ArchivedLogs:Parental Woes

Parental Woes
Dramatis Personae Uncle Ben, Aunt May, James Holland, Sarabeth Holland
In Absentia	2013-05-25 The Parkers meet the Hollands.
Location Holland Farm - Georgia
Breakfast at the Holland’s is probably pretty unusual, particularly considering the recent onslaught of guests; nevertheless, one would presume that regardless of whatever is happening, coffee and tea are both available and in ready supply. Benjamin and May Parker are probably consuming both (the former for Ben, the latter for May) in great quantities. Particularly early this morning, sitting patiently at a table, as they observe... their son. Heading out to the barn. With a pair of unusual leather wrist-watches. For what, he grinningly informed them, is an /experiment/. Benjamin is clad in a striped blue collar shirt with a flannel jacket, jeans, and work-boots; May wears a loose-fitting floral dress of purple, white, and pink -- a white knitted blouse on top of that, and sandals over her feet. Both are peering at the door that the chitin-clad Peter just left through, both of their eyebrows crumpled together in thought. It’s Ben who speaks first -- to May, a moment after taking a long sip of coffee: “Think he’s going off to molt?” May proceeds to thwack her husband with the newspaper. "Does he molt?" This is to all appearances a serious question. James Holland seems like a serious man, tall and chiseled hard of body and hard of face from many long years of hard /life/. As yet he has been largely quiet. Polite, but taciturn. Watching the influx of people with remarkable patience. Sarabeth Holland, on the other hand, has been watching them with her son's more characteristic /fretting/. "Oh, goodness; /does/ he -- is he going to -- is there anything we can do to /help/? I don't know how you -- what do you /do/ when someone molts?" “Oh, no, he doesn’t -- please don’t worry, dear, he--” May quickly replies, lifting a hand up toward Sarabeth, as if to ward off the woman’s concern. “He doesn’t--” A sudden thought seems to flit across the woman’s face. She turns, then, flashing a worried glance toward Ben. “--he /doesn’t/ molt... right?” Benjamin Parker looks something like Rodney Dangerfield, except without the bulgy peepers and a lifetime of stress: “He doesn’t molt,” he agrees, taking another sip of coffee -- /probably/ to hide that smile that’s struggling very hard not to creep over his face. “Yet.” May almost swings the newspaper again, but then realizes -- they are guests! -- and thinks better of it. She just fires a glare at Benjamin, and turns to look to Sarabeth, instead -- fitting herself with a sweet, appreciative smile. “We can’t thank you enough for letting us all stay here at your home. It’s -- so many people,” she adds, eyes flicking toward the doorways through which early morning traffic is no doubt starting. “You must be, well. It must be extraordinarily overwhelming. If there’s anything we can do to help...” “I could take the blue ones out fishing,” Ben offers. “Bet they’d teach /me/ a thing or two.” This time, May /does/ thwack him. "They," James agrees, and it's the same gravelly-serious tone; his bright blue eyes might hold some humour, though, "would 'most certainly school you." Sarabeth is putting away the last of what was the breakfast /food/; scrambled eggs with peppers and onions, thick slices of ham (lots of it), potatoes, tofu scramble and vegan waffles, thick maple-syrupy grits. "Oh, it ain't no -- I mean, this ain't hardly the /most/ folks Jackson's -- we're more'n happy to have --" "We're glad to help," James rumbles, more quietly. He's sipping coffee. Reading his paper. "Can't be easy. For you." "Having your son -- I mean, nephew," Sarabeth corrects apologetically. "I mean, these things. When Jackson -- it ain't never -- s'always an adjustment. And then things like --" She shakes her head, pushes back a wisp of greying brown hair to tuck it behind her ear. "Can I get anyone more tea? Coffee?" At James’ comment, there is a sudden snort into Ben’s coffee, followed by what /might/ be a struggle to keep the cup from tipping as a result of a sudden upsurge of laughter. “Did you hear that, May? He said /school/--” “I heard him,” May says, mouth stretched in a razor-thin line, peering at her husband. “Like fishes, they travel in--” “I am /aware/, Benjamin Parker.” The invocation of Ben’s full name seems to be sufficient to subdue him; he clears his throat and responds to Sarabeth: “No thanks. Great coffee, though.” Sip. “No thank you,” May responds, her glare immediately evaporating into a sugar-sweet smile as she turns back to Sarabeth. “And he’s our -- nephew /and/ son, I suppose! We finished the paperwork for legal adoption some years back. There has been -- oh, yes. A great deal to adjust to--” “He /does/ stick to walls,” Benjamin offers, helpfully. As if to redeem himself for the molting thing. “And pretty much anything else, actually.” “--but your son Jackson has been an /extraordinary/ help,” May finishes. “I think, ah. Peter really looks up to him. Particularly after the whole -- mayor, thing. And everything else.” "Sticks to -- wow, that's -- very --" For a moment Sarabeth looks at a loss, but recovers with, "impressive, I'm always so amazed with what people can do. Your boy seems like a --" "Good kid." James doesn't look up to say this. "Lot like Jackson was," Sarabeth says with a quick smile. James's lips twitch. Juuuust slightly. "Lot like Jackson was," he agrees. "Well," Sarabeth demurs, "Jackson wasn't, he didn't have, the, what was it called," her fingers flutter towards her arm, "but he was so -- so -- so -- /earnest/. Do you, this, um. I mean, with the, ah, what was it called," another flutter towards her arm. "Chitin," James supplies. "Chitin," she says, "and everything he went through recently, I mean, we've been through so much with Jackson," this time her fingers flutter towards her eye, "and we're far away but any friends of Jackson's -- well." “He’s a good kid,” Ben agrees, though he’s quick to add: “/Too/ good, if you believe that can be a thing. Pretty sure he’s terrified of overwhelming us with, well, all this,” he searches for the right word, and, with a wave of his hand, just -- gestures to the exit. “Stuff.” “It /is/, well,” May begins, moistening her lips with a frown, staring at the door. She’s scarcely touched her tea. “...all a little, ah. Frightening.” “We’re his parents,” Ben counters, though there’s no bite to the words -- just a quiet, soft determination. “It’s our /job/ to help him with, well, whatever. I mean, crap, I don’t understand half the stuff he says, and I don’t understand a tenth of what he’s gone through, but he’s our kid. We don’t /have/ to understand--” As if attempting to deflect what might be an ensuing monologue from Ben, May quickly cuts him off: “Your son, Jackson. He’s -- /quite/ the handsome young gentleman--” “Got enough metal in his face to catch stray satellite signals,” Ben adds, suffering May’s withering glare. His tone, at least, seems to indicate this is supposed to be a joke: “Figured that’s why we came by train -- airport metal detectors woulda just explo--” “/Benjamin/.” “What? I’m just -- yeah, yeah, he’s handsome,” Ben agrees, trying not to grin. “Colorful, too. First time I met him, I was half-expecting Judy Garland to pop out behind the couch and start singing ‘Over the Rainbow.” "I think," James says, slow and quiet as ever, "that you done come by train because airplane-travel can be a mite difficult for folks like your boy. Our grandkids." "Jackson tried to fly the twins down once," Sarabeth agrees sadly, "gosh but that -- they got -- it was an ordeal and that's for sure, I don't think what they need's /another/ -- I think he was trying to make the trip smooth as could be." She's moving on from cleaning. To -- cooking again, it seems, even though breakfast's only /just/ finished. Getting out more ingredients; from the kind of things, flour-things and sugar and measuring cups and home-tinned peaches, probably baking. "He's sure -- colourful," she allows, and here her cheeks flush slightly, a little -- /flustered/ at that description. "I don't know as there's such a thing as /too/ good. He's a sweet boy." "Got respect," says James, which is evidently more important. "Ain't like these things is quiet easy to talk about nohow. Jackson couldn't -- with us -- well, not at first. But you love him. He'll come 'round." Ben’s mouth folds into a thoughtful little frown at the mention of the difficulties of air-travel. And then: “I didn’t even think of... hnh. I guess it could be,” he agrees, “pretty harsh.” “I’m sorry for--” May pauses, making a tiny little gesture toward Ben -- who sees it, wrinkles his mouth into a slightly /deeper/ frown, but doesn’t contest it. “--we’re, ah. Very new. To a lot of this. To /all/ of this,” she corrects. “He /is/ sweet,” Ben agrees. “Your son, I mean. And respectful, too. And a whole lot of -- I don’t know everything,” he says, “but from what I’m hearing, he and his friends saved our boy’s life. Saved a /lot/ of kids. A lot of people,” he adds, and -- his hand reaches, creeps across the table to touch May’s. “We’re, well. ‘Thankful’ doesn’t seem to cover it.” "Oh, I meant Peter's --" Sarabeth looks flustered again. Her head shakes. She goes to wash her hands. "Thankful," she echoes, with a quick-bright smile, "oh, goodness, I don't know as --" "Don't know," James says, "as thankful's necessary, when a man's just doing as he should." "From the sounds of it," Sarabeth says, "Jackson says your boy's got a touch of hero in him, too." “Maybe,” Ben agrees, the hand on the back of May’s shifting to entwine fingers, “but I always figured, it’s easy to forget that other people out there /notice/ when you’ve done right. That there’s people out there who know what doing right looks like. So, for whatever it’s worth. Your son did a /hell/ of a lot of right. You must have done a lot of it, too -- to get him there.” May squeezes Ben’s hand back, giving him a quiet smile. She glances back to Sarabeth -- a faint flush threatening to creep over her features. “Oh, dear, Peter’s just -- I mean, he’s -- so /sweet/, and caring, but--” “--we’re kind of hoping he just becomes an accountant,” Ben finishes, suddenly looking -- very glum. “Or, I don’t know. A scientist. Something quiet. Something /safe/,” he adds, and then a frown slips past his features. “Fat chance of that, though. ‘My candle burns at both ends’.” The hint of smile leaves James's face, too. "It will not last the night," he says, almost to himself. Sarabeth laughs, but it's not all that amused. "Oh, goodness, you know, maybe our boys /are/ kinda alike. You know, you go up to Jackson's bedroom, he's painted that poem on the windowframe over the windowseat. Safe'd be nice, wouldn't it? Ain't hardly sure the world's gonna give 'em safe, but I pray every day it does. Is your Peter -- does he --" James's knuckle rubs against his eye, slowly. The left one. "World's not kind t'heroes." Ben’s clearly surprised when James produces the next line; eyebrows shoot up high. He smiles a little bit when Sarabeth mentions it being painted on Jackson’s windowframe, but there’s a reservedness to it. “Oh, heh. One of my old army buddies had it tattoo’d -- huh. Small world,” he finally decides. At Sarabeth’s unfinished question, May responds: “I do too. He’s -- well, I don’t know. He says he wants to be a ‘superhero’.” There’s a wry amusement there; as if she’s unsure what that exactly means. “World’s not kind to anyone who tries to do right,” Ben agrees, before adding: “For themselves /or/ for others. Guess that’s why places like this -- a home, some place /safe/ -- are so important. A little shelter from the roughness.” Then, softer, before he lifts his coffee up to finish what’s left. “Just sometimes wish, they’d stay there a little longer.” “This place ain’t always been,” Sarabeth says more quietly, “elsewise Jackson wouldn’t never have gone up north in the first place. But -- I -- I mean maybe that’s a --” It looks like she’s kind of /choking/ on saying the next: “-- maybe it’s good he did go. All he done up there, I mean, might be that’s been God’s plan for him all along. All those people he’s.” “Ain’t never read a lot of comics. Don’t think superheroes are known for long shelf lives, though.” James sips at his coffee again. /Glowers/ at it after. “Oh, sure, some of them must be,” Sarabeth’s cheer is bright but a little brittle at the edges. “Superman’s been around since long ‘fore you an’ me were even kids, ain’t he been?” “Oh, dear,” May begins, as Sarabeth shows signs of choking up -- she tenses, as if preparing to get up and /hug/ the woman. Maybe she will! “You can’t always -- even home can sometimes become -- /everything/ is God’s plan,” May settles on, her words carrying more weight, more determination. “And he’s here /now/. When he was most vulnerable -- he came to you. He came home. That tells you -- everything you need to know.” She is rising now, under the guise of taking Ben’s empty coffee mug to the sink -- to move in and embrace the woman if she looks like she needs it. Sometimes, May can be a /sneaky/ thing. “Superman’s been around,” Ben agrees, thinking a moment -- as if coaxing a memory to the surface. “But I don’t think any of these kids are Superman.” Relinquishing his cup to the schemes of May. “But hey,” he adds, a grin crinkling the corner of his mouth, “he was raised on a farm, I think?” “In Kansas, dear,” May gently corrects. Apparently knowing a /little/ bit more about comics. “Not Georgia.” “He’s here now,” Sarabeth agrees, and here she finds a smile that is more genuine. Her palms brace against the counter, and she /does/ kind of look like she might be in need of a hug. “You know, he’s come here before, after -- well, there’s been rough times, there’s -- always rough times, and I -- m’always glad to see him, m’always glad he thinks this place is safe but I always hope it’ll -- be the last.” For a moment, when May moves close, she just freezes, hands tensing against the counter, but then she turns to accept SNEAKY HUGS. Tightly. “-- It doesn’t really get easy.” There’s a pause as she disengages, steps back with a small crooked smile. “Oh, goodness, ‘m s’posed to follow that up with somethin’ reassuring, ain’t I?” “I can’t imagine how hard that must be for you,” May admits, /squeezing/ Sarabeth. “Wanting to see him, but knowing that if you do, it means -- Peter is our first, probably our only -- I don’t know what I’m going to do when he finally leaves,” May confesses, with a self-depreciative smile. “Get a dog,” Ben offers. May glares over Sarabeth’s shoulder, but Ben lifts his hands in defeat, grinning. “No,” he agrees with Sarabeth, “it doesn’t -- /nothing/ gets easy, really.” “But it does get bearable,” May counters, giving Sarabeth -- yet another hug! “With help, time, and friends.”