Necking Challenge by tyk
Feb. 7th, 2005 09:14 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
tyk.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
ds_flashfictionthis has tweaked at the back of my mind...a continuation of how does Ben adjust to the death of his mother... quickly written with probably lots of mistakes... as always, thank you kindly for your tolerance of my attempts :-) tyk
Ben had a handful of mental images that he held onto with all his might. These were pictures of his family before it had been torn apart. He didn’t want to forget these memories. One of his favorite memories was from that last Christmas with his mother. The memory was recent enough for him to remember much of the detail, and he was old enough to appreciate the rarity of the event.
Almost all the lights were out; his parents thought him asleep. Only the fire of the wood stove and a candle on the table provided any illumination. He could hear them murmuring to each other, but could not really make sense of what they were saying. His father sat in a kitchen chair at the table, the chair perpendicular to the table. His mother sat in his father’s lap, her back resting against the edge of the table. Her face was buried against his father’s neck; she seemed to be rubbing her head up and down. His father had his arms around her, one hand in her hair, the other cupped around her hip. He was kissing the side of her face.
“No fair, Carolyn! You know that tickles me!” suddenly emerged from their whispers. Ben had startled a little because his father’s voice seemed so loud in contrast to the quiet beforehand.
“Shhhh” he heard his mother whisper, “You’ll wake Ben. He doesn’t sleep as soundly as he did as a baby.”
His father seemed to grunt in response. “If that boy knows what’s good for him, he’ll keep asleep and let his elders do as needs done.”
“Robert,” his mother countered, her tone that wonderful combination of exasperation, annoyance, affection, and warmth that always made Ben smile.
Ben snuggled back down into his bed and fell asleep listening as his parents continued to kiss and whisper.
It was a wonderful memory. He could still hear his mother’s “Robert.” Funny how as much as he loved her tone when she spoke like that that he couldn’t seem to remember anything she’d ever said to him in that tone. Only that “Robert” as his parents kissed.
Ben had a handful of mental images that he held onto with all his might. These were pictures of his family before it had been torn apart. He didn’t want to forget these memories. One of his favorite memories was from that last Christmas with his mother. The memory was recent enough for him to remember much of the detail, and he was old enough to appreciate the rarity of the event.
Almost all the lights were out; his parents thought him asleep. Only the fire of the wood stove and a candle on the table provided any illumination. He could hear them murmuring to each other, but could not really make sense of what they were saying. His father sat in a kitchen chair at the table, the chair perpendicular to the table. His mother sat in his father’s lap, her back resting against the edge of the table. Her face was buried against his father’s neck; she seemed to be rubbing her head up and down. His father had his arms around her, one hand in her hair, the other cupped around her hip. He was kissing the side of her face.
“No fair, Carolyn! You know that tickles me!” suddenly emerged from their whispers. Ben had startled a little because his father’s voice seemed so loud in contrast to the quiet beforehand.
“Shhhh” he heard his mother whisper, “You’ll wake Ben. He doesn’t sleep as soundly as he did as a baby.”
His father seemed to grunt in response. “If that boy knows what’s good for him, he’ll keep asleep and let his elders do as needs done.”
“Robert,” his mother countered, her tone that wonderful combination of exasperation, annoyance, affection, and warmth that always made Ben smile.
Ben snuggled back down into his bed and fell asleep listening as his parents continued to kiss and whisper.
It was a wonderful memory. He could still hear his mother’s “Robert.” Funny how as much as he loved her tone when she spoke like that that he couldn’t seem to remember anything she’d ever said to him in that tone. Only that “Robert” as his parents kissed.
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no subject
Date: 2005-02-08 03:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-08 05:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-08 04:27 am (UTC)I found that last paragraph, with its plaintive longing for his own tender intimacy to be very compelling.
And this:
“If that boy knows what’s good for him, he’ll keep asleep and let his elders do as needs done.”
just has that old-fashioned flavor of stern Bob all over it.
I'll take more "attempts",please. :)
no subject
Date: 2005-02-08 05:52 pm (UTC)just has that old-fashioned flavor of stern Bob all over it.
That's what i was attempting...
>>I'll take more "attempts",please. :)
be careful what you agree to, but thanks for the support!
tyk
no subject
Date: 2005-02-08 03:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-08 05:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-08 07:05 pm (UTC)