children, your time is done; if you say it's done together

[confidenceman]

When James Ford woke up that morning in an unfamiliar building, in a bed larger than the one in his house and a room so bare that it almost reminded him of the hospital, he didn't panic. Most things seemed unfamiliar to him, those days. Places that had once been familiar, like his grandparents' house, like the classrooms in his school, or even the pews of his church, never seemed the same anymore. The world had wrapped itself in velvet, almost, something dark, heavy, and against which James couldn't push very far, keeping him from feeling much of anything of the outside word. Keeping him trapped in his own thoughts. Wherever he was, it didn't matter— he was sure that someone had put him there for a reason, and that someone would find and whisk him away again before long— and so James simply slid his legs off the side of the bed and dropped to the floor.

Whoever had dressed him for bed hadn't done a very good job. The t-shirt that he wore was several sizes too large, and his underpants were just about falling off. Tugging them up as well as he could, James quickly stumbled over to the large dresser in the room, pulling every drawer open until he spotted a few plain t-shirts that looked like they'd only be slightly too big, and a pair of jeans that could be held up well enough with the aid of a belt. Wordlessly dressing himself, James peeked around the rest of the room, a faint voice in the back of his mind reminding him that today was the funeral date.

(And the thought alone brought tears to his eyes, but he shook his head vigorously; mama wouldn't have wanted him to cry.)

He pushed past the curtains of the room, unseeing. Pushed into another room, where a projector was playing cartoons in the background, where a bookshelf was piled high with books. Spotting a pen and pad on a nearby table, James looked carefully around before sliding them off with quiet hands and tucking the pad under his arm. He passed through a kitchen filled with sights, sounds, smells, but it didn't matter— he wasn't hungry. Standing in an empty hall, James looked down both ends, before turning left, to the doors marked as an exit, quietly pushing one just a fraction before he stood under the brilliance of the sun, a porch and steps in front of him.

Peeking around again, James pressed his lips together, walked forward to sit himself on the top step, and laid the pad across his knees. Now that he was alone, he could do this.

Dear Mr. Sawyer, his pen scrawled in uneven writing.


[ Eight-year-old Sawyer, after a night spent in the dorms for easier access to the showers, is now sitting on the front steps of the Compound and writing his famous letter. ST/LT more than welcome, no limit on threads. Replies will come from giveyouthis. ]

Comments

[giveyouthis]

All that James knows is that marriage was the very binding that held his family together. He doesn't really know what it means to find that one person outside of the family, someone that he wants to spend the rest of his life with, and pull them in. (Mama told him that was fine, too, that most little boys don't understand being married until they're big and grown, and James knows that he's a long way from that.) When that broke, his family...

...his family.

He just nods, gaze dropping again. "'Cause you love her and don't wanna hurt her," he supposes, the only explanation that seems to make sense.

[thelikelife]

Luce gives him a look of understanding. Her smile is sympathetic and sad and now she really feels like she might burst into tears at any moment. After all, it's one thing to lay out your love life for a friend, but to have it on display for a young boy who's so good and kind...well, it's something else all-together. "Exactly. And I don't want to hurt her husband, either. He's a very nice man. And her family, her family would be so mad at me."

[giveyouthis]

James isn't really sure why she's so close to crying now, although he can venture a guess when he tries real hard. The thing about adults, he knows, is that they can picture things better than kids can. They can imagine what'll happen with one misstep, after one mistake, all the consequences laid out in front of kids to help them better learn. Maybe nothing's really happened between this lady and the woman that she loves, but James thinks that the reason why she's crying is probably 'cause she can picture what would and that makes it all the harder.

It's all still a little hard to grasp.

"But why..." he pauses, thinking. "Why would her family be mad 'bout someone lovin' their daughter? That don't make sense."

[thelikelife]

"Because she was already married and to a lovely man," she says. It's hard to explain and it hurts to get out, but maybe that's what she's been needing. The catharsis of such a moment has been avoided because Luce hasn't wanted to hurt, but maybe that's exactly what's needed. "Parents don't want their children to be upset."

[giveyouthis]

"But you ain't a bad lady," James says quietly, a deep tone to his voice, shadowed, and forceful in spite of how everything about his stance is tenuous, down to the feet that can't seem to decide where to stand. "If he's a lovely man and you're a good woman, then... things'll be okay. Maybe it's gotta hurt, but things will work out in the end if everyone..."

His voice dies out and his gaze wanders, unable to cope with it anymore, having to recount everything and trace over steps that he feels like he's been walking for years now.

"It'll be okay."

His words sound more like a question than a statement.