The knob twirls gently to the right. A few seconds later, the front door swings open and a new figure enters the living room soundlessly. It is a woman late in her prime, dressed somewhat unprepared for the snowy weather. He takes note of the half-shrunk winter cape hanging loosely around her neck and the rhombus-patterned sweater she has on, both a dull shade of black with grey lined designs, before realizing that her attention is on them, the weird duo sitting on the couches.
He looks at the time: five o' clock, not a moment too soon.
-last edited on May 29, 2018 20:08:35 GMT by TeaLeaf❀
Post by TeaLeaf❀ on May 29, 2018 20:04:31 GMT
“Did you make a new friend, Théo?” She is still standing in the doorway, as if uncertain what to do next in the face of a stranger. Her hands finally settle on taking off the winter cape, but the silence still hangs about.
She demands an answer.
“Yeah! This is…” The youngster stops himself halfway before admitting: “I just call him ‘mister’, mom. He doesn’t have a name. He has memory loss.” “Hello, ma’am—” “You are just a child, Théo. Why did you think you can take on a stranger by yourself?” She cuts off his response, almost as if he doesn’t exist. “He’s…pretty harmless. Don’t worry, mom, I can tell when somebody is—” She frowns. “Théo, why didn’t you call me? Even a text message would do.” “I thought…I thought you were…working…” The boy trails off, unsure and embarrassed. She sucks in a breath of disbelief when she finally focuses on the stranger.
“Theodore. Wesley. Where are your manners?!” “H-huh?” “Give this man a coat for goodness sake! Did you not see howthinhis clothes are? Where are those oversized hoodies? Sweatshirts?” She shoves the boy up the stairs. “Ms. Wesley, I assure you—” “You. You stop talking. Right now. We need to warm you up as much as possible. I apologize on behalf of my son, mister. He clearly has no idea how to treat a starving guest!”
“Actually, Ms. Wesley, your son—” “Let’s see: coffee or tea? Or just water? Wait, let me feel your hands…you poor thing! He didn’t even—Théo! Why didn’t you give him a blanket?” “Ms. Wesley, Théo—” “—should be ashamed! All these years of upbringing, and what good did it do? Oh, at least he turned up the heat…still, that brat—” “Ms. Wesley—” “Mrs. But never mind that! Drop the formalities! Lillian is just fine. Do you need something to eat? A sandwich, perhaps—?”
“Actually, Ms. Wesley, your son—” “Let’s see: coffee or tea? Or just water? Wait, let me feel your hands…you poor thing! He didn’t even—Théo! Why didn’t you give him a blanket?” “Ms. Wesley, Théo—” “—should be ashamed! All these years of upbringing, and what good did it do? Oh, at least he turned up the heat…still, that brat—” “Ms. Wesley—” “Mrs. But never mind that! Drop the formalities! Lillian is just fine. Do you need something to eat? A sandwich, perhaps—?”
-last edited on Jun 1, 2018 0:40:41 GMT by TeaLeaf❀
Post by TeaLeaf❀ on Jun 1, 2018 0:39:47 GMT
“Your son,” He proclaims abruptly in a loud voice, surprising them both, “is very hospitable and generous, ma’am. He fed me hot cocoa and a nice spread of strawberry bread.” He bites back the pain; he can still feel the burning tension in his mouth. “But thank you for being so considerate.” “No, no. It’s our duty to help others, mister. It’s what I’ve learned since my childhood and it’s something I want to make sure he knows.” “You have done a very good job then, Mrs.—” He stops himself in time. “—Lillian.”
“How are these hoodies coming along, Théo?” She calls to the upper floor. “All of them are too small, mom! They won’t fit!” The youngster reports. “I’ll grab a blanket!” “Do that. Oh, and bring my shopping bag! It should be hanging by the chair.” Théo pauses. “Shopping bag? Why?” “We,” Lillian puts on her winter cape again with a determined expression. “are going to get this gentleman the clothes he deserves. I’m driving.”
Théo freezes in horror, blanket in hand. “Mom, I don’t think—” “I. Am. Driving. See you two outside.” She opens the door midway before looking back in thought. “Do you have a lot of homework today, Théo?” “I can finish them by ten.” The boy answers as he hands over the blanket to the stranger. “You are going to bed at nine. But alright, you can come.” “Hooray!” Théo leaps up in victory. “C’mon, mister! Let’s go! Let’s go!” “What’s so bad about letting her drive?” He asks. “You…” The youngster falters, swallowing hard. “You’ll see, mister. You’ll see.”
~~~~~ A nice little dialogue for the end. c: Chapter 3 might take a while to write, so next update in 1-2 weeks? But thank you, once again, for reading this story!
Théo freezes in horror, blanket in hand. “Mom, I don’t think—” “I. Am. Driving. See you two outside.” She opens the door midway before looking back in thought. “Do you have a lot of homework today, Théo?” “I can finish them by ten.” The boy answers as he hands over the blanket to the stranger. “You are going to bed at nine. But alright, you can come.” “Hooray!” Théo leaps up in victory. “C’mon, mister! Let’s go! Let’s go!” “What’s so bad about letting her drive?” He asks. “You…” The youngster falters, swallowing hard. “You’ll see, mister. You’ll see.”
~~~~~ A nice little dialogue for the end. c: Chapter 3 might take a while to write, so next update in 1-2 weeks? But thank you, once again, for reading this story!
I think I'm going to like Mama even more.
Cool! I'll be looking forward to it then! Of course! I'm really enjoying it!
“It’s okay,” The boy relaxes. “I’ll help you recognize it next time. But hey—you’re already improving a lot, mister! For someone that doesn’t remember his name, you can still tell the difference between a log and a living tree. That’s progress right there.” “That is true…Perhaps I’ll regain my entire memory soon.” “I sure hope so, mister. Your family must be worried sick!” “My family…”
He looks on curiously as the young boy approaches a small water heater and directs a stream of water into the cup. Small bubbles and half-dissolved particles spin together wildly in the dark liquid as the youngster mixes it with a spoon. Next, dots of solid snow fall from his hands onto the liquid surface and stay afloat—half exposed to the air and half below the brown, milky deep.
“Here you go!” Théo thrusts the cup into his hands. “Take it in one go and tell me what you think!” He inspects it for a while, almost memorized by the liquid’s swirling motion, but hesitates to drink it in. “About…about that ‘poison’—” Théo scowls. “Hurry up and drink it! It’ll get cold!” “Alright! Alright!” He lifts the cup to his mouth.
Sweet, sweeter still. A strong, bitter aroma—mixed with the milky liquid and bursts of white sugary goodness—melts inside his mouth as he finishes the drink in one gulp. All of it disappear seconds after the cup leaves his side, but the taste…the warm chocolate taste is the only thing he can think of. Then the heat set in. He lets out a broken scream when, without any warning, the burning water transforms his mouth into a literal lava pit and precedes to set the rest of his body ablaze.
“You…” He lets out a string of coughs. His eyes water with tears. “You did this on purpose, didn’t you?” Théo flashes a mischievous smile. “…I did say it’s to help warm you up.”
He lays back exhausted on the couch, looking on with dread as the youngster walks back to the kitchen to prepare the “sandwich”. It’s doomed to be as horrific as the burning liquid at this rate, and he can do nothing except puffing out the excessive hot air from his system.
“I’m glad mom isn’t home yet. That scream could’ve gotten me in a whole lotta trouble.” “Is your mother really alright with you bringing strangers home?” He questions. “I mean, I can leave before she—” “I’m sure she won’t mind once I explain your amnesia. Besides, she doesn’t usually get home until five o’clock. You shouldn’t be out there in the cold, mister, when you can be here drinking hot cocoa and eating those delicious marshmallows.”
Cocoa. So that’s what it was. “What about your father? Is he also working?” The young boy stops in the middle of spreading a red coloring over the brown squares. It is only for a moment, but Théo’s hand trembles and curls up into a fist. Just as quickly as it happened, however, it was gone, and a bright smile appears once more on the youngster’s face. “Yep! He doesn’t come home during the week though. He only has time for weekends.”
“Ah…I see.”
“Here you go, mister! Sorry for the wait.” Théo brings over the “sandwich” in a porcelain plate, sized just as big as the triple-stacked quadrilaterals. He peers at the colors laying underneath the first square with suspicion. “Be honest with me,” He gestures to the red covering. “Is that hot sauce?” “No-no-no it’s strawberry! I swear!” The boy laughs. “You’re already warmed up, mister. That would be overdoing it.”
He finally gives in and chews on the “sandwich” carefully, surveying his surroundings as Théo goes to clean up the kitchen. The house, though small and the living space is all squashed together, is still lovely to behold. All the furniture are laid out for convenience and easy-access, and the windows unfold a direct view of the lake and the skybridge. Night lights are already on due to the dark atmosphere caused by the earlier blizzard, and the crossing shines proudly in its turquoise coat of paint, further enhanced by multiple projections of white lights installed under the surface of the lake. Dozens of yellow lamps fully envelop the opposite bank, yet the distance makes it impossible for him to make out details of East Birchwood (or north, really, from where he’s at).
He can hear people greeting one another several streets over and asking about their day. There are little laughs and noises of on-going conversations slipping through the thin walls, and life flourishes in all the townhouses surrounding Théo’s home. He holds in his breath and listens with full intensity; the only sounds he can hear in the young boy’s home are the soft humming of the air vents and the running tap water. Other than that, silence is all there is.
The boy rinses the plate and the cup then places them in the dishwasher. Wiping off the water from his hands, the youngster finally notices the creeping stillness. Something flickers in his eyes…or, at least, that’s what he thinks he saw. He’s not sure since Théo returns to the living room with just as much energy and optimism as before.
“Tell me, mister. What do you remember?” “I remember…walking…” He closes his eyes. “I was already heading toward the Community by the time I was…aware. I…I wanted to go home, but I don’t know where it is.” “So…no head wounds? Headaches?”
“No. Not at all. Should I?” He asks worriedly. “Hmm…maybe? Like I said, you seem to remember everything else perfectly well, mister. Maybe it’s just a tiny part of your memory that’s missing.” “I wonder what—”
Click.
The knob twirls gently to the right. A few seconds later, the front door swings open and a new figure enters the living room soundlessly. It is a woman late in her prime, dressed somewhat unprepared for the snowy weather. He takes note of the half-shrunk winter cape hanging loosely around her neck and the rhombus-patterned sweater she has on, both a dull shade of black with grey lined designs, before realizing that her attention is on them, the weird duo sitting on the couches.
He looks at the time: five o' clock, not a moment too soon.
“Did you make a new friend, Théo?” She is still standing in the doorway, as if uncertain what to do next in the face of a stranger. Her hands finally settle on taking off the winter cape, but the silence still hangs about.
She demands an answer.
“Yeah! This is…” The youngster stops himself halfway before admitting: “I just call him ‘mister’, mom. He doesn’t have a name. He has memory loss.” “Hello, ma’am—” “You are just a child, Théo. Why did you think you can take on a stranger by yourself?” She cuts off his response, almost as if he doesn’t exist. “He’s…pretty harmless. Don’t worry, mom, I can tell when somebody is—” She frowns. “Théo, why didn’t you call me? Even a text message would do.” “I thought…I thought you were…working…” The boy trails off, unsure and embarrassed. She sucks in a breath of disbelief when she finally focuses on the stranger.
“Theodore. Wesley. Where are your manners?!” “H-huh?” “Give this man a coat for goodness sake! Did you not see howthinhis clothes are? Where are those oversized hoodies? Sweatshirts?” She shoves the boy up the stairs. “Ms. Wesley, I assure you—” “You. You stop talking. Right now. We need to warm you up as much as possible. I apologize on behalf of my son, mister. He clearly has no idea how to treat a starving guest!”
“Actually, Ms. Wesley, your son—” “Let’s see: coffee or tea? Or just water? Wait, let me feel your hands…you poor thing! He didn’t even—Théo! Why didn’t you give him a blanket?” “Ms. Wesley, Théo—” “—should be ashamed! All these years of upbringing, and what good did it do? Oh, at least he turned up the heat…still, that brat—” “Ms. Wesley—” “Mrs. But never mind that! Drop the formalities! Lillian is just fine. Do you need something to eat? A sandwich, perhaps—?”
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