01-19-2011, 07:28 PM
[html] SSWM: 507
Much to Pripyat's relief Jefferson did not utter a word about Pripyat's choice of sleeping accommodations. He merely nodded and Pripyat was glad that the subject had so easily been laid to rest. Geneva might have been more concerned, but she too would have understood the boy's decision. At least she would have understood his decision about where to sleep, even if she hadn't understood why he had to sleep there rather than at the ranch house. It seemed as if the conversation would go as Pripyat hoped—easy and painless. At least the boy believed that until the name of his sister caused a reaction in Jefferson he had not quite expected.
The silver boy had expected some sort of reaction, but the concern Miriette's name invoked in Jefferson had not been any of the emotions Pripyat had imagined from his father. So attentive to his father the quick witted and sensitive boy did not miss the hardened gaze, the tight muscles and even the worry concentrated in the man's brow. Feeding off these subtle changes anxiety grew in the pit of Pripyat's stomach, waiting for the questions that were sure to follow. What did Pripyat think of her? Did he know about any other siblings? Did he want to know where they came from? None were questions Pripyat wanted to answer. Yet when the man softened and spoke again Pripyat's anxiety was replaced with confusion.
"N-no. She didn't." His ears fell back against his head, his eyes looked questioningly at Jefferson. Yet the boy did not say anything then and was grateful when the gruff gimp answered his question. His father couldn’t remember anything? Pripyat thought back and decided that yes, he had known that, had been told at one time or another. He had known that but he had never known why Jefferson's memory was incomplete. It had just been another ambiguous fact of his father that he had come to accept when he had come to live with him. There had been many mysteries about Jefferson that Pripyat just took for what they were, hadn’t questioned them because it was how his father was and had always been, for all Pripyat knew. "Oh, right. I forgot. Sorry" He sighed, finding that this answer was no help.
The boy opened his mouth to explain his inquiry. He wanted to tell Jefferson that his son was now seven months exactly and he hadn’t shifted yet, despite numerous attempts. Tell him that he felt a failure and he wanted to be able to help out at the barn with the animals and light fires and do all the things that Jefferson and the others could do but he was still a child and unable to help in any adult manner and couldn't his father, who fixed so many things, fix this? Yet when Pripyat did speak something he hadn’t wished to say came out; a thought that ate at him whenever he caught his father's eyes just then. "Why would she want to hurt me, dad?"
Much to Pripyat's relief Jefferson did not utter a word about Pripyat's choice of sleeping accommodations. He merely nodded and Pripyat was glad that the subject had so easily been laid to rest. Geneva might have been more concerned, but she too would have understood the boy's decision. At least she would have understood his decision about where to sleep, even if she hadn't understood why he had to sleep there rather than at the ranch house. It seemed as if the conversation would go as Pripyat hoped—easy and painless. At least the boy believed that until the name of his sister caused a reaction in Jefferson he had not quite expected.
The silver boy had expected some sort of reaction, but the concern Miriette's name invoked in Jefferson had not been any of the emotions Pripyat had imagined from his father. So attentive to his father the quick witted and sensitive boy did not miss the hardened gaze, the tight muscles and even the worry concentrated in the man's brow. Feeding off these subtle changes anxiety grew in the pit of Pripyat's stomach, waiting for the questions that were sure to follow. What did Pripyat think of her? Did he know about any other siblings? Did he want to know where they came from? None were questions Pripyat wanted to answer. Yet when the man softened and spoke again Pripyat's anxiety was replaced with confusion.
"N-no. She didn't." His ears fell back against his head, his eyes looked questioningly at Jefferson. Yet the boy did not say anything then and was grateful when the gruff gimp answered his question. His father couldn’t remember anything? Pripyat thought back and decided that yes, he had known that, had been told at one time or another. He had known that but he had never known why Jefferson's memory was incomplete. It had just been another ambiguous fact of his father that he had come to accept when he had come to live with him. There had been many mysteries about Jefferson that Pripyat just took for what they were, hadn’t questioned them because it was how his father was and had always been, for all Pripyat knew. "Oh, right. I forgot. Sorry" He sighed, finding that this answer was no help.
The boy opened his mouth to explain his inquiry. He wanted to tell Jefferson that his son was now seven months exactly and he hadn’t shifted yet, despite numerous attempts. Tell him that he felt a failure and he wanted to be able to help out at the barn with the animals and light fires and do all the things that Jefferson and the others could do but he was still a child and unable to help in any adult manner and couldn't his father, who fixed so many things, fix this? Yet when Pripyat did speak something he hadn’t wished to say came out; a thought that ate at him whenever he caught his father's eyes just then. "Why would she want to hurt me, dad?"