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#Post#: 3562--------------------------------------------------
Untitled { I honestly have no idea what to call this }
DIR By: Maggie Flannery
Date: April 2, 2019, 7:19 am
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A/N: Had a strange dream this morning. I literally just woke up
about an hour ago and had to write it. I've no idea if I'll ever
add to it or leave it as is but I had to get it out. I have no
idea what the heck to call it but I would like to dedicate it to
you as my cousins will never see it. *hugs* P.S. You may need a
tissue or ten. I did when I read it back to myself. This isn't
edited in any way shape or form so all of the mistakes are my
own.
Almost all stories begin with four famous words, Once Upon a
Time. Even the really sad ones. A
“Are we there yet?”
An irritated small voice sounded from the very back of large
black tank like car that was currently barreling down a desolate
back country road. The windows were **** letting just enough of
the balmy night air into the car for it's occupants to know that
summer had well and truly arrived to the tiny town of Cavish. A
sedate little map dot that was filled with lush rolling hills
and woodland. Crickets and peepers could be heard every so
faintly just behind the rumble of engine of the vast black car
with it's shining leather seats. Three boys sat almost
comfortably on the large backseat in what looked to be height
order. The tallest boy, Christopher, was staring out blankly at
the woodlands every so often a huff sounded from him as he tried
his best to blow the flopping bangs out of his eyes only to have
them flop right back into place. He hadn't said a peep in nearly
three days, highly unusual for the eldest Webb brother. The
middle a dark haired boy of ten with deep dark eyes and a
serious expression looked directly ahead trying to make sense of
why they had to move clear across two states to live with their
Nana. Dennis, or Denny as he was called was absolutely positive
that they could have stayed back home and taken care of
themselves. The third, and smallest was Sammy who had his large
blue eyes cast upward at the night sky in a never ending search
for the stars. His Uncle George who was in the Navy had taught
him all the constellations and told him that if he found the
North Star he was always headed in the right direction. If he
saw a star streaking across the sky that meant he would get a
wish.
“But don't wish on every single shooting star that you see,
Sammy. That's just bad form, other people need their wishes too.
Perhaps keep it to three the first go around, huh?”
This was number three. Clutching his battered teddy bear his
tiny face squashed up against the glass fogging it slightly he
whispered ever so quietly to himself.
“I wish Mama didn't have to go away. I wish she was at Nana's
house waiting for us.”
Sammy's wish had been overheard by his Nana. Marta Croucher was
stout little woman with wiry gray hair that was almost always
pulled into some semblance of a high bun. Despite her coke
bottle glasses and stern hairstyle she was a warm person with an
impish face that made her look much younger than her sixty-one
years. The boys had always loved her visits back home in
Rockland, their former home two states away but now, going to
Nana's house seemed like a scary chore and less like an
adventure that their Uncle and mother had made it out to be.
“We've still got to get through town and then it's about twelve
miles out. You'll know when we get there. Every Croucher does.”
Humming to herself she cut the wheel a little too sharply and a
thunk of a Mason's Catalog slipping slightly out from the pile
she was currently perched on broke the three boys from their
thoughts. Without a word Chris scrambled over the seat and
pushed the book back into the pile rightly much to his
grandmother's relief. She noticed that he hadn't climbed back
over to sit with his brothers. Perhaps he would finally say
something.
“But we're not Crouchers, Nana. Our last name is Webb.”
Sammy asked as his inky dark curls swiveled around to catch his
grandmother's gaze from the rear view mirror. For some reason
he had forgotten to ask her why she had a crow's foot on a
string hanging from the mirror but had thought better of it.
Nana Croucher was known for doing things just a little bit
differently from the rest of the world. Including tying wooden
blocks and sitting on phone books and catalogs topped with a
dainty lace pillow so she could actually see over the steering
wheel, was just one of them.
“Ah, but you've got Croucher blood in you. You'll see when we
get there. Count the stars, Sammy. Let me know when you can see
the the Big Dipper.”
Turning her attention she heard a sniffle from the middle of the
seat. Denny had his eyes cast down to the floorboards his cheat
heaving.
“Penny for your thoughts, Denny.”
“I wanna go home.”
“We'll be there in a few minutes, I promise.”
Silent tears fell down the boy's cheeks as he sniffled and ran
the back of his hand over his eyes. Silently Chris reached over
and handed Denny his last clean cotton hanky without another
word which Denny took with a look of thanks. A torrent of tears
averted for now the quiet din came over the car's occupants once
more. The only sounds were of the rumbling engine, crickets,
peepers and the radio which was almost always tuned to the one
station that came in, CCAT, the local station that played
everything from radio shows to new Big Band music from far off
places like Chicago and Los Angeles.
“If you want to talk, Chris you know I'm here.”
Christopher considered his options. Sit and stew and have
thoughts rolling around in his head like marbles or get it out
in the open. He knew his grandmother meant well but it just
wasn't the time. Maybe it never would be, maybe he was supposed
to carry this around with him. Did every grown up have this bone
deep hurt deep deep down inside of them? To his grandmother's
surprise and much more so to his own he spoke. Voice raspy from
from being used in nearly a week he spoke.
“Talking won't bring Mom back. We could have stayed with Uncle
George.”
Nana thought this over for a moment, true, they could have
stayed with her eldest son, but with his location changing every
two years the boys wouldn't have had time to set down roots. Not
the kind of roots her youngest daughter had wanted for her sons.
Ettie had wanted the boys to know the sound of a summer storm
and the feel of the crisp autumn air, the smell of spring that
only Cavish held and most of all she wanted them to know the
place where she and her brother had grown up. It had been a
simple childhood for them but a magical once none the less.
Marta, of course agreed as did George for it was only right that
Ettie get the final say, the illness had already robbed her of
so much so quickly that the least they could was grant her one
final wish with what she felt was best for her children.
“Y'know your Uncle George would have given his eye teeth to have
you with him but he'd have had to stow you away in his sea bags.
Well, except maybe Sammy. He could have gotten him onboard in a
ditty bag.”
Chris let out a small chuckle at the thought and stopped. He
wasn't supposed to be laughing. Not now. Maybe not ever again.
But the image of his little brother crammed in with Uncle
George's socks and bar of soap clutching his teddy bear was too
much. The laughter soon took a turn, as they often do during
times of grief. Tears rolled down his cheeks and Chris as almost
positive that he would never ever stop crying which made him cry
even harder until he felt a hand on his back. Sometime during
his crying they had reached the house. Denny and Sammy had
fallen asleep huddled next to one another at some point, the
events of the last week finally taking them over.
'It should have taken longer than that to get here.'
He thought as reached over to give his Nana a hug. She wasn't
his mother as no one on this earth could ever replace her but
for the first time in nearly a year the wobbly feeling in the
pit of his stomach had stopped wobbling. His body went slack
against her as he cried the rest of his tears out into the lilac
print of her flour sack dress.
“I just want her back.”
“We all do, love. We all do. But she's not really truly ever
going to be gone. Not as long as you carry her in your heart and
in your mind.”
“That's what Uncle George said but...what if I forget her? Not
all of her just how her voice sounded or what color her eyes
really were? Or what her perfume smelled like.”
“Close your eyes.”
Wide brown eyes beneath blonde bangs stared back at Marta.
“Humor me. It'll help.”
In the stillness of the car the eldest Webb boy sat with his
eyes closed for a moment.
“Now, what's the first thing you think of when you used to hear
her voice?”
“Birds. Songbirds.”
“What about her eyes?”
A blush krept over Chris's cheeks at the thought.
“Honey. Not the yellow kind that you get in the squeeze bear but
the other kind. The deep amber one that she used to buy from Mr.
Davidson's shop on Fifth street.”
Smiling in spite of herself Marta continued.
“Now, her perfume?”
“Wildflowers. A whole big huge field of 'em.”
For the first time in nearly a year Marta saw a ghost of a smile
cross her eldest grandson's face. She let him revel in for a
moment.
“Now, you feel that warm feeling in you chest right now?”
“Yeah.”
“That's your mother. She's always right there. When you hear the
songbirds or see that amber honey or smell those wildflowers
that's her. Always there with you and she's never truly gone.”
A moment passed then two followed by three. Christ had settled
and the light came back into his eyes.
“Thanks, Nana.”
“You're welcome my dear. Now, what say you give your old Nana a
hand getting your brothers inside? Weatherman said we might be
getting rain sometime tonight and my legs just aren't what they
used to be.”
Herding his sleepy younger brothers along as he carried two
suitcases from the trunk Christopher thought he saw something
from the front porch of the sagging weather beaten Victorian
that sat ahead of them. It seemed odd that the house had once
been so opulent from being out so very far from town. But Chris
thought that maybe whoever built it just wanted to be different
as so many in his family had been. Another flash caught his eye
and the closer he got the more he could see something. No,
someone. It wasn't Nana because she was behind him toddling
along on bad knees and all but keeping Sammy upright. No, this
woman was willowy and dressed in something different than flour
sack cloth. There in the moonlight he saw her. His mother was
standing on the front porch and she was waving and her lips were
moving. What was she saying? Wind rustled the leaves of the oaks
that lined the property line.
'I love you.'
#Post#: 3563--------------------------------------------------
Re: Untitled { I honestly have no idea what to call this }
DIR By: Wolfy
Date: April 2, 2019, 10:46 am
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HTML https://im2.ezgif.com/tmp/ezgif-2-72cdcb748504.gif
I am genuinely without words for this piece given the emotion
used and the clear display of real life events that have been
going on over the months leading up to this being written
❤ I felt every bout of heartache every single one of them
was going through in this drabble and that's hard to bring forth
in writing, to such an extent that you feel it impacts you on a
deeper level just from reading it. I haven't read a piece like
this in a long time but it highlights the grieving process and
touches on it so tenderly and beautifully, I don't think I have
read work from any other writer whom has been able to achieve
the same thing while simultaneously taking great care in doing
so. My favourite aspect is the way you have written the eldest
son into this, his manner of grieving is the one I can relate
heavily to and I found a lot of joy in the very end and the way
you finished off this emotive piece ❤ I am thoroughly
tempted to write something connected to my grandparents as a
result of this. I don't think I ever had the confidence before.
#Post#: 3564--------------------------------------------------
Re: Untitled { I honestly have no idea what to call this }
DIR By: Maggie Flannery
Date: April 2, 2019, 11:27 am
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You are so welcome and thank you from the very bottom of my
heart. I wasn’t sure about this piece but it was so clearly
there in my mind that I felt like an intruder in my own dream
that I knew this had to be written. I have honestly never had
that before. Please, I would absolutely love to read your piece.
I too, have found that I grieve much like Christopher so you are
not alone in that. *hugs* ❤️❤️
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