so confusing.
He reached out for the watch. She passed it to him and he reluctantly clutched it in his hand. He gripped it tight and felt the hatred surge again. He looked from his mother to the watch and back again. She seemed nervous almost.
“I don’t want it!” he yelled. He pulled his arm back as if to throw it but stopped himself. He didn’t know why, but he just couldn’t do it. He wanted to. Oh he wanted to smash it so much, but something wouldn’t let him. Something inside was stopping him. He visibly deflated, sitting back and slipping the watch over his hand. It went right past his glove to rest on his exposed wrist. It hung loosely and was heavier than he expected. He was grateful that most of the memory flashes he got from the skin contact were of his mother. She’s apparently handled it a lot in the past few months. There were some traces of the lawyer he’d met only once when they settled his father’s will, but that was it really. He could feel an undercurrent of his father there, emotions pushed to the background, and he tried not to focus on it. It wasn’t as angry as he remembered though. It was almost sad, regretful. But he wouldn’t focus on that now. It was easier to hate him still.
“I don’t want it,” he whispered, curling against the arm of the couch. He rested his chin on his crossed arms and looked away from his mother. He focused on the candles again. The warm glow had carried him through so much before. They could get him through this night. He let his mother stroke his hair like she had when he was a baby. It had gotten long, past his ears now, and she was able to curl it around her finger. She overwhelmed him with as much love and calm as she could send and he let it wash over him. It chased away the anger, covered up the hate he felt. He settled almost immediately. They sat like that, him watching the flames and his mother playing with his hair, until the candles sputtered out.