| Subject: Like Father, Like Son: Sequel to the Library, Chapters 5 & 6 |
Author:
Jaron
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Date Posted: 19:31:24 12/03/01 Mon
In reply to:
Jaron
's message, "Like Father, Like Son: Sequel to the Library" on 19:17:10 12/03/01 Mon
Like Father, Like Son: Sequel to the Library, Part Five
May 27, 1998
Rene and I reached our final destination, our new home, in a medium-sized city in
Texas, not far from Dallas. We settled in a comfortable house in a quiet neighbor
hood as a single parent and her six-year-old adopted son.
Rene started school in the fall as a first-grader at a good elementary school not far
from our new house. He grew to love the school, his teachers, and all the new friends
he made. From his comments, this was the first time he had been able to play with
so many different children. His foster parents had kept him close, seldom letting him
venture out to play with children in the neighborhood. He reveled in his freedom and
his friends and I loved sitting in the yard and watching him. I often thought of
Michael in these moments, wondering where he was and what he was doing, so far
away from his son. Rene had not mentioned his father or mother since that time on
the plane. When I asked him about it, he told me sadly that if he talked about them,
he would cry and he wanted to be strong like his father. I told Rene he could be both
strong and talk about his parents if he wanted. He just looked at me with those sad
green eyes and shook his head. I didn’t push him. I knew he would talk in his own
good time.
I worked out of our home and so became a stay-at-home mom for Rene. I was able
to indulge my secret dream and I began to write children’s books. As time passed,
my books started selling well. My new profession enabled me to be available
whenever Rene needed me. During our first year together, I learned alot about PTA,
being a soccer mom and carpools. We were warmly accepted into the life of our
neighborhood. Rene and I settled in happily and our lives became routine, normal.
Sometimes in the middle of the night, Rene would cry out. His nightmares were
infrequent, but when they came, he would sometimes wake up shivering and crying
out for his Mommy, but more often, for his Daddy, for Michael. I would go to him and
hold him and talk quietly to him until he calmed down and went back to sleep. In
those dark moments, I wished that things were different, that Rene could be with
Michael, but things were as they were and our lives went on.
Before I knew it, a whole year had passed. Rene had turned seven and was now a
second-grader. His nightmares lessened, but we both still missed Michael...
Like Father, Like Son: Sequel to the Library, Part Six
May 28, 1998
The knock on the door startled me, I wasn’t expecting any visitors on this, the first
Saturday of spring. I opened the door to find an attractive young woman standing
there with a clipboard in her arms. Oh, no, I thought, someone trying to sell me
something.
“Hi,” she smiled. “I’m doing a market survey....”
“I’m not interested,” I said quickly, and started to shut the door.
“Oh, please,” she said, “It’s my first day and I need this job. Please do my survey,
please!” Just call me an old softy, I thought, and asked her, “How long will this take?”
“Just a few minutes, I promise!” she said hopefully, “May I come in?”
“Just a minute,” I told her as I closed the door and unhooked the chain. Opening the
door wider, I invited her into my home. “What kind of survey is this?” I inquired.
“The company I work for makes bicycles and I noticed one of our bikes in your front
yard, so I hoped I could ask you some questions about how satisfied you are with the
bicycle.” she said in a rush, trying to smile, sit down and balance the clipboard on her
knees. She seemed awkward and ill at ease, but I guessed that if this was her first day
on the job she was probably very nervous. She was blond and had huge blue eyes.
I’ll bet she has charmed herself into a lot of houses today. This young lady would
probably be doing a lot of surveys today.
“The bicycle belongs to my son,” I told her. As if he had been called, Rene chose that
moment to come exploding into the room. “Mom!!” he said breathlessly, “oh, I’m
sorry, I didn’t know you had company.” I was always Mom to Rene. Simone was and
always would be Mother to him.
“Calm down, Rene.” I told him as he sat down next to me. “This young lady wants to
ask us questions about your bicycle. She works for the company that makes and sells
the same brand as yours. Are you interested in answering her questions? It won’t
take long.” I said as I looked at the young woman over Rene’s head, trying to signal
her that he would not stay interested for very long.
“Yeah, I don’t mind, Mom,” he said, “it’s a great bike, I love it.”
The young woman started asking Rene questions and writing down his answers. After
about ten minutes, I noticed that the questions were no longer about Rene’s bike, but
she was asking him about himself. Her eyes were locked on him as if she were trying
to memorize every aspect of his being. I began to get a bit uneasy. She was asking
what subjects he liked in school, what games he liked, did he like computers, but
when she asked about his father, I stepped into the conversation.
“Rene, I think that is enough. Don’t you have some homework to do?” I asked as I put
my arm around him protectively. Something wasn’t right about all these questions.
“I finished it all, Mom,” he told me as he looked up at me with a puzzled look on his
face.
“Rene, remember, you haven’t finished your book and the book report is due on
Monday. I think you should go to your room and start reading.” I urged him up with
a pat on his shoulder and a Mom kind of look that he knew meant do it now, no
questions.
“Okay, it was nice talking to you,” he said smiling at the young woman.
“It was wonderful meeting and talking with you, Rene,” she said smiling back at him.
Rene quietly left the room, glancing back at me with a question in his eyes. When I
heard the door to his room open and then close, I looked directly at the young
woman and said, “Who sent you here? You are not interested in doing a market
survey. You came here to find out about Rene. Did that cold-eyed bitch send you to
check up on Rene and me?”
She looked surprised and her eyes took on a faraway look before she focused on me
and said, “All right, I will.” That comment was definitely not addressed to me.
“Who are you and who are you talking to?” I demanded.
“The cold-eyed bitch, as you call her, says her name is Madeline and she doesn’t like
to be called a bitch,” she said with a quirky little smile as she seemed to struggle to
keep from laughing out loud. “She also said I could answer some of your questions as
long as they are not too detailed or probing. She also told me to be careful, that you
were too smart for your own good.
“How is Michael?” were the first words out of my mouth, then, “Tell me about him. Is
he okay? I haven’t seen him in almost two years!”
“He’s okay, if you like blank stares, long silences and men in black,” she said
sarcastically. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I know you care about him, as
does Rene. How is Rene coping? Madeline is particularly interested in how Rene is
adjusting. And Michael is fine, but he always seems so sad. Now I understand. It
took me a long time to see that in him. He never wants to talk about himself. He has
always been an enigma to me. He is so exasperating sometimes!”
I laughed, happy to hear about Michael as well as to realize that sitting here in front
of me was Michael’s material. “That’s what he said about you. That you were
exasperating!” I stopped laughing as she reached out and put her index finger on my
lips and started writing on her clipboard furiously and then held it out for me to see.
I moved from where I was sitting and sat down on the ottoman in front of the chair
where she was.
I leaned forward to read what she had written. “Keep on talking about Michael and
Rene, but don’t say anything personal about Michael or what he might have told you
about me. She’s listening and I don’t want her to know anything personal about
Michael and me...Please!” she wrote. I nodded and picked up a legal pad, one of
many I kept around the house. I used them whenever I was working on a new story or
book.
My legal pad and her clipboard became our lines of communication as I talked out
loud about my life with Rene in our new home and Michael’s material and I wrote to
each other what we really wanted to say to each other.
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