Memory: 001/ "I want to rule the world." Received: Day 221
You're huddled on the staircase watching the front door with wide eyes. You hear your mother saying something, but for some reason she doesn't register. Come down here--Why? He'll be here soon. Yes, but watching the door won't make him show up faster. You know that. Even so you remain perched on the first flight of steps. An already well-worn screenplay in your hands, Pippin.
You're seven.
Your dad's been gone for weeks now on some business trip. Your mother had only come back last week, having left to "recoop" after a fight with your father. Already you're far too used to being left to yourself without your parents around. But you want to see him and them together, even if it means you'll hear them fighting by tomorrow.
Your mother calls for you again but instead of answering you notice the clicking of the door knob and are instantly on your feet. The man that enters doesn't look worn from his businesstrip. He's dressed professionally, hair styled, and a smile on his lip. Only, by now you've watched it enough to know it's not a happy smile--Those moments when you've accomplished something and he takes pride in it.
"[REDACTED]," he says with a tone that's just borderline amused as you launch yourself downstairs.
"Father," you return with barely contained excitement and nervousness, clutching the thin book by your side.
You see your mother come out of the living room with fold arms but try to keep your parents occupied instead of noticing each other.
"I want to be Pippin," the words sound so forced and firm to your little ears.
"What was that, [redacted]?" Your father asks with uncertainty.
"I want to be Pippin," you recite once more, your father finally laughing while you mother smiles slightly. "And why is that, son?" Stuart asks.
A beat as you consider the comment before piping up, "Because I want to rule the world!"
Your father laughs once more, rubbing the top of your head. "Don't you want to the family business?" He questions lightly, "That's what I've taught you so far."
It's your turn to make a face as you shake your head rapidly. "No," you say just as firmly, "I want to be Pippin."
You watch the way your father's features seem to flatten in disappointment. Somehow you know you said something wrong. He's always taught you to take after him and to take over his business when you're older. He started as far back as you can remember. But as much as you like it you want to rule the world. Is that a bad thing?
"Well," he says after a moment with another forced chuckle, "that's certainly ambitious. We'll see how far you go, okay?"
You don't like those words either. The small smile fades from your lips and you keep your eyes downcast. "Did Cory teach you that?" he inquires and just as rapidly you shake your head. You shift the book just somewhat behind you as your mother says your father's name a bit more tersely. He straightens himself out and looks at her more firmly.
"[Redacted]," she says with a too gentle tone that you've already categorized, "dinner will be in an hour, why don't you go upstairs?"
You nod knowing that meaning, too, and race up the stairs before you can hear your parents start talking. You keep going until you reach the rooftop that's already been made yours. A telescope stands proudly looking up into the blossoming night sky and you shuffle towards it taking comfort in the horizon.
no subject
Received: Day 221
You're huddled on the staircase watching the front door with wide eyes. You hear your mother saying something, but for some reason she doesn't register. Come down here--Why? He'll be here soon. Yes, but watching the door won't make him show up faster. You know that. Even so you remain perched on the first flight of steps. An already well-worn screenplay in your hands, Pippin.
You're seven.
Your dad's been gone for weeks now on some business trip. Your mother had only come back last week, having left to "recoop" after a fight with your father. Already you're far too used to being left to yourself without your parents around. But you want to see him and them together, even if it means you'll hear them fighting by tomorrow.
Your mother calls for you again but instead of answering you notice the clicking of the door knob and are instantly on your feet. The man that enters doesn't look worn from his businesstrip. He's dressed professionally, hair styled, and a smile on his lip. Only, by now you've watched it enough to know it's not a happy smile--Those moments when you've accomplished something and he takes pride in it.
"[REDACTED]," he says with a tone that's just borderline amused as you launch yourself downstairs.
"Father," you return with barely contained excitement and nervousness, clutching the thin book by your side.
You see your mother come out of the living room with fold arms but try to keep your parents occupied instead of noticing each other.
"I want to be Pippin," the words sound so forced and firm to your little ears.
"What was that, [redacted]?" Your father asks with uncertainty.
"I want to be Pippin," you recite once more, your father finally laughing while you mother smiles slightly. "And why is that, son?" Stuart asks.
A beat as you consider the comment before piping up, "Because I want to rule the world!"
Your father laughs once more, rubbing the top of your head. "Don't you want to the family business?" He questions lightly, "That's what I've taught you so far."
It's your turn to make a face as you shake your head rapidly. "No," you say just as firmly, "I want to be Pippin."
You watch the way your father's features seem to flatten in disappointment. Somehow you know you said something wrong. He's always taught you to take after him and to take over his business when you're older. He started as far back as you can remember. But as much as you like it you want to rule the world. Is that a bad thing?
"Well," he says after a moment with another forced chuckle, "that's certainly ambitious. We'll see how far you go, okay?"
You don't like those words either. The small smile fades from your lips and you keep your eyes downcast. "Did Cory teach you that?" he inquires and just as rapidly you shake your head. You shift the book just somewhat behind you as your mother says your father's name a bit more tersely. He straightens himself out and looks at her more firmly.
"[Redacted]," she says with a too gentle tone that you've already categorized, "dinner will be in an hour, why don't you go upstairs?"
You nod knowing that meaning, too, and race up the stairs before you can hear your parents start talking. You keep going until you reach the rooftop that's already been made yours. A telescope stands proudly looking up into the blossoming night sky and you shuffle towards it taking comfort in the horizon.