Forgiveness Challenge -- Crossed Wires
Aug. 4th, 2005 12:13 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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ds_flashfictionTitle: Crossed Wires
Rating: G (wow, what a switch)
Summary: Ray's parents aren't as naïve as he thinks they are.
This story is like the chocolate cake I baked, that my roommates wouldn't really help eat, because I complained too much about something that went wrong with the frosting.
“He’ll have changed, you know.” Damian mutters from the driver’s seat at the front of the cabin. I look up from my paperback and sigh. Still desert. But the majority of the license plates say New Mexico now.
“At least you waited until we were out of the state, Damian.” I mark my place with a bookmark and set the book aside. “I thought we discussed this.” Again. “And if you think we’re turning around now that we’ve finally gotten started, you’re badly mistaken, mister.”
He smiles then, out of the corner of his mouth, that stiff little smile that he tries to hide. That was the first thing about him I fell in love with, and even now it makes me burst into a grin myself, no matter how stern I’m trying to be.
“I know,” he says, eyes back on the road again. “But I hadn’t realized how badly things had gone...” His voice has gone from gruff to soft, and I shoot him a look instead of reaching over and squeezing him, because these camper seats aren’t really made for that.
But I nod, too, because it really is worse than you thought when you have to hear from your daughter-in-law -- ex-daughter-in-law -- about the divorce, and months after the fact, to boot. But even more than that, nothing scares you like a casual call in, and not being able to find a trace of your son. Stanley never seemed that hesitant to talk, even if the calls were infrequent: Christmas, Easter, and birthdays were the only times we could count for sure. To find out how much we were probably missing really kicked us in the soft place we’d been letting grow for years.
“But he’ll be different now, for sure. Going through a divorce --“
I shake my head vigorously. “But that doesn’t change who he is. He might be going through a rough period,” and it’s our responsibility to help him... “But he’s still the same boy. He’s still ours.”
Damian is quiet as the miles of dry desert pass away from us, but I can see his head is nodding slightly, and he’s got that slight frown on his face, the one that means he’s taking apart the problem in his head, stripping it down like an old motor.
-----
We don’t talk about the issue again until we reach the trailer park outside of Albuquerque. Damian may have had that new laser surgery, but the topic is a sensitive one, and it never pays to have distractions while driving, especially since the weather can by tricky in some of the mountainous areas. There is some fog creeping in, but not too much -- we can still see the dinosaur statues flanking the sides of the road.
“Look, Barbara, it’s our old neighbors,” Damian says, and I chuckle.
We’re sitting outside, enjoying the early evening before all the heat steals away. I packed sweaters for the cool Chicago weather, but we’re still in the southwest, and we’ll enjoy it while we can.
“I wonder if we’ll even be able to recognize him,” Damian says at last, dunking his cookie into his coffee.
“Damian, of course we’ll recognize him. Stanley never did change that much -- he had too strong a personality.”
“That was part of the problem,” Damian grumbles. Not one for beating around the bush, my Damian.
“Damian! You don’t really think that that was what Stella --“
“No, no.” He shakes his head. “Hell, he was so different then. No one’ll recognize him without her. He always lost his head around her.” He chuckles. “Got all tongue-tied.”
I smile back. “Yes, but he was so grounded. Knew what he wanted, and went for it. He’ll be the same, you’ll see.” Damian just grunts as I reach over to pat his hand.
-----
“The next time we do this, we’re taking the North route through Denver.”
“Barbara, we’d still have to drive through the Mid-West. It’s all like this.”
“If you’d drive faster, maybe we could make it to Branson, shave half a day off the trip.” I’m not a fan of the Mid-West. I have no keen interest in wheat fields. I finished my book hours ago. The view out of the windows has not changed noticeably in the last hour and a half.
The road is interminably flat, and there has been no traffic, either, so I unbuckle and head towards the kitchenette. Maybe we have something I can make for dinner so we don’t have to stop. All else fails, there’s always sandwiches.
“He’ll have to have changed, you know.” I scowl into the fridge. Maybe Damian would like a cat food sandwich for lunch... “Even if Stella didn’t divorce him for ...that, it’ll still be there. He never could change that.”
I lean against the fridge. “Then if it’s still there, he won’t have changed, will he?” I almost snap. Neither of my boys were ever known for their sensibility.
Damian glances back at me quickly, and I can’t tell what the expression on his face is. “Well, if it’s always been part of him, then he’s hidden it a lot. And maybe that’s changed.”
Sometimes I wish Damian would just speak plainly -- when he speaks at all. I come back up to the front and sit down, no longer hungry. “And is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
Damian shoots me another look. It’s his ‘thinking’ look. “I don’t know.”
-----
We don’t make it quite as far as Branson, but far enough that if we’re lucky, and traffic’s light, we could make it into Chicago by late tomorrow. We don’t sit outside tonight, though, even if it is still warm. I think there’s a dairy farm nearby. Damian and I play a couple rounds of canasta, but his mind is obviously somewhere else, so I set my cards down with a sigh.
“You can’t really think he’ll be that different, can you? Would it really be that bad?”
Damian looks up at me in surprise. “No, of course not! It’s just --“ He sighs. “He was always jumping from one thing to another. And even when he was in the middle of something he wanted, he couldn’t stay still -- he couldn’t let things be, he couldn’t stay settled.
“He’s made bad choices, Barbara. Choices that hurt him -- hurt who he is.” Damian makes a flustered gesture, looking a little red around the collar. He never was one for talking about feelings. He fiddles with the cards in his hands. “And some of those choices were because of us -- because of me,” he corrects, and I nod, because I know, have always known, but he’s never before given me the opportunity to speak. “And I think --“ Do something, Damian. Do something right. “I think I’m afraid...” He puts together the words slowly. “That if I come back now, he’ll just go off again, making more bad choices, because of me.” He looks at me, those familiar, sad eyes questioning, asking if he’s gotten it right, if he’s finally gotten the answer right.
I nod. “He’s our son. He can never change so much that we won’t love him. You just have to let him know that.”
Damian nods, and he’s realizing that he does know it, too. Maybe not in the front of his mind, but somewhere in his heart, somewhere in his body, his hands, in the six coats of black paint hitched to the back of the camper, somewhere in all of that, he loves his son.
Rating: G (wow, what a switch)
Summary: Ray's parents aren't as naïve as he thinks they are.
This story is like the chocolate cake I baked, that my roommates wouldn't really help eat, because I complained too much about something that went wrong with the frosting.
“He’ll have changed, you know.” Damian mutters from the driver’s seat at the front of the cabin. I look up from my paperback and sigh. Still desert. But the majority of the license plates say New Mexico now.
“At least you waited until we were out of the state, Damian.” I mark my place with a bookmark and set the book aside. “I thought we discussed this.” Again. “And if you think we’re turning around now that we’ve finally gotten started, you’re badly mistaken, mister.”
He smiles then, out of the corner of his mouth, that stiff little smile that he tries to hide. That was the first thing about him I fell in love with, and even now it makes me burst into a grin myself, no matter how stern I’m trying to be.
“I know,” he says, eyes back on the road again. “But I hadn’t realized how badly things had gone...” His voice has gone from gruff to soft, and I shoot him a look instead of reaching over and squeezing him, because these camper seats aren’t really made for that.
But I nod, too, because it really is worse than you thought when you have to hear from your daughter-in-law -- ex-daughter-in-law -- about the divorce, and months after the fact, to boot. But even more than that, nothing scares you like a casual call in, and not being able to find a trace of your son. Stanley never seemed that hesitant to talk, even if the calls were infrequent: Christmas, Easter, and birthdays were the only times we could count for sure. To find out how much we were probably missing really kicked us in the soft place we’d been letting grow for years.
“But he’ll be different now, for sure. Going through a divorce --“
I shake my head vigorously. “But that doesn’t change who he is. He might be going through a rough period,” and it’s our responsibility to help him... “But he’s still the same boy. He’s still ours.”
Damian is quiet as the miles of dry desert pass away from us, but I can see his head is nodding slightly, and he’s got that slight frown on his face, the one that means he’s taking apart the problem in his head, stripping it down like an old motor.
We don’t talk about the issue again until we reach the trailer park outside of Albuquerque. Damian may have had that new laser surgery, but the topic is a sensitive one, and it never pays to have distractions while driving, especially since the weather can by tricky in some of the mountainous areas. There is some fog creeping in, but not too much -- we can still see the dinosaur statues flanking the sides of the road.
“Look, Barbara, it’s our old neighbors,” Damian says, and I chuckle.
We’re sitting outside, enjoying the early evening before all the heat steals away. I packed sweaters for the cool Chicago weather, but we’re still in the southwest, and we’ll enjoy it while we can.
“I wonder if we’ll even be able to recognize him,” Damian says at last, dunking his cookie into his coffee.
“Damian, of course we’ll recognize him. Stanley never did change that much -- he had too strong a personality.”
“That was part of the problem,” Damian grumbles. Not one for beating around the bush, my Damian.
“Damian! You don’t really think that that was what Stella --“
“No, no.” He shakes his head. “Hell, he was so different then. No one’ll recognize him without her. He always lost his head around her.” He chuckles. “Got all tongue-tied.”
I smile back. “Yes, but he was so grounded. Knew what he wanted, and went for it. He’ll be the same, you’ll see.” Damian just grunts as I reach over to pat his hand.
“The next time we do this, we’re taking the North route through Denver.”
“Barbara, we’d still have to drive through the Mid-West. It’s all like this.”
“If you’d drive faster, maybe we could make it to Branson, shave half a day off the trip.” I’m not a fan of the Mid-West. I have no keen interest in wheat fields. I finished my book hours ago. The view out of the windows has not changed noticeably in the last hour and a half.
The road is interminably flat, and there has been no traffic, either, so I unbuckle and head towards the kitchenette. Maybe we have something I can make for dinner so we don’t have to stop. All else fails, there’s always sandwiches.
“He’ll have to have changed, you know.” I scowl into the fridge. Maybe Damian would like a cat food sandwich for lunch... “Even if Stella didn’t divorce him for ...that, it’ll still be there. He never could change that.”
I lean against the fridge. “Then if it’s still there, he won’t have changed, will he?” I almost snap. Neither of my boys were ever known for their sensibility.
Damian glances back at me quickly, and I can’t tell what the expression on his face is. “Well, if it’s always been part of him, then he’s hidden it a lot. And maybe that’s changed.”
Sometimes I wish Damian would just speak plainly -- when he speaks at all. I come back up to the front and sit down, no longer hungry. “And is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
Damian shoots me another look. It’s his ‘thinking’ look. “I don’t know.”
We don’t make it quite as far as Branson, but far enough that if we’re lucky, and traffic’s light, we could make it into Chicago by late tomorrow. We don’t sit outside tonight, though, even if it is still warm. I think there’s a dairy farm nearby. Damian and I play a couple rounds of canasta, but his mind is obviously somewhere else, so I set my cards down with a sigh.
“You can’t really think he’ll be that different, can you? Would it really be that bad?”
Damian looks up at me in surprise. “No, of course not! It’s just --“ He sighs. “He was always jumping from one thing to another. And even when he was in the middle of something he wanted, he couldn’t stay still -- he couldn’t let things be, he couldn’t stay settled.
“He’s made bad choices, Barbara. Choices that hurt him -- hurt who he is.” Damian makes a flustered gesture, looking a little red around the collar. He never was one for talking about feelings. He fiddles with the cards in his hands. “And some of those choices were because of us -- because of me,” he corrects, and I nod, because I know, have always known, but he’s never before given me the opportunity to speak. “And I think --“ Do something, Damian. Do something right. “I think I’m afraid...” He puts together the words slowly. “That if I come back now, he’ll just go off again, making more bad choices, because of me.” He looks at me, those familiar, sad eyes questioning, asking if he’s gotten it right, if he’s finally gotten the answer right.
I nod. “He’s our son. He can never change so much that we won’t love him. You just have to let him know that.”
Damian nods, and he’s realizing that he does know it, too. Maybe not in the front of his mind, but somewhere in his heart, somewhere in his body, his hands, in the six coats of black paint hitched to the back of the camper, somewhere in all of that, he loves his son.
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Date: 2005-08-04 07:52 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2005-08-05 06:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-05 12:22 am (UTC)Now, if you could just add the post-Easy Money bit where they get to Chicago so we can see how forgiving they can be when they discover that Ray is in love with his crazy Canadian partner...
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Date: 2005-08-05 06:05 am (UTC)My crazy imagination has decided that that's the next thing Ray confesses at the end of Mojo Rising, and Damian slides in another 'I know,' and Ray walks into the wall in surprise. ;)
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Date: 2005-08-05 12:24 am (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2005-08-06 07:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-11 01:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-11 01:53 pm (UTC)And I love how you portrayed them. The way they are with each other. How long they've known each other and lived together. What they have been through together. And how they love their son and how much they care about him.
Thank you!
no subject
Date: 2005-08-11 11:35 pm (UTC)