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Post by Emma Anderson on Sept 25, 2012 18:09:50 GMT -6
Emilia sat in the courtyard of the school this morning, her art book open and sprawled across her lap, her pencil swiftly moving over the page. She had been struck with a sudden urge to draw the school today, and with her first class not starting for another hour, she supposed she had more than enough time to sketch out the outline and a few of the details before she had to get going.
It was only her second day of school, and though she knew she should be working to socialize, she couldn't help but draw whenever the muse struck her. Besides, it wasn't like she had to make friends right this minute. She was here for the long haul, as far as she knew, so she had time. The thought giving her a bit of solace as she continued to sweep the pencil over the paper.
With every stroke, more and more of the school began to take shape. The device she usually wore on her ear having been turned off and stuff in her bag for now. Usually, she would keep it turned off when she was drawing, finding that it was easier to lose herself in her art when she was not distracted by the intermittent sounds that sometimes filtered through the device.
To be honest, the only reason she even wore the damn thing was to appease her parents. They had been so excited when they had heard that there was a chance that device could help her to hear, even if only a little, and even more excited when they tried it on her and it had worked...sorta. So, they had scrimped and saved and taken out a loan and bought it for her, hope in their eyes as they presented it to her on her fourteenth birthday. Sure, she had been a bit disappointed by the fact that she had gotten that instead of the new cell phone she had been begging for, for the past six months. But, in the end, she had faked being excited to make them happy.
Lost in what she was doing, she would draw her knees up just a bit so that she could get a better angle to draw in. Her strawberry blonde locks pulled back and held with a clip at the back of her head, just a messy little twist to try and keep them from her eyes while she was drawing. She was dressed in her usual attire, a pair of jeans, a pink t-shirt and a pair of converse sneakers. Next to her, laying upon the ground, was her backpack which was laid open..her pencil bag laid open so that she could get at her various art supplies.
As she drew, she would nibble and chew on her lower lip, emerald hues glancing upward toward the building before her every now and again to get a better look at something before dropping back down to the page... hurriedly sketching it out before her mind could forget it. Trying hard to keep the thought to check her watch in the front of her mind so that she wouldn't be late for her next class....since of course...she couldn't really hear the bell when it rang. That being pretty much the only thing she was thinking of other than her drawing...More than capable of losing herself to her task when it involved something she was really passionate about...Her drawing being at the top of that list. It was her one true passion. The one way that she felt she could truly express herself without there being some kind of barrier between her and the rest of the world.
It was the one thing that truly made her happier than anything else could.
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Post by The Fearless Sausage Cook on Sept 25, 2012 23:25:38 GMT -6
Where the hell is it? The thought running through Frank's head, with a bit of a growl in his inner voice as he wandered through the halls. What was "it", you might ask? Well "it" was the teacher's lounge and the answer to that question was exactly what Frank was trying to find out. The problem was that he was quite new here and didn't exactly know his way around yet. Of course he knew where the cafeteria was, that much was obvious, and his kitchen, but with his work at a lull for now there was not anything else for him to do at the moment. So he figured he deserved a sit down in the Lounge. Sure he wasn't a teacher but the name of the room meant one thing, really, "no students". Only problem was, the not being able to find the damn room.
A short sigh in frustration caused him to just figure, what the hell? Maybe the damn thing was on the other side of the courtyard, although that was really only an excuse to go outside. That and he was looking for some sort of student that looked like they were able to tell him. And one that he wouldn't have to slap around for making up some smart ass answer, like have of them here. Not that he minded smart ass remarks, but he was just trying to find a place to sit down, somewhere quiet. The day had been somewhat frustrating for him so far, with the incompetence of his "lunch ladies" who couldn't figure out a spatula from a spoon, but he was learning to deal with their seeming incompetence. And with any luck he'd be able to teach them something, maybe not have to do everything all the time and if they could figure that out, well maybe he'd stick around for a bit longer.
As he turned and walked out the door and into the courtyard, there was a slight chill in the air and it was that chill that brought back a memory that he had honestly not thought about in quite some time. The day he had left home well, not so much left as he was kicked out, or rather perhaps a little bit of both. See his father had owned a construction company and wanted his dear son to follow in his footsteps and Frank? Well he had other plans. Those plans had involved going to a trade high school and graduating the top of his class in what trade? Culinary. Something that had been allowable by his father so long as he kept learning the construction buisness. His mother had said something to the effect of, being able to cook was a good skill to have. So when it came time for graduation he was kind of expected to drop the whole culinary bit, or hobby as his parents called it, and go into the family buisness. Problem was, Frank rather enjoyed cooking and wanted to do that, not something his Father was too thrilled about. His plan for Frank had involved college to be able to expand the buisness, but commuting so he could still work when he was not in class. Further culinary school was not on the menu. But nor was going into the buisness, not something his father was thrilled to hear. There was pressure involved, along the lines of this is the only college I'll pay for. It hadn't ended so great though, when Frank said no and he was done working construction his Father was on the verge of kicking him out. Funny story, his mom was the only reason he wasn't kicked out, at least that was until Frank said something along the lines of "It doesn't matter if you kick me out, I enlisted." Mom stopped defending him and Dad well, dear Daddy said something along the lines of "you're not my son anymore." That had been what? Eleven years ago?
But It was that chill that brought back the memory of the last time he had seen his sister five years old at the time, standing on the porch, having heard the whole argument. Watching Frank leave, duffle bag in hand. He remembered her giving her a sad little frown as he left. Not really welcome to stay and explain what happened, his father ushering him out. Apology written across his frown, wondering if she'd ever understand or get it. If she ever would forgive him. God, he had loved his sister. Family had been everything to him, perhaps that's why he had done so well in the Corps. Some times he wished things had gone differently, but then he remembered how stubborn his father had been. He couldn't deny that he still loved his family, but he doubted they even remembered him any more. Besides, what would he say to his dad? Though he didn't think that he had anything to say to that man. Nor his mother, though he couldn't quite place what he felt about how they had left that relationship off. Though he missed his kid sister still after all this time
Eleven years. When you said it like that it made you wonder where the time went. But the truth was it had been a life time. Frank was a different person, no longer was he that kid that just wanted to cook and see the world. Hell, when he thought of himself like that he had to wonder what happened? How did he get to where he was now? But he figured that was why he was here now, as a chef. To get back to his roots, before his life had gone off in a completely different direction. Maybe that's how he'd find his way back.
He sighed as he made it about half way through the courtyard, pensive look on his face before his eyes fell on a girl who had her head down drawing. Reminded him of a newspaper clipping he had at home in his empty apartment, that clipping being one of his most valued possessions. Walking up to the girl he'd ask, "Do you know where the teacher's lounge is?"
She seemed studious enough, or whatever. He just got the feeling, for whatever reason, that she wouldn't give him a dumbass remark...
OOC: tell me if you need me to change anything
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Post by Emma Anderson on Sept 26, 2012 0:00:16 GMT -6
Emma was lost in her drawing, as was often the case when she sat down and opened up the old, leather bound drawing pad that her parents had given her for her twelfth birthday. It had been the year that she really really got into art, being the first year that they offered it at school as an actual class, and the first year she had won a prize for something she had painted. Chewing the corner of her lower lip, a habit she had when drawing, she would continue to sweep the pencil over the paper, her mind solely focused upon the lines and architectural structure of the building.
A window here, a door there. It was all that mattered to her right now. She supposed that she could free hand it a bit, perhaps add in something that wasn't really there, but the point of this was to draw something that would mark the new memory in her life. Something she could look back at and remember starting school here. She hoped that in the end, it would be good memories...but she really couldn't tell just yet.
However, as she drew the next series of lines, a shadow would fall over her and cause her hand to slow to a stop. She heard nothing that was said, though as she turned her head upward, eyes squinting slightly against the sunlight to look at the person, a male's, features..she would tilt her head a bit and shake her head. She couldn't really see his face in this light, at this angle..and so she could not make out anything that he was saying.
Flipping the drawing pad to a new page, she would quickly write down the words, I am sorry, I cannot hear you. I am deaf. on the paper in front of her and turn the page toward him, tapping it with the pencil in her hand to hopefully draw his attention there. If she did, she would then nod and move to push herself up to stand up, folding the notepad in half so that only that single page was showing and hugging it to her chest.
Yet, the moment she stood, and her vision of his features became a bit more clear, she would find herself looking at somebody who seemed very, very familiar. Enough so that she took a step back, brow furrowing slightly as the notebook fell from her hands and fell upon the ground below.
Instantly her mind was thrown back to when she was five. It had been months before the accident, perhaps two at most, and her parents were fighting with her older brother. She didn't understand then what it was all about, but she knew now that it had been over Frank wanting to pursue a different career than what their Father wanted. One thing had led to another, and she had suddenly found herself on the porch, the cold air biting down on her, as he had began to walk away. He had looked back at her, but he had never explained why, and she could remember that feeling of being deserted sinking in on her.
Not long after that, Mother had come out and scooped her up to carry her inside, crying her eyes out the whole time and making Emma cry as well. For weeks after that, she would stand at the window in her room, expecting him to come back, but he never had....She would ask her parents about him...but her Father would just get mad, huff and walk away. Her Mother would cry. A few months later....the accident happened...and though she had thought about him almost every day since, she had pretty much given up on him ever coming back home.
Quickly, her hands would begin to move, forgetting for a moment that the person before her could likely not speak in ASL like she could, having only met one other person here so far that could. Do I know you? Her head tilting a bit more to the side, before she would quickly realize what she was doing.
A single hand lifted, she would hold her finger up to signal for him to wait, bending down quickly to gather up her notepad and pencil, quickly rummaging about to find the page she had been on and writing down her question, Do I know you?, on the paper, holding it up to him and shaking it just a bit...emphasizing how important this was. She didn't want to outright jump to conclusions. It had been eleven years after all, but still, the features looked the same.
Yet no sooner had she asked the question than she would drop down to her knees, digging through her bag to find her wallet. If he spoke, she wouldn't hear him, as she was busying herself trying to find that damn picture. A few moments later, she would pull free a pink and black wallet from her bag, flipping it open and quickly turning to a picture of a boy that looked very similar to the man before her, and four year old her. It had been taken the last Christmas they spent together, and it was her favorite one. The only one her Father had let her keep.
Holding the wallet up to him, the picture facing forward, she would look up toward his face with those big, bright emerald eyes full of uncertainty and curiosity. She couldn't be wrong. She had looked at that picture a million times, she held that final memory at the front of her mind...She just had to be right, it had to be him. Though the fact that he was here, that he was in the city, at the very school she was...it confused her. Making her doubt herself, doubt her certainty. Hence the question that she desperately needed answered. Strawberry blonde locks spilling into her face, though they went ignored for now. No, all that mattered was that damn question that she stood on edge waiting to see the answer to and the picture she held in her hands. [/blockquote]
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Post by The Fearless Sausage Cook on Sept 26, 2012 6:02:02 GMT -6
The newspaper clipping, it had been something that Frank had found four years ago. He had been overseas at the time, though technically he had been in country for the last ten years. How had he gotten it? Well occasionally he searched the website of his old town's local paper for anything about his family. Something he had been doing for a long time, about 8 years to be exact. Searching the name of his long lost sister, to see if there was anything, anything at all about her online or in the paper or something. And it was four years ago that he had seen Emma's name in the paper. Well the online version to be exact, but when he saw her name he had bought a paper and had it shipped just to have it. Held onto it ever since. Anything to know what she was up to and apparently it was art, though that had been four years ago, she could have moved on.
Did Frank have regrets? Yeah. He wished that he hadn't lost his sister. But his Father had made it very clear that he was no longer his son, welcome around at home. He didn't want to have any contact with Frank, in any form. Nor did he want his sister talking to him. If he had to make the choice again would he? The choice to leave? He didn't know, honestly. Though he would have found a way to stay in contact. Family was everything to him and it was his biggest regret that he had lost his sister, that he had never gotten the chance to explain himself. His dearest daddy had rushed him off right quick.
As he had asked the girl a question it seemed like it was taking her a little long to even acknowledge his existence. It was kind of annoying but whatever. But all emotion faded when she lifted her head....
No....
It couldn't be...
She looked exactly like her, like in the clipping he had. Well, she looked like what he imagined her to look like if she was sixteen, four years later. Surprise registering on his face. Not really paying attention to the fact that she hadn't responded to him yet. But mind racing at the fact that she looked exactly like Emma, the one that he had in the photo, his sister. Did her drawing mean that she was still into art? Why would she be here? Did she remember him? That sudden question making think another, did she hate him? Resent him for what he did? For walking out on the family? Sure he had been kicked out but still. He couldn't help but feel guilty for leaving her. It had to be her. But as he read those words on the pad that she had written he gave a pensive frown. Was this Emma? Because his sister wasn't deaf.
But she looked so familiar, the thought running through his head. No, it had to be her right? Was that the reason why she gave him that look, stepping back and dropping her notebook? That had to be familiarity. Frank watched her start to use sign language in quite a rush of excitement. Though all he could do was frown, he knew a few languages but ASL was not one of them. Frowning and shaking his head he'd say, "I don't understand," almost as soon as she held her hand up realizing her mistake.
Watching her frantically searching for her note book he found himself incredibly curious as to what she had to say. Because he was becoming more and more certain that this was his Emma, his estranged sister of eleven years. As she finally got that question down on paper, showing it to him and shaking it for emphasis that settled it. This was Emma, his baby sister. But before he could answer her he saw her drop to her knees again, to rummage further through that bag.
Certain now, there were so many questions rushing through his head. Namely what happened? How did she loose her hearing? Because the last time he had seen her she could hear. Granted, it had been eleven years but how common was it to lose your hearing in eleven years? But at the same time there was still a pit of uncertainty in his stomach wondering at the question, did she hate him for what he did?
No sooner then he had time to stew on the question did she rise up with a wallet in her hand, open to a picture, taking it he would look at it closely. It was a Christmas picture, one he had not seen in years. He had been seventeen at the time, almost eighteen. It had been their last Christmas together, before he had left. If there had been any doubt before, there was none now. This was Emma.
He didn't know what to say. It had been so long. So very, long. Still there was fear that she'd hate him, resent him for leaving, without saying so much as a word to her. While there really hadn't been time, it didn't change the fact. He still felt guilt over it. And not being able to contact her. He had sent letters but there was never any reply. His guess was that father saw them and well, that had been the end of that. But finally he manage to nod his head to her question, a small smile crossing his face as he asked, "Emma?"
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Post by Emma Anderson on Sept 26, 2012 6:27:16 GMT -6
Emma would sit there with that picture in her hands, fighting off the slight tremble which was working its way up her arms and toward her fingers..She couldn't get too far ahead of herself, she couldn't let herself believe what she wanted, so badly in this moment, to believe. Yet when he took the picture, he seemed to recognize it almost instantly, her ability to read people's faces never more helpful than it was in this moment, as emerald hues widened and she quickly scrambled to her feet.
It was him! She had known it from the moment she saw him, but now, now she had no doubt. Handing the picture back to her, she would take it gingerly, fingers tracing over the image before almost tearful eyes lifted to look at him. When he spoke, she quickly dropped her eyes down to his lips, watching as he formed that single word and a soft gasp soon following. "E..E...mma" Her voice was very delicate, very shaky and lacking in a lot of emotion or anything, a complete contradiction to her features which showed nothing but happiness. It was just hard for her to express in her voice, because well...she never had to anymore. She barely spoke, and when she did, it was usually only names that she was reciting back to whomever stood before her.
Yet the fact that he had said her name said it all, it was all the confirmation she needed to know that this was him and without much thought put into her next actions, she dropped her art book to the ground and shot forward, small, slender arms wrapping about his waist as tightly as she possibly could. Her head burying into his chest as finally the tears that had been building within her eyes began to fall.
She didn't hate him. She didn't resent him for walking out. She understood now what had happened all those years ago. Sure, in the beginning, she had just thought that he had left her, had been a child with selfish ideals, and had viewed his leaving as all about him. No thought or concern given to her. Something that was made worse after the accident which had happened a few months later. Oh, God...how many times had she laid in that hospital bed, after waking up, hoping he would come back. Surely, if she was hurt, he would come home...right? It was what she had believed, but it was not what had happened.
There was still pain there, pain over not having heard a word from him in eleven years. But in the moment it was pushed aside for the excitement and joy she felt over finally seeing him again. Eventually, she would pull back, looking up at him as emerald eyes shimmered with a mixture of happiness and pain. It was a flood of mixed emotions, and as always, she wore them on her face and deep within her eyes. Her only real way of communicating her feelings since she didn't have her tone to do so. No, it was all about movement and expressions for Emma.
Eventually, she would peel herself away to lower down and gather up the notebook she had dropped along with her pencil. Quickly finding the page once more, so that she could write, she found herself a bit flustered and a bit shaky, though she would manage the words just fine. I have really missed you. Where have you been? Her hands shaking slightly as she turned the page toward him, nodding a bit and watching his face intently for any emotions or any sign of words coming from his mouth.
She had so much that she wanted to say, but this was going to take awhile, seeing as how she was going to have to write it all down. But, she supposed that was good...it would give her time to think, which was exactly what she needed right now. Time to properly form her questions, lest she be left asking...no...demanding answers as to why he abandoned her or why he never came home to see her after the accident...why he never once thought to write her. The very thought of these things causing more tears to spill down her face as she collected her notebook to her chest and held to it for dear life, with nothing left to do but watch him. [/blockquote]
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Post by The Fearless Sausage Cook on Sept 26, 2012 10:49:18 GMT -6
When she uttered her name, slowly, shakily he heard the emotion in her voice, or the lack thereof. Though he had to admit that the lack of emotion was something that he couldn't quite place. Not because he couldn't read emotions, it was just that he wasn't so sure what to think of the fact that she was deaf. He wasn't sure if the lack of emotion in her voice was simply from disbelief, or because being deaf made her unable to articulate emotions as well. What didn't lie about how she felt though was her facial expression. That happiness, it only widened his smile, cracks in his armor now showing. That tough marine that had been built over the last eleven years fading away in front of his baby sister.
Somewhat surprised by how fast she was to cling to him, to wrap her arms around him and hug him. Honestly he thought that she'd hate him for leaving her. That she wouldn't forgive him. That if he had ever seen her again, she wouldn't want anything to do with him. It was that that have his arms pause as he lifted them, hesitating to wrap them around her. Eye's closing softly as a lone tear fell from his eye, he'd pause before wrapping his arms around her, one in her hair holding her close to him. Hearing her begin to cry softly.
As he held her he couldn't help but feel guilt. He didn't know what made her lose her hearing, or how long ago it had happened but he should have been there. Guilt overriding the anger at this point he felt at his parents for not telling him. He should have found a way, as unfeasible as it seemed. Though there was joy in his hug too. Frank honestly had thought that he'd never see her again. That he was doomed to live this life alone. Without his family ever again. His Dad, well he didn't know how to feel about his dad. There was still anger and bitterness over that. And there was even more confusion over what to feel about his mother. Who seemingly let it go on, sins of omission and all, but his sister. He was so happy that after eleven years he got to see her again, hold her again. To see how big she had gotten. Hell, he felt like a parent right now.
As she pulled away he saw that pain in her face, mixed with happiness but he saw the pain clear as day. There was an apologetic look on his face as he watched all those emotions on her face. Her expressions saying everything really. Causing him to apologize in his own facial features, realizing quickly that it was the only way to communicate his feelings non verbally. Watching her peel away to lower down and write on her pad, shakily but write her question all the same.
His face softening apologetically has he read those words, and then tensing slightly up in annoyance, "I've thought of you every day I was gone."
He paused as he thought of how to word his answer, "They really didn't tell you? I joined the marines. I was in the corps for the last eleven years."
He gave a frustrated sigh. Thinking exactly what he wanted to say. It seemed quite obvious to him that they didn't tell her anything. That for the last eleven years she was left in the dark. Almost as if their parents let her believe that he just walked out. End of story. Which of course couldn't be further from the truth. That and he honestly did try and get in contact with her, but apparently that didn't get through either. Watching her tears he'd collect his thoughts.
"There was no contact," Frank explained, "When I left home dad said "I wasn't his son anymore. I tried to write to you send you presents. Plenty of times over the years. Never got anything back. My guess is they threw them away. Or maybe you guys moved. Would explain why whenever I called I got nothing. All I have about you is a newspaper clipping from when you won that art prize. Four years ago and twenty eight days. Searched your name on the local newspaper website and bought a copy."
After that though he paused, thinking of how to put this tactfully, because it was his turn for a question, "How did you lose your hearing?"
Something he was dying to know. Still annoyed that he hadn't heard about it until now...
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Post by Emma Anderson on Sept 26, 2012 11:44:08 GMT -6
Emma couldn't help but savor the feel of his arms as they wrapped about her. The last time she remembered him actually hugging her had been the morning before it had all came crashing down. She had woken up early, run into his room and jumped on his bed to wake him up at some ungodly hour. Heh...At first, she had honestly thought that maybe if she hadn't done that, he wouldn't have walked out. But then, she had only been five at the time, and so naturally she had very unrealistic thoughts as to why he would get so mad as to leave home and never once try to contact her.
Pulling back, her eyes fell to his lips once more as he began to speak, and yet with every word, her brow would furrow a bit more. She had asked her question, and yet she had not really been expecting that answer. He had tried to contact her? Send her letters? Gifts? She as floored by that, unsure what to do with such knowledge. Sure, she had known their Dad was mad about what he had chosen to do with his life, but she had never thought that either of her parents would stoop so low as to hide things from her that Frank had sent.
It was like finding out your life, or a good majority of it, was a lie. They knew how much she had missed him, they knew how much she had blamed herself....but still...they had hidden it. Her own sense of anger welling up inside of her, as well as a wash of pain so raw that it tore at her heart and left her damn near breathless. The parents she loved so much, that were so overprotective of her, had lied to her for the past eleven years...without even batting an eye.
Yet he continued, and she would read his words intently as they were spoken. Her mind racing with all this new information, talking about that drawing she had won a prize for four years ago...a nod given as she flipped through her art book, opening it to the back and pulling a slightly tattered drawing out from the folder in the back. Opening it, she would turn it toward him...It was the drawing she had won for, and it was one of the very few things she genuinely cherished. She had never won anything up until then, and not sense...one of the things she was most proud of.
Nodding her head toward it and then toward him, she would turn the page around and hand it to him. The drawing...it was a copy of one of the pictures that she had of them when she was little. She had drawn it...for him. Sure, she had never really thought she would get the chance to give it to him, but that had been her inspiration at the time, and now, with him standing there before her, she couldn't help but want to fulfill her purpose for the piece of artwork.
If he took it, she would flip her book back to the page she had been writing on, I drew it for you. I never told Mom and Dad that. But I have kept it with me ever since, just in case. She turned the book around and nodded, though to be honest, her mind was racing with a million and one thoughts. She wasn't even sure she could think straight right now...But then, he spoke again, and though she could not hear him, she saw his lips move and the question he asked brought every thought in her head to a screeching halt.
The accident?
He didn't know about the accident?
Of all the things she was certain he would have known about, even if limited, she was sure he would have known about that. Surely Mom and Dad had tried to contact him after it had happened. Right? But one look in his eyes told her the answer to that question was no. He genuinely had no idea about what had happened, and as a result, it forced all those old memories to come flooding back to Emma's mind.
Slowly, she would turn the book around and lower her head, beginning to write with a shaky hand and tears burnng her eyes. It took a little longer than it normally would have, but eventually she would finish, turning it back around, the words on the page slightly smudged from what tears had fallen onto the page as she wrote.
Two months after you left, maybe three, Mom got a promotion at work. There was a big party, and they couldn't find a babysitter for me, so they took me with them. On the way home, it started to snow, really bad. Dad had been drinking a little, and he was driving. The SUV hit a patch of ice and crashed into the lake. I don't remember much until I woke up in the hospital a week later, and I couldn't hear. Doctors say it is just one of those freak things, that the icy water did something when it engulfed me. I don't really know.
She nodded, her head lowering a bit as she thought back over the whole event. To this day, she could still feel the water rushing in, feel her limbs losing feeling almost instantly. She had been in the water too long, that had been part of the cause, though they suspected that there was also damage sustained during the impact as well. Nobody could be sure. Not now, not ever.
Eventually, once she had thought he had time to read it all, she would look back up at him, trying to force a smile on her face, to show she was fine...which she was really, it was just still not a very fun memory to think about. No matter how many times she did such.
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Post by The Fearless Sausage Cook on Sept 26, 2012 12:30:22 GMT -6
Frank watched her carefully as he explained his side of the story. His reason for never once getting in contact with her. Not for lack of trying or his sister's hate of him, but because of his parents. Looking at her reactions it was like she had been stabbed in the back. Betrayal of the highest order. Because for eleven years she apparently thought that he didn't give a shit about her. While that couldn't have been further from the truth, with no letters of anything from him there was no reason to believe that he cared or even wanted her in his life. Frank would frown at her pain though. He felt bad for her. To find out in an instant that for a majority of your life someone you thought you had driven away, and had seemingly not a care in the words about contacting you actually had been trying all these years.
When he mentioned the contest he watched her closely as she pulled out the folder after a brief nod. This was something he was actually looking quite forward to. The truth was that he had never actually seen any of her art. He had only one a contest once. To say he hadn't daydreamed about one time seeing this, that would be a lie. He had spend the last four years wondering what it would be like. When she finally showed it to him he smiled, "It's beautiful Emma, you're really good."
When she handed Him that drawing of him and her his smiled beamed even more, if it possibly could. Sure this may be something similar to a parent's pride, but come on, give him a break, he was almost thirty years old. That and she was and always would be his baby sister. When she told him that she had never told mom and dad he nodded. The way they were turning out, she probably would have lost it, "Thank you baby Sis, I love it."
But when he had asked about her hearing, everything stopped. She seemed to be at a complete loss. Watching tears roll down her face he was sorry already. He didn't yet know what happened but it had to be bad. If only he knew how right he was. Watching her write as she cried, he noticed that it took a little longer, though he figured that was acceptable, if it had been a rough thing. But he had absolutely no idea until he read that tear smudged page.
Instantly he felt guilty, even more so as he head lowered. He knew what it meant. If he had not left, then that would not have happened. It was all his fault. If he had put off his selfish ambition for just a few months, even entertained Dad's plans then none of this would have happened. Or at least Emma would still have her hearing, and now that was all that really mattered to him. So as she looked up to smile he would frown, guilt across his face, "I shouldn't have left home. If I hadn't you'd still be able to hear, none of this would have happened."
And with that his arms would wrap around her again, hugging her. Conscience weighing heavily on him...
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Post by Emma Anderson on Sept 26, 2012 20:24:12 GMT -6
Emma wasn't sure how to react to this situation. She knew that he had left, and according to him, he had tried to get in touch with her. Yet, what he was asking her to do here, whether he wanted to or not, was to decide if she wanted to believe that her parents had lied to her for the past eleven years, or if he had really walked out on her and their family without a second thought. Neither one of them seemed like very pleasant options in her mind....in fact, she wanted to just forget the whole mess right here and now. But she couldn't. It was too late for that.
Her eyes looking up into his own, she tried her best not to show how deeply that single memory affected her. But it was hard. In fact, it was the one memory that she could barely stand to think about, not without feeling some form of sick, queasy feeling starting in her stomach. However, it was not hard to tell that he was upset, guilt ridden even, and for a second that thought confused her. After all, he had not been there, what did he have to feel guilty about? And then it hit her. The very fact that he had not been there was reason enough. After all, he had been the one to babysit her every time their parents went out. He had been the one to watch after her, and keep her safe and warm at home when they went to their parties and other such events. In fact, the entire reason they couldn't find a sitter that night, was because they had never had to before, and just weren't sure who to trust with their precious baby girl.
So, they had done something totally out of character and taken her with them, and the result had been...well....this. Her mind catching up to this just as he wrapped his arms about her and pulled her into him. Once more, she allowed her head to rest softly against his chest, her own tears falling, though for the most part, her sobs were silent. She never thought much of it, but then, she didn't really know she was that quiet when she cried.
Eventually though, she would pry herself away from him, her eyes returning to his face as she tilted her head and raised her hands...about to sign and then stopping mid word as she remembered that he could not understand her. So, again, she was forced to turn back to her notebook, It is not your fault....The words turned toward him to read as she gave a firm little nod. She was fine..despite what everyone thought, and she was perfectly capable of having a completely normal life.
Well, so she thought. The truth was, she did have her limitations, but she was far too stubborn right now to admit, or give into them. No, she would keep pushing her limits until she broke through every single one or until she finally found one she couldn't overcome and it in turn broke her. I am okay, really. I do not mind so much that I can't hear. Another sentence jotted down for him to read as she forced a bigger smile onto her lips and gave a reassuring little nod.
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Post by The Fearless Sausage Cook on Sept 27, 2012 4:30:53 GMT -6
It took Frank a moment to realize what he was revealing about their parents. Rather, what he was proposing about them. That if she didn't know about him trying to get into contact with her, that he had sent stuff, that their parents were, more conniving then she thought. But even if that were true that didn't erase the fact that he had been gone for eleven years and they only crossed paths on chance. It couldn't undo all the things that they said about him, or didn't say. Yeah, he knew that he left without saying anything to her. Frank had wanted to, he remembered giving her that apologetic look, but he had been ushered out too fast. Sure he had been ready to go, but that was because before he had known that the conversation where he said he didn't want a part in the family business would get him the boot. But this knew knowledge, no matter how true it may be, it just couldn't undo the years of whatever she had thought about his leaving.
And he could see it in her eyes, her hurt. Frank knew why too. He had abandoned her. Left her alone without saying a word. He hadn't wanted to but that didn't change what he did. He had abandoned her, and if he hadn't, she would be able to hear him right now. She wouldn't have gotten in that accident because she would have been home with him. It was all his fault. And that was another thing that he'd have to live with now. Carry around with him. But at least he got this chance to see her. To hold her.
Feeling her cry in his arms he had to wonder, when all the excitement of seeing him faded away would she choose to hate him? To walk away like he did? He wouldn't blame her if she did so. He deserved it. The way he saw it though, at least he would get to see her. To know how she was doing. And he figured if she decided not to associate with him, he'd at least see her from time to time at school. That would be enough, to know that she was okay.
As she pulled away from him he noticed her begin to sign again, having forgotten that he could not understand it. But he didn't mind. He'd just wait patiently for her to write those words that he shook his head in disagreement at, "If I had been there, you would have stayed home."
Even thought she nodded he couldn't help but frown, That was the truth. It was his fault, no matter what she said. While it wouldn't change the past, the guilt that he felt, he couldn't help but feel it. Knowing that perhaps she was right, but still, everything in him screamed to the contrary. When she wrote those words down, saying that she didn't mind and forced a big smile, Frank would force a weak one of his own.
A moment of awkward silence, or at least lack of communication passed before Frank would ask quite curiously, "Aside from the accident how've you been? What brings you guys out here to the city?"
The second question having that double part, 'why'd you leave?' to it...
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Post by Emma Anderson on Sept 27, 2012 4:59:16 GMT -6
Emma had thought for years, that if only he had been home, perhaps things would have been differently. In fact, she knew they would have been. But she had eventually been able to let go of her anger, her resentment and to understand that no matter what, she was most likely supposed to have ended up this way. It was why she did her best to make the best of the situation she was faced with, instead of trying to stay stuck in the past with it like their parents had.
She wrote out the words, but the look he gave her said that he did not think them true, the motions of his lips only confirming that as he shook his head. Slowly, the smile she was wearing fell. She wanted him to know she was okay, but it seemed like she was once again faced with a situation much like what she faced with her parents....that ever present sense of guilt that never washed away. No matter how much Dad drank, or how much Mom threw herself into her career...it was there forever, and they chose to see it and not the fact that Emma was doing just fine.
Once more she would write down what she wished to say, Mom and Dad have never forgiven themselves either. They still look at me with sad eyes like you are doing. She didn't know if it would perhaps change how he felt, or perhaps give him a new perspective on how it was affecting her, but she hoped it would. She didn't want to always be the girl that everyone felt sorry for, the one that everyone looked at and regretted her life. I don't want to be the one that is always the poor little deaf girl. I want to be Emma. The words written and held up for him to see as she lifted those bright emerald eyes to his own once more.
Then came his question, leaving her curious if her words would have any affect what so ever. She didn't know. She couldn't. She didn't know him, regardless how much she wished she did. She only had her memories and the few things Mom had told her over the years. So, she would just have to wait and see as she turned the page back toward herself so that she could answer whatever he was asking of her now. Though, his question, it gave her a moment of pause, her features shifting into a look of guilt, as well as a further look of pain and sadness.
Slowly, her pencil would begin to sweep across the page, her eyes looking downward to what she wrote and her hair once more falling into her face. Eventually, when she was done, she would do something different this time...she would stare at the words, reading them carefully as if hesitant to "say" what she was about to "say." However, she would soon enough relent to the inevitable and turn the book toward him once more. The explanation to her being here written out in the best way that she could describe it.
Back home, I made a friend and he asked me if I wanted to go out with him. I was so happy a boy would want to date me, since most look at me like I am stupid or slow. He took me out, and we hung out with his friends, they picked a fight on a boy that they didn't like and then when he was left laying in the dirt and bleeding, they ran away and left me. After all, I couldn't hear the sirens. That is why they took me, so I would take the blame. He didn't remember anything, and they had dropped the weapon at my feet. I had seen them talking with their backs to me, but I didn't think it was about that. I got arrested, and thrown out of the private school I was in. Then, no school would take me.
She would lower her eyes and chew on the corner of her lip rather roughly, tears brimming in her big bright eyes, though she fought hard to hold them back as she fought to write down the rest of what she wanted to "say"...but it was hard, because it made her so sad and upset to do so, to even think about it.
Mom and Dad each got jobs here, ones that offered to pay more money. I didn't want to leave home. It was the only place that still had you in it. Still had your room. But they want to get more money and save so that they can make me have that surgery, the experimental one, that maybe can make me hear. Plus, this is the only school that will take me because nobody wants a deaf, violent girl in their school. Too much trouble.
This time, she didn't lift her head when she turned it around, or after he had time to read it. No, she kept her head down and she gave a soft, weak little sob. She didn't like what she had been accused of, and she didn't want that surgery. She was scared, because for the most part, the silence was all she knew. She had not even wanted the device which laid within her open backpack on the ground below them. But she didn't have a say so, because apparently when you couldn't hear, that also meant you didn't have a voice for yourself anymore. Or at least, that was what the world was teaching her. She had to be extra loud to be heard, and so far, she just couldn't be loud enough for her parents to hear her.
With the shame and sadness washing over her, she would tremble just a bit, scared of what he would think of her. Scared to see that false hope in his eyes the same way her parents had it now...the one that was like a quick relief from the guilt but that only proved to mask it. She hated it so much, but again, nobody "listened" to Emma. Nobody looked at her, and saw what she wanted, saw how she felt..They only saw what they wanted to see. As far as she knew, he would be no different.
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Post by The Fearless Sausage Cook on Sept 27, 2012 7:02:42 GMT -6
Frank watched as the smile faded from her face as he shook his head. He did feel guilt because he knew that things would have been different. At the same time though he could wager a guess at what she was feeling. It would be eleven years that she was deaf. Perhaps the guilt and people looking at her differently was getting old. But could you really blame Frank? He had just found out about this. Compounded with the guilt of leaving, not being here after the accident and not having even been in contact for eleven years. It was quite a mix of emotions, when you added everything else he felt. Watching her writing once again he would read when she was done, nodding softly, having been correct in his first guess. She would have to forgive him, it was a lot to take in all at once. Reading her next he would nod and smile, ready to drop it, a hand tossling her hair as he said, "Sure thing Emma."
Though as he dropped his hand to ask his question he would frown at her pain, already sorry he had asked. Waiting patiently as she took a longer time to write her answer down. Hesitance clear, that she wasn't exactly sure what to say or how to say it, one of the two, perhaps both. But there was a simple truth in all of this. It had been eleven years, it was redundant but the point had to be driven home. This was not the five year old Emma he had left behind. She was sixteen now and a lot of time had passed. It was safe to say that right know he knew little about her.
When he read his words his fists clenched a little. Angered that she had been set up like that. That some one would do that to her. Use her because of her disability to get away with a crime. That she got kicked out of her private school and sent her to a notoriously violent school. He still felt bad for her. Hated that what had happened happened. Even if it would have meant that he hadn't seen her, though he wasn't sure how to feel about that. He was grateful she was here now, but not because of the circumstances. He looked at her, soft gaze in his eyes as he uttered the words, "I'm sorry"
As she started to write again he'd wait patiently as he looked at those tears in her eyes. Seeing the sadness in her face. Apparently these eleven years, hadn't been easy on her either, things hadn't been good back home it seemed. In addition to the accident all this other shit was seeming to pile up.
She turned around the pad and he read it carefully. Frowning when he scanned over the part about not wanting to leave home, because of him. The new school, this being the only one that would take her because of being framed. But the surgery, now that was interesting. The one that their parents were saving for. Though she didn't seem too thrilled. His opinion? If she didn't want it she shouldn't get it. Honest truth. He had something to say but she wasn't looking at him, so his hand slowly reached out to lift her chin up to him as he spoke, "If you don't want the surgery, you shouldn't get it."
Frank sighed as he thought of a friend that had died a little over ten years ago, "I had a friend who had a surgery ten years ago. One he didn't really need. It was a skin graft. I was overseas in Afghanistan. We were in the kitchen one morning when the kitchen was hit by a pair of shells, when we were under attack. Biggest attack we had seen. The wall was ripped off and my friend took a few bullets as he was blown half to hell. We weren't ready in the slightest. Long story short. He survived. Then I watched him die on the table for some skin graft to reconstruct his face. Something he really didn't need, but yeah.... So if you don't want to risk it, and you're fine where you're at, so am I."
Frank nodded...
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Post by Emma Anderson on Sept 27, 2012 7:35:19 GMT -6
Emilia Rose was probably the most optimistic person that she knew, but even she had to admit that the sudden flood and mixture of emotions had her doubting almost everything she said, and everything she did. Yet, when he seemed to drop the subject, his hand reaching out to tousle her hair, she would allow a slight smile to again try and curl upon her lips. She wanted to be herself. To be a teenage girl and nothing more. She just wanted to be like everyone else, and though she could not be...something she probably knew deep down...she told herself that she could.
But then he had asked his question and she would not be able to hide her emotions. It was a side effect of her being deaf, she lived, quite literally, with her heart on her sleeve. With her emotions out in the open, exposed for the world to see, if they would just look close enough. She couldn't help it, hell, she didn't even know she did it half the time, it was just her only real way of conveying emotion to others and so, it was more than just a force of habit...it was a way of life.
The words written, she would shake her head when he apologized. I should have known better. ..than to think a boy would really want to date her and not think her some kind of idiot. But she left the last part out, figuring that it was better than getting into a debate in which he told her that she was more than capable of getting a guy. Truth was, Emma didn't see boys as "date-able" anymore. Not that she didn't want to go out on a date, but because she just didn't expect them to see her as such, so why should she? It would just lead to disappointment that she didn't need.
Then, after she had explained about her parents, she had refused to look up at him for fear of what she was going to see in his eyes, yet within moments, his hand came forward to lift her chin upward, forcing emerald hues toward him, instantly training in on his lips as he began to speak. Intently, she would read those words, and yet, with every passing one, she felt a knot forming in her stomach. She wanted to be happy, to be thrilled that he was agreeing with her, that he was supporting her choice...but she knew that it would not matter in the end. Not to mention, now, the fear she already had about them poking around in her brain and her ears was only compounded by the story he told and the thought of possibly dying in surgery.
Eventually, she would pull herself free from his grip, shaking her head as tears spilled down her face. Once more, she would lift her hands to sign, only to stop and release a rather frustrated sigh. Not toward him, but at herself, for constantly forgetting. She was never this bad. But then, she was never having to deal with this much emotion and uncertainty. This much confusion. To be honest, her mind was a jumbled mess of thoughts, memories, stories and possible lies. She didn't know who to believe. She didn't know who to trust. But the thought of him really having walked out without a second thought about her, especially after all the good memories she had of spending time with him....that would hurt so much. But at the same time, to think that their parents had lied to her all these years...that hurt just as bad.
So yeah, she figured maybe she could be excused for her constant forgetting of his inability to understand her. A little mental kick in the butt given before she would flip to a new page in her book and begin to write. I tried to tell them I didn't want the device for my ear. I didn't like it because it made me hear just a little and the stuff I heard was garbled and sounded weird compared to what I remembered. But they didn't listen, and I get in trouble now if I don't wear it. If Mom knew I took it off at school, she wouldn't let me go to the store by myself anymore, or let me go to the park alone.
She paused, and gave a little sigh, once more chewing on her lip, trying to figure out what to say, to explain how things were, and why saying no wasn't that easy. I told them I didn't want the surgery. I like the way I am. I don't want to change. I saw the doctor tell them that it could cause more damage, that it could possibly damage my brain if there was an infection or if something went wrong, because they would have to be implanting a device in my head. But, Mom didn't even look at me when I tried to tell her. She said I was just being selfish and childish. Dad, he drinks a lot, and he doesn't say anything, just looks at me with sad eyes.....when he looks at me....
She nodded, her tears falling a bit harder and starting to turn the page around before pausing to add one last thing in. Something she wasn't sure why she felt the urge to add, but something she just thought fit with everything she had said thus far. They fight all the time now. They think I don't know because I can't hear. Mom is never home. Dad drinks a lot and he just gets more and more angry all the time. I don't think they even notice I am there anymore.
With that said, she turned it around to face him. She knew now that her Dad was starting to yell at her, like he was growing frustrated with her inability to hear him. Like he had lost other places to turn his anger to, and now turned it on Emma. But she didn't say that, because she knew that if anything, Frank and their Dad didn't get along and anything like that would potentially make things much worse. So no, she kept that secret to herself just as she had been since he started a few months ago. Allowing him to know what was written on the page and on her face, nothing more. Wanting to tell him enough as to fill him in, but not so much as to push him away, or anger him. That childish fear that something she did had been his reason for leaving flaring to life, making her terrified of doing it again.
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Post by The Fearless Sausage Cook on Sept 28, 2012 8:17:19 GMT -6
She didn't have to say it for Frank to know the last part of her, "I should have known better" statement. He frowned a bit, but he didn't say anything. She wanted to just be Emma right? While he certainly believed that she was more then capable in getting a guy he was equally as certain that she didn't want that debate. Especially not as just Emma. It was something that he planned on bringing up later, if there was a later. But for now he figured it was the last debate she wanted to have with her absentee brother. And he'd respect her wishes on that one. Now wasn't really the time to rock any boats just yet. He was just happy to see her again after so long. After so many nights in the desert wondering if he'd even make it back for the chance to have her tell him she hated him. But now here he was, and here she was.
When she pulled away after he gave his perspective on the surgery he saw the tears, how could he now? Watching her shake her head as she began to sign again. Her frustration would show as she realized her mistake, though he couldn't blame her for the frustration, or the mistake for that matter. It had been a long time and so wires were crossed. That and sign language was just how she spoke. The confusion of emotions, all around, that was clear on her face. He could tell that she was having a hard time trusting him and he knew why. Perfectly, actually, his introduction of the possibility that her parents might be lying to her and all this coming from the brother that had walked out on her without saying so much as a word.
As she explained to him about the device, some sort of hearing aid it sounded like he let out a little "hmmm" as he thought. Not really sure what to think really. It seemed quite odd that Mom would restrict freedoms based on not wearing a device that seemed to do barely anything at all. Because the Mom that he had know would never have done that. She had always been quite willing to allow him to do what he wanted. To allow him to have his wishes and dreams. To defend him even. But this, this was new to him as well. She was not as he remembered in the least.
As she explained about the surgery, his frown would reappear. He didn't like the idea of this surgery that could do so much damage. That and Emma didn't want it. Frank didn't think she should have it and was already formulating ways to get her out of it. Annoyed that Mom was dismissing what Emma wanted for her own selfish needs. And when she started to talk about Dad, he had it.
Now, Frank's opinion about his Father had been quite low for the last dime of time. To hear that he was drinking a lot now. That he didn't talk to Emma, only looked at her sadly. That only made him even more pathetic in Frank's eyes. Though with her mentioning that he had been drinking at the time of the accident, even though it wasn't a problem when it had happened that didn't matter now. It clearly was, it wouldn't be a hard case to prove that it had been a problem and cost Emma her hearing. Well at least not if you had friends, which Frank did. Some in high enough places to do something about it. But unlike his Parents, he wasn't going to force his help.
Though the look on his face softened as he noticed the tears falling down her face. He hated to see her in pain. He did back in the day, and he did now, especially when everything was beginning to seem so tough for her. Which made him proud of her strength, but still, he wished that she didn't have to be that strong all the same. He would frown as he said that mom and dad fought all the time, saying, "They never use to fight."
Knowing the truth once again. None of this would of happened if it weren't for him leaving. He sighed. There was so much he wanted to say. So much he wanted to take back. But what was done was done. There was no going back. He had to live and move on. Though he would say to her, "If you don't want the surgery let me know. You don't have to have it. I have friends that can keep that from happening. If it comes to that just let me know and it won't happen."
He couldn't really explain much more then that but he waned to offer her a way out if she wanted it...
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Post by Emma Anderson on Sept 28, 2012 9:53:34 GMT -6
Emma was so confused. So lost on what to think, on what to do and how to handle all the information that was being handed to her. She wanted to believe him, she really did. But at the same time, she wanted so badly to believe that her parents would not have lied to her all these years. Either way though, she knew that she was going to be hurt. That she was going to have to face the truth about one of them, and that it was going to really mess with what she had thought all these years.
When he spoke, her eyes would focus again on his lips, nodding a bit as she sighed and turned her paper back to herself so that she could write down her words once again. No, I remember when they used to laugh, and play around with each other. I remember how they always had hugs and kisses and would tuck me in. But ever since the accident, they blame each other, and over the years, it has just gotten worse. Sometimes, I think they blame me too. But when we go out, they act so normal, they act like they used to, so loving and sweet to each other.
She would turn it back to him, to let him read, and then watch as he began to talk about the surgery once more. Oh how she was tempted to ask him to help her. To keep them from giving her the surgery. But she was just not sure that it was a good idea. She didn't want it, but she wasn't sure if she could really ask such a thing of him. After all, there was so much time that was gone between them, so many things that she didn't know about him, so many questions she had for him.
Well, to be honest, there was only one question that was burning a whole in her mind right now. Only one thing, that she needed to know more than anything else in the world. But she was actually kind of scared to ask it of him. Why? Well, that was simple. She was scared to know the answer to it. Yet, once he had finished speaking, she would swallow past her fear and turn the paper back around, fingers gripping the pencil and slowly starting to write the words out.
First, was the response to his offer. Thank you. I will think about it. Right now, I am not sure what to do.
Secondly, would come the question, though her hand would begin to shake as she wrote it. She knew, in the logical part of her mind that this was a silly, childish thing to ask...but, at the same time, that little girl who had stood there and watched him leave just didn't know how to move on, if she didn't know the answer to this question. Did I make you mad that day? When I came in and woke you up? Is that why you left?
Oh, she had heard some of the fight with her Dad, but not all of it, and most of it she hadn't understood. She had only been five at the time. No, she had really thought it was her fault, especially since he never came back after the accident and he never tried to call her or anything. Or so she had believed until today. She had genuinely thought, that he had gotten mad at her, and though her parents had sort of told her why he left, they had always seemed hesitant, uncertain if they should tell her and so she had always thought that perhaps they were trying to protect her from the truth.
Either way, she would find out she supposed, turning the page and those big hopeful green eyes toward him, and waiting. The notepad shaking in her hands as she did so.
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