Ruining It With Words (685 hits)
Category: NoneRating: 1.62 on 18 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by BillyGoat (View user info) at 2009-01-31 07:47:01 EST
"How about this one?" she says, pushing the brown bomber jacket against his chest. "Aint it lovely?" She pauses, bends and looks straight at the boy, hoping to get a reaction. The boy doesn't seem to register and it's only when she gives another shove that he screws up his face and opens his mouth. She forces a smile and motions her hand as if lapping up water. His neck extends with each hand motion, until the sides of his neck stick out. He feels his vocal cords shake and the air glide past his tongue. His mother does not respond and after a few go's he gives up and witnesses her previous smile begin to quiver.
Not wanting to be defeated, Fiona steadies herself and tries once more " The weatherman says its gonna be very cold this month, so you wanna be nice and warm dontcha?... Charlie" She shakes him a bit but all she succeeds in doing making him frown. His concentrating hard on her lips but they are moving too fast, making the words hard to decipher. So he does what he's always done when showing non-compliance: he shakes his head and stomps his feet. What he really wants is the black jacket with zipped pockets. He points at it, but Fiona has already turned away and is replacing the hanger back onto the rail, whilst her other hand daps at the corners of her eyes.
"Well, what the bloody hell do you want then, you ungrateful little ..." she splutters. The rest of the sentence gets tangled up in her mouth as she turns round, only to be met by a void. She checks the surroundings and scans every rail that she walks past, hoping to find him hidden amongst the clothes. Her thumping heart and growing sense of anxiety make the search much harder, but her determination not to cause a scene, sees her carrying on even though she can hardly do so.
After a few minutes she stops. Her eyes are too bleary to see what's ahead. She bends down as if to tighten her boot buckle. Once hidden, she sobs quietly onto her raised knee. Over the years Fiona has convinced herself that her work commitments and PR engagements leave little room for her to spend time with the boy but deep down she knows the reasons are not that complex. At 6 years old, the boy's mind is satisfied by the simplest of gestures. An ability to communicate and convey understanding is all that's required. And Fiona has failed at both, leaving Laura, the nanny, to pick up the pieces.
Before she gets up, she works the slime into her Levis, taking care not to leave a telling stain. Then she slowly straightens, but the gloom sets in almost immediately and her shoulders droop once more. She drags herself towards the menswear and she can't help but notice the rest of the kids as they mess about the store much to the annoyance of their parents. But at least they are there. Other parents would have called out by now and the little twerp would have reluctantly reappeared, lured by the promise of ice cream "if you behave." But Fiona doesn't have that option. Her little bastard of a son wouldn't know if she was yelling or singing.
Her eyes begin to water and she stops again. And like an apparition, the image of Charlie as an infant, shaking, screaming and sweating, returns. Two weeks is all it took. She thought he had a cold and a simple syrup would cure it. But it didn't and though the antibiotics did eventually clear the fever, the infection had already done its damage and there was little else that could be done. She smashes her fist onto a railing. "Charlie..." she whimpers, shaking the railing. Her nostrils are already runny and the shirt sleeves aren't thick enough to contain the drippings
"Are you alright, love" a soft voice enquires. Fiona jumps and cannot bring herself to turn around. "Yes, I'm fine thank you." She sniffles "Yes, I'm fine... Bad day, that's all" she repeats, adding a little clearing of the throat to feign annoyance. Most people will be satisfied by such an answer and for a while, it seems as if the lady has got the message. But obviously her daughter has not.
"Mum, why is she crying," the innocence of the question and the weight behind the answer brings floods to Fiona's eyes, the little girl is looking directly into Fiona's eyes. With nowhere to hide, Fiona is forced to face the two inquisitors. Upon seeing her face, the girl blushes. She bolts for a nearby rack of stripped trousers and hides behind one of them, leaving her mum to deal with the crying lady. The girl is ashamed and she cannot bring herself to return, so she wanders amongst the clothes, until a pair of trainers sticking out from beneath one of the trouser legs startles her. Gingerly, she peels back the trousers and there, sat with his legs drawn to his chest, is a boy about her age. He lets out a sort of grunt that frightens her and she runs back to her mother who is by now engaged in some kind of conversation with Fiona. When she gets there, she tugs at her mums jacket and whispers in her ear, all the while averting Fiona's bleary gaze. "It's alright darling" her mum says, stroking the girls rosy cheeks. Fiona can't help marvel at this tenderness, but soon she's looking up at the ceiling as she desperately tries to drain back the tears.
"Look darling, why don't you go look at some shoes, I'll be with you shortly," the girl bows her head as she shuffles past Fiona.
Fiona is offered a tissue. "Your boy is over there, love" the lady says pointing at a pile of trousers to her left. Her other hand is still on Fiona's shoulders. "Why don't you bring him back then we can all go for a..." "No the thank you, honestly.. thank you, you've been very kind..." Fiona stumbles over her words and blows into the tissue. Though she is grateful for the lady's support, her thoughts are now on getting Charlie back home to Laura. One day, when he's older, he'll come round she says to herself with desperate optimism.
Charlie sees his mum's shoes. Her hand reaches in to grab him, but he dodges it. It reaches in further after a few swipes. He backs away each time until he's stopped by the central shaft that pivots the clothes rails. He is stuck. He watches the long fingers and the way they curl at the end of each swipe. Each stroke vaguely spells out a letter: A 'c' whooshes past, followed by an 'x.' The backstroke looks like an 'f' but it could also be a 'b,' since the index finger isn't quite tucked in. This continues and soon a succession of numbers follows. Four, six, five etc and he notes that as yet, 'a,' 'm,' 's' and 't' have not materialised. And why would they? Surely no mother would ball her fist at her own son.
Just as he happily plays the game of guess the letter, a second hand reaches in. Both hands grab him and he is hauled out. His mother looks him dead in his eyes. Like a machine gun, she rattles off, showering his face with spittle. He desperately tries to follow the movement of her lips, but again they are moving too fast. Though he wants to, he can't, get away because her long fingers have a tight grip on his tiny bicep. She is angry and he knows it.
But it's her fault for being so ashamed of him, he thinks. If only she could communicate with him in the way he understood. But, instead she insists on words, knowing that he'll never grasp them. Fiona stares at the contorted face. Six years of torture. Did she ever deserve this? The boy tries to cry but once again the voice seizes up.
Finally she lets go and begins to walk out the store, followed closely by Charlie who is trying to keep up. Just before the exit is the shoe section and the little girl is checking her reflection in the mirror. Her mum is helping her with her laces. And they both laugh when the girl puts her foot behind her other ankle so that the mum has to hunt for the shoelace. Fiona desperately wants to smile but her heart is full of sadness. The girl waves and Charlie waves back.
He watches Fiona turn away, without lifting a hand. They get outside and he tugs at the hem of her coat. He tugs again more vigorously and he finally lets go when there is no response. So he's left to watch her long back. He brings his fingers to his face and contemplates them for a bit.
Without any words, he is left with the only device he knows. He wants to say 'sorry,' but how useful is sign language if her back is turned.
User Reviews
Submitted by TheGoat (user info) at 2009-02-03 20:22:35 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Shallabow (user info) at 2009-02-03 23:36:56 GMT (#)
Ranking: 1
Poorly edited and difficult to follow at times, but I appreciate what you did here.
-----
Lucky i cut out the other 400 or so words then!
Submitted by Shallabow (user info) at 2009-02-03 18:36:56 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
Poorly edited and difficult to follow at times, but I appreciate what you did here.
Submitted by TheGoat (user info) at 2009-02-03 07:17:42 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Sloppy and blurry. Like a pizza viewed through a steanmy oven window.
Submitted by Fey (user info) at 2009-02-02 15:23:30 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
This was good, but sloppy and sometimes a bit blurry.
Submitted by scourge (user info) at 2009-02-02 10:26:49 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by orphelia (user info) at 2009-02-02 04:58:35 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
uh that was meant to be a +2 durh <3 you really
Submitted by orphelia (user info) at 2009-02-02 04:57:20 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by TheGoat (user info) at 2009-02-01 11:13:56 GMT (#)
Ranking: 0
Uber needs a revamp. Yes many have said it before me, but i want to throw my hat into the ring. Some say get read of the trolls and alters, restrict this and that but my solution is far simpler: Just make the site a bit more attractive. How about an injection of colour, a change of layout, video support, maybe a mini profile page.
'Fuck off, this is not facebook,' i hear you say, but i don't see facebook dying on its arse.
Just a thought...
--------------------
neither is uber and the very fact it isn't really regulated is what uber is about
and silly man, colourful layout and shit would make ubering very conspicuous in the work place
STFU NOOB
Submitted by hellish (user info) at 2009-02-01 08:21:09 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
No Comment
Submitted by TheGoat (user info) at 2009-02-01 06:13:56 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Uber needs a revamp. Yes many have said it before me, but i want to throw my hat into the ring. Some say get read of the trolls and alters, restrict this and that but my solution is far simpler: Just make the site a bit more attractive. How about an injection of colour, a change of layout, video support, maybe a mini profile page.
'Fuck off, this is not facebook,' i hear you say, but i don't see facebook dying on its arse.
Just a thought...
Submitted by YourNameHere (user info) at 2009-01-31 21:49:59 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by skrapmetal (user info) at 2009-01-31 13:27:44 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
A worthwhile diversion.
Submitted by locksly (user info) at 2009-01-31 21:35:56 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
gay
Submitted by Lib (user info) at 2009-01-31 19:15:59 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Good read. Thank you.
Submitted by scourge (user info) at 2009-01-31 17:37:19 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
i hate the name fiona.
Submitted by billrhine (user info) at 2009-01-31 15:09:37 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Ballare (user info) at 2009-01-31 14:18:45 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by skrapmetal (user info) at 2009-01-31 13:27:44 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
A worthwhile diversion.
Submitted by bozznc (user info) at 2009-01-31 08:32:29 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Marvelous. The trains of thought could be applied to almost any relationship with sub par communication.
Submitted by monkeyswithguns (user info) at 2009-01-31 08:01:58 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
wonderful.