Depicting Marianna childhood in Maine.
Even with the coming of age I wondered if that girl ever really existed.
Aurora and I bid farewell to Richie at the stables that joined the meadows. All the way home Aurora couldn’t stop talking about Richie- from his bad manners to his dirty feet. I got the feeling Aurora’s complaints of Richie were masking deeper feelings.
Mother once told me about the hate masking love syndrome, but among twelve-year-old children I believed it to be a simple infatuation.
Aurora and were greeted at the front door by father’s stern face. “Hello, Father,” I said.
“Aurora,” he said, “if you will please excuse us.”
“Yes, Sir,” she said and quickly left the room.
He took my hand forcefully. “Come, Mary, we must speak.”
“Whatever you want, Father,” I said and followed him.
He led me into the parlor before releasing my hand. I saw the worry lines consuming my father’s forehead. “What’s wrong, Father?”
“You tell me,” he said. I didn’t answer in my ignorance of what he meant by those three little words. “Mary,” he continued, “you know you can talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong.”
“What could be wrong, Father?”
“I don’t know, Mary. I hoped you could confide in me. When your mother came to me and told me you would not be joining us, I…”
“I’m sorry, Father. I just wanted to spend some time with my friends. We went to the swamp, and Richie fell in the water…”
“You went to the swamp instead of the lab.” I could tell father was getting angry. He sat own in one of the wooden chairs while remained standing. “Don’t you enjoy our work?”
“Yes, Father, but it’s your work, yours and Mother’s. I just…”
“Just what?” He asked, raising his voice a bit.
“I wanted to have some fun, silly, stupid, juvenile fun. I wanted to be normal for a change.”
“You are normal, Mary, and special.”
“No,” I said, turning away from him. “I don’t want to be special. I just want to be a kid and do kid things.”
Father stopped for the longest moment and studied me. A submission of sorts escaped his mouth.
“Oh, dear god, what have I done?” Father said. Then he took my hand and continued, “Mary, I’m sorry. I keep forgetting your only twelve. Forgive me.” He had risen out of his chair and turned away from me, while running a hand through his dark hair.
“Yes, Father,” I said as he leaned down to face me eye to eye.
We embraced, finding a new understanding between us. Father and I had always been alike, but his understanding of my situation made me feel as if Roland Faigon was more than just my father. Somehow he became my friend.
I felt like a tiny stone shining in a sea of coal and father was my gold setting, supporting all my endeavors. I just hoped it would always be that way.
To Be Continued…
Here’s a link to the next chapter.
The Sadian Chronicles: Book 1: Broken Candle: Chapter 2: Splattered Blood
A brilliant story and it makes for very good easy reading … 
interesting how you have managed to capture it from a educated childs point of view …. missing out on there childhood ….. living the life of the Father ……
(Who obviously wants whats best for her but gets too caught up in teaching her ……. trying to set out her future the way he wants it to be)
Very good …… cannot wait to read more ……
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