Any Other Name (working title)

A mother tells her son the story of a girl and boy from a faraway land. Work in progress.

The continuous sound of pattering feet running up and down the hall was interrupted by a squeal, followed by a loud thud and shattering glass.

Gripping the edges of her book and clenching her jaw, Amelia took a sharp breath through her nose and exhaled slowly before calling in a carefully calm voice, “Daniel?”

“Yes, Mama?” was the tentative, distant reply.

“Everything all right in there?”

“No, Mama.”

She could hear the beginning of tears on the edge of his voice.  She sighed, laid her book page-side down on the arm of the sofa, and stepped quickly across the living room.  When she turned the corner, she stopped abruptly, surveying the damage with a keen eye.  Son on the floor with a scrunched-up face, ready to burst into tears; broken glass and water in every direction; hall table on its side; red roses scattered along the length of the hall, some poking out from under Daniel’s bottom; no sign of blood.

“Okay, Daniel, it’s all right,” began Amelia in a soothing voice, “now don’t move and let me pick you up so you don’t cut yoursel�"” the sudden wail and succeeding sobs cut her off.  Gingerly she stepped over the shards of glass, thankful she had kept her sandals on, and plucked Daniel from the wreckage.  He continued to cry bitterly even as Amelia gently hushed and bounced him and placed the hall table back on its feet.  She opened and searched the hall closet with her free hand, pulled out the broom, mop, dustpan, and bucket in quick succession, and started to clean up the mess.

“Shh shh shh,” she breathed, “it’s all right Daniel, it was an accident; you’re okay.”

“But I broke the flowers!” Daniel bawled and hiccupped as a fresh wave of sobs bubbled up.

“Oh no, sweetie, look, the flowers are fine.” Amelia stooped and grabbed a rose from the floor. “See?  They didn’t get hurt, just like you.  Everyone’s okay.” She held the flower up for Daniel to inspect, careful not to put it within arms length in case he made a grab for the thorny stem.

Daniel sniffed, hiccupped, and quieted down.  The stream of tears finally stopped pouring from his round, brown eyes and he stared intently at the rose in his mother’s hand.

“There now, that’s better.  Now why don’t we find the flowers a new home, hmm?”

Amelia swept the rest of the glass into the dustpan.  Carefully, she crouched and picked up the roses one by one, placing them on the hall table as she went.  Daniel clutched at his mother’s hair and shoulder as she worked.

 

 

The roses sat in their new vase, perched on an end table beside the couch in the living room, bathed in the dull yellow light of the fading sun.  Amelia sat reading in the loveseat, the back of her dark head streaked with bits of red and gold as her hair caught the sunlight.  Daniel sat in her lap, staring up at her serene face as if she were some kind of angel.  He scrubbed at his eyes with the back of his chubby hands and said, “Story, Mama?”

Amelia looked down at him. “You want me to tell you a story?”

Surprisingly, Daniel shook his head and pointed at the book she was reading. “Want to hear your story, Mama.  This one,” he added, with an insistent grab at her book.

Amelia pulled it away gently and frowned a little. “I don’t think you’ll like this story, Daniel.  It’s for grown-ups.  I promise you can read it when you’re older.”

Daniel pouted and did his best to look sad.  Amelia stroked his head as he leaned against her chest and closed his eyes. “Hush, now, my darling.  I’ll tell you a little about this story, but you’ll have to wait till you’re grown up to hear the whole thing, okay?” She felt Daniel’s head nod against her chest.  She took a breath.  Steadied herself.  Opened to the first page of the worn, leather-bound diary in her lap.

“This is the story of a girl made of thorns, and the boy who dared to love her…”