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lonely-lost-soul · 3 years

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Little Fox

(C!Fundy x Reader)

Request 12: Hey if you're making a request, do you do c!Fundy? If so, can I get a Fundy x half fox shapeshifter!reader where fundy finds an injured full fox!reader, and takes her home to patch her up without knowing that she's a shifter ówò? Context, the reader can shift into three forms: full fox, half and half(fox legs, tail, ears, fangs), and fully human. Thank you have a blessed day!!!

Requested By: Anonymous

Moving away from L’manburg or what was once L’manburg was one of the best decisions Fundy has ever made. Did it get lonely from time to time, sure, but at least he was finally at peace. He was away from his ghost of a father and away from the drama of everyone else fighting and the looming sense of death that lingered over everyone that lived in the once-prosperous nation. It was quiet and he was happy to be left alone, well, mostly alone. There was one exception, a snow-white fox that trotted around his house from time to time, curious (e/c) watching him with intent. He had always felt a connection to foxes considering he was part fox, he hated seeing them hurt or starving or treated with disrespect, so he kept them around. However the white fox didn’t seem to pay him any mind other than silently watching and wandering around his home, he started placing food out for the fox. This went on for a few months until one night something felt off. Fundy kept glancing out the window, almost like he was expecting to see someone but no one popped up until he remembered his little buddy. He didn’t know why it sent him so on edge, it was just a random arctic fox maybe it was the way the food was left untouched or the pull he felt to go the woods, but he grabbed his coat and stepped into the forest.

The first thing he noticed was the small animal prints littering the snow, there seemed to be some sort of scuffle. Worry entered his veins and his ears pressed flat against his head, he journeyed deeper into the forest and noticed little droplets of blood. Fundy adjusted his hat nervously and followed the blood droplets, crumpled on the ground in front of his feet was a blood-stained fox. The once pure white coat of the fox was stained with red splotches a big gash was torn from its side, Fundy felt nauseous. The wind seemed to blow against his exposed ears, almost urging him to pick up the fox and take it home. He reached out and picked the fox up in his arms and held it close, the wind blew again, his eyes widened a little in surprise, the wind seemed to whisper a thank you.

Back at the house he laid the fox down on his couch and began to patch up her wounds. Hopefully, she wouldn’t attack him in the morning, be too freaked out, he wrapped the bandages around the wound stopping the flow of blood. He just prayed his foxy friend would be alive come the morning light. Fundy flicked the lights off and went to sleep in his bedroom, even though all the windows were shut and locked tight he still felt that odd breeze tickle the tufts of his ears. ‘Take good care of her’ it seemed to whisper, his heart thudded in his chest as he snuggled under the covers. The morning sun streamed through his windows, blinding the hybrid slightly, he groaned loudly and sat up in bed. He ran his sharp nails through his hair tussling it a little bit, trying to calm the rat’s nest down. As snapped to consciousness fully when he noticed footsteps coming from his living room, very human-sounding footsteps. Fundy tensed and hopped out of bed storming into the room, a dagger in hand. He let out a startled shriek seeing a beautiful half-naked young woman standing in the middle of the room. However, he couldn’t even focus on that, he was more focused on the snow-white fox ears that sat atop her head, the fluffy tail behind her, and the fox-like legs.

She was like him.

“Fundy right?” She sent him a crooked smile, sharp fangs very visible, making him feel all types of things. “Names, (Y/n) and you saved my life last night.”

“You- Fox?! but- human-” His hands tangled in his orange hair mentally trying to come to terms with the fact that he had probably saved a forest spirit. “No shirt!” he sputtered feeling soft hands take his own, he noticed a smile on her lips, their eyes locked together,

“I’m a shifter. A pleasure to officially meet you.” He felt you squeeze his palms and he swallowed thickly,

“Shifter?”

He watched you nod tail swishing from side to side, you were very happy to be talking to him it seemed, Fundy felt oddly honored. “I have three forms! Full fox, half fox, and fully human,” You explained holding up three fingers on your hand. “Usually full fox is easier but as you can see,” You motioned to the bandages covering your chest, “it’s not without risks.”

“Hold the phone you’re telling me the fox I’ve been feeding-”

“Yup! That was me!” You giggled as his cheeks went red, “I appreciated it.”

“I gave you dog food! I’m so sorry, oh my god!” He sputtered out completely mortified by the situation. You let out a roaring laugh, it was very reminiscent of that of a fox but he supposed that, that made sense. He watched you dip your head and nuzzle underneath his chin, once again he felt his entire face burn red, your ears were so soft, the fur tickling his chin.

“It’s okay, I didn’t eat any of that. Just pretended.” You reassured lifting your head to once again meet his eyes. “Soooo...you gonna tell me your name? Or should I just call you handsome?” He felt the blush spread down onto his neck,

Oh no, she was so cute.

“Fundy! I’m Fundy.” He nodded more stiffly than he wanted too suddenly very aware of how close the both of them were to one another. You blinked after a few minutes peaking around his shoulder, oh shit was his tail wagging? A bright smile spread across your cheeks “Laugh it up okay! Not every day I get to have a cute fox girl nuzzle against me alright!” Your ears fell flat against your head, he watched pink spread across your cheeks, score.

“Cute?” You meekly whispered you pulled away a little to grab at your tail shyly, “Thank you.”

He was going to die, you were going to be the death of him.

After that first encounter, you, the real you, had become a staple of his life. You had moved with him a few days after showing your more human form to the hybrid. You knew how to cook which made him swoon, it tasted divine, he was tired of being alone. You made him feel like he still had hope, you were his family now even after only knowing you for such a short amount of time. There was an odd sort of bond the two of you had, he was happy to have someone understand him, on a level that no one has ever been able to before, especially not his father. Days rolled into weeks and weeks turned into months, it was about eight months in when Fundy finally confessed to you.

You’d spent the day away from home, in your full fox form, saying you needed to stretch your legs and Fundy let you go. That didn’t mean he wasn’t a mess all day worrying about your well-being all day, he barely could get anything done, so when he saw your white fur streak through the trees that night he knew you were home. He ran out onto the stones of the path and called out your name, he watched your ears twitch and turned towards him. He felt his tail begin wagging ecstatically and he could see yours begin to do the same, you charged headfirst towards him shifting as you run, as you arrived he held out his arms and you jumped right on in them. He felt your arms wrap around his neck as he lifted you into the air. He spun you around as he laughed,

“I missed you, Dee!” You purred out happily leaning back a little bit in his arms, he still held you above the ground.

“I missed you too Dearheart,” Fundy whispered looking up at your sparkling eyes it was then, with your white fur shining in the moonlight that he realized he was in love with you. “(Y/n)?”

“Hm?”

“Can I kiss you?”

“Please.” You breathed out softly, cheeks pink, ears twitching, “I’d like that very much.”

So, he did.

Two years being together of being together was finally when Wilbur- or ghostbur- decided to visit his son. You were outside in the garden, tending to some of Fundy’s vegetables deadset on using some of the fresh ones to make soup for tonight. You were in your human form so you didn’t get your white fur covered in dirt, so you didn’t hear the ghost coming close to the house until he was leaning over your shoulder.

“Hello!”

You screamed like a little kit throwing your basket through the ghost who shivered at the foreign feeling.

“Sorry, sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you!” The ghost apologized adjusting the round glasses on his face. “I heard my son Fundy lives around here but I must be mistaken!”

“Are you...you’re Wilbur aren’t you?”

“Oh! You’ve heard of me! Was it my music, please say yes!” The ghost’s eyes seemed to sparkle with hope, he shrunk a little as he watched you shake your head, “oh…”

“I’m-”

“(Y/n)! I heard you scream, you alright?” Fundy peeked his head out the door eyes going big seeing his dead father standing beside you. Wilbur looked between the both of you before a tiny smirk spread across his face,

“Ohhhhhh, I see now.” Wilbur nodded watching his son’s face go red, “My little champion is all grown up! With a beautiful human to mind you!”

“Er...not exactly.” You mumbled, allowing your ears and tail to pop up from your head, Wilbur’s jaw dropped in shock and awe.

“She’s like you!” Wilbur gaped reaching up to touch your ears, you flinched a little, and Fundy snarled at his father. “Sorry, sorry,” He pulled his hand back with a sheepish smile Fundy finally walked over to the both of you, pushing you behind him only slightly.

“What’re you doing here dad?” His voice was gruffer than you’ve ever heard it, his tail was puffed up in a way you’ve never seen before from your boyfriend.

He was on edge.

Wilbur shuffled a little fumbling with a piece of something blue in his hands. “I just wanted to check up on my son. No one’s heard from you for a while we’re all getting a little worried. I love you so-”

“Dad.” He groaned pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose pinching it, “look. I appreciate you’re all worried but I’m happier here.”

“But you’re all alone out here! It’s not good for anyone’s health, especially not a young fox!”

“Excuse you?” Your eyes narrowed in offense, “I lived out here all my life.” You bristled in frustration, “I turned out fine.” Wilbur eyed you warily and Fundy squeezed your palm tightly, “I did!”

“I didn’t mean any offense. I’m just looking out for my son.”

“No offense but I think he can look after himself just fine.” You shot right back and Fundy covered up a surprised laugh, “So far so good. Plus he’s not alone, I’m with him.” You squeezed Fundy’s hand rather tightly, as Wilbur glanced at your intertwined hands.

“What she said.” Fundy nodded his head, “we have each other and that’s all we need. At least for right now. So try not to worry too much.” He waved his dad off, “Now if you don’t mind we have dinner to cook.” Wilbur gave a hesitant nod before turning back to look into your eyes,

“Don’t hurt him.”

“I don’t plan on it," You assured nodded your head you both had a brief staring contest before Wilbur said his official goodbyes and headed on his way. “I’m sorry,” Fundy watched your ears fall flat against your head.

“What for?” Fundy’s brows furrowed in concern, “He was being an ass, you had every right to defend yourself. Plus I hate him so.” He shrugged unbothered, “I love you though.” He pecked your cheek and you smiled shyly.

“I love you too Dee.” You spoke softly, pulling him close by his jacket, his tail began to wag enthusiastically.

“Kiss?”

“Kiss.” You nodded standing on your tiptoes to give him a long kiss, he purred tangling his fingers through your hair. You pulled away much too soon for his liking and let out a low whine, you giggled happily and peppered his face in light kisses. “Fundy?”

“Hm?”

“Let’s get married.”

“What?”

~~~

Next Up: Immortality and Nymphs Part II

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goldeneyedgirl · 4 years

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Fic-Mas Day 2: In Another Life

Oh my gosh! Thank you so much for the lovely response :D I’ve got bad allergies tonight and I’m babysitting a puppy post-surgery, so no long message, just onwards with Day 2.

Day 2. In Another Life

(This was/is a part of an anthology fic called ‘The Only Girl in the World’, and was basically just a lot of different ways Jasper and Alice could have met, and how fate helped or hindered them. I also want to make it completely clear that Alice is a human child in this fic, and there are no romantic or sexual undertones, implications, or subtext.)

The new neighbours have finally arrived.

The Brandons live outside of town, and it has been forever since the Hawkins’ left. Not that anyone was surprised - there are enough ghost stories and rumours to keep that house empty forever.

There’s a line of pine trees that seperate the Brandon house from the old Hawkins’ place. Other than the orchard, the rest of the land belongs to the new neighbours now.

“Where are you going, Mary?” her mother is in the kitchen, consulting a cook-book. Caroline Brandon is the consummate housewife - consistent, resourceful, and bored out of her mind raising two daughters outside of a small town. Neither Caroline nor Michael Brandon have told the girls that they’ll be getting a brother very, very soon - even though nine-year-old Mary and seven-year-old Cynthia have already taken note of their mother’s bulging stomach.

“To see the neighbours!” the cry summons little Cynthia, and both girls start their charge towards the Hawkins’ place. They are almost mirror images of each other - sturdy Cynthia, and bird-boned Mary; Cynthia’s blonde curls fall effortlessly to her waist, and Mary’s stick-straight black hair hangs around her shoulders. Cynthia wears a pink-striped dress and matching shoes; Mary wears ancient fairy-wings over a rainbow leotard and a long skirt, her feet bare.

Through their mother’s flower garden, and around the vegetable patch; over the low stone fence and through the orchard to no man’s land. They climb up the old viewing platform - their father says that it used to belong to hunters, and they need to stay off the rotten old thing, but they have no other play structure, and the temptation is just too much.

“Are they there? Are there kids?” Cynthia asks, bouncing.

“They’re there. I think they’re all grown ups,” Mary squints through the plastic binoculars they have stashed up there, in an ancient lunchbox. “Come one!” They are both nimble little girls, and have climbed up and down the platform hundreds of times; each foot hits the bolts they use as steps with certainty and speed, and then they are off, through the long grass, to see the mysterious new neighbours.

Crossing over the border, it is like another world. Everyone knows the story of the Hawkins’ mansion: a man built it for his wife, and their children kept dying. They said the youngest child, Arabella Hawkins, was mad and roamed the house at night. All Mary knew was that Mrs Hawkins had been taken away in an ambulance, and that Mr Hawkins was found asleep in his car one morning, and the police had to be called.

But the house was exquisite, under years of neglect. The fountain and gardens, ready to be loved again. The Victorian mansion of at least three floors. Mary Alice couldn’t imagine how nice it was inside.

She could see the new people unloading the truck, and hurried across the gravel to see them closely.

“Hi,” she blurted out, standing barefoot on the gravel, at the adults suddenly staring at her. “I’m Mary, we live next door. She turned around to see Cynthia lingering shyly behind her. “That’s my sister Cynthia.”

They are staring at her, as if she is quite strange. There is a lady there, wearing a pretty sweater, who smiles so nicely at her.

“Hello Mary, hello Cynthia,” she says. “I’m Esme Hale. This is my family.”

Mrs Hale is sweet, and asks them a lot of questions as the rest of the family unpacks; Cynthia takes a shine to the lady, and jabbers away about the new baby, about Halloween and Thanksgiving, and that they want a puppy for Christmas.

Mrs Hale appears equally as enchanted by Cynthia - that’s not strange, most adults love her little blonde sister. She watches boxes and covered furniture been carried into the house, and the gravel bites harder into her cold, bare feet. It’s just an ordinary moment, ultimately forgettable. Except it isn’t. And she’s still too little to understand the intricacies of everything that has happened, has been seen and said and felt.

They leave soon after, with Mrs Hale promising them cookies next time they come over; Cynthia is delighted, but she has a terrible sweet tooth. With a wave and a smile, both girls dart back towards the tree line. Mary doesn’t know why she looks back, but she does, and see a man and woman staring at her from the garage, and frowns.

That night, she dreams of the blond man coming to their house - its nighttime, and Thanksgiving, because she’s wearing a stupid dress with fall leaves and turkeys on it. She knows the new baby is there, and everyone is in the dining room laughing and talking. He smiles down at her, and whispers something to her.

And she takes his hand. Then she’s in a car; her backpack is at her feet, and her plush rabbit is in her lap. She’s wearing her best winter coat, and she’s not at all afraid. She’s warm and sleepy. When they stop, he buys her waffles and hot chocolate, and he looks at her so sadly. She’s happy though. Well, until he takes her to a public bathroom and cuts her hair off. But it’s only hair, and she doesn’t blame him.

They find his family at another house; this house is wooden, like a ski lodge, and he seems surprised to see them there. They yell a lot, and she hides in a bedroom upstairs.

That’s when Mrs Hale comes to her side, and shows her the news. She sees her mother screaming and crying, she sees a lot of police. Her photograph on the news. Her ugly Thanksgiving dress fished out of a dumpster at the gas station.

The Hales talk about returning her, and how she’ll keep their secret. Mrs Hale puts her to bed, and kisses her cheek and promises her it will all be okay.

She doesn’t even stir when he lifts her from her bed and leaves with her again. She wakes up again, and they are in a truck, driving fast. He just keeps saying he’s sorry.

She doesn’t care. She likes him. He is so peaceful and safe to her eyes. And during their travels, he is kind. He buys her food and makes sure she is warm and clean. Few people give them a second look, but the few that do, she dismisses. “My name isn’t Mary. It’s Alice, and he’s my brother.” He buys her fake purple glasses, a sketchbook, and a new coat for Christmas. They sit on the front of the car, and she eats pizza out of a box and look out at the festive lights on Christmas Eve. He takes her to a church, and she says a prayer, and then they leave again.

He is taking her to Alaska, he tells her. She’ll be safe there. She doesn’t know what he’s protecting her from, but she trusts him. She doesn’t tell him she feels sick, that she’s hot and cold all the time, and it doesn’t matter. She shouldn’t be sick, she knows that. Some part of her knows this is how everything is going to be fixed; that someone has made a terrible mistake (not him), and this is how they try to put it right.

She dies in his arms on the side of the road on New Year’s Eve. Her mouth tastes like blood and everything is floating. It hurts to breathe. His red eyes stare down, desperately at hers, and she wants to reassure her that she understands everything. Not in a way that can be put into words, but she does. That she is nearly ten years old, but she feels much older and would never ever have told anyone. That this life is all wrong, and that’s why she has to go to heaven.

His family won’t be mad for long, they’ll welcome him back. They’ll never, ever ask him about what happened to her - even when they find out he has kept her stuffed rabbit.

She wants to tell him all of this, but she can’t, so she closes her eyes and snuggles closer to him, and fades away from the world.

When she wakes up the next morning, she knows her fate. She knows which clothes to pack into her backpack and to tie a ribbon from her bunny to her bag, so that when he climbs in her window, he won’t forget Bunny. She leaves her back right next to the window.

Binoculars. She needs her binoculars.

Her rubber boots pinch a little, and if her mother finds out that she’s running around in her pyjamas, she’ll catch it. But she treks across the snow to the old hunting structure, and climbs up.

It’s just happenstance, bad luck, and maybe a reprieve for a haunted man. The crack sounds like the branch from a tree going, and suddenly she can’t catch her balance and then there is falling and pain and stillness as the rotting wood finally gives out. The only metal pole that was holding the wood in place pierces her chest and makes her feel hot and cold at the same time. One of her boots has come off or torn or something. She’s all ice and wet from the snow. She can’t breathe or cry or scream or talk.

It will be hours before she is found, nestled in the wreckage, with a starburst of blood around her. There will be yelling and screaming, and emergency services everywhere, and her photograph will end up in the newspaper. There will be some speculation whether she died from her injuries, or froze to death. But it doesn’t matter - accidental death is accidental death, however you frame it. Her mother will never understand the clothing in the backpack, or the ribbon tied to her favourite toy. Her father will throw away her fairy wings and broken binoculars. And Jasper Hale will never kidnap the little girl that made him feel hope, and run away without a plan.

She lies in the snow, and she is frustrated and sad. This wasn’t supposed to happen. She wasn’t supposed to be a little girl when she met him; he wasn’t supposed to be so desperate.

She wasn’t supposed to die alone.

But she does anyway.

#twilight fan fiction #twilight fic #TwilightFicMas2019 #Alice Cullen #Jasper Hale #alice/jasper #my writing #fic: the only girl in the world #WIP

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whimsicalworldofme · 6 years

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In Five Years Time

A little over five years have passed since the end of the war and Poe and Ava’s rescue of Ben from the Republic prison, and life is good.

(This is it guys. The final chapter. It’s more of an epilogue really. Anyway...thank you for reading my story! It’s been really fun the last two months, posting things and seeing your reactions in real time. I’m glad we’ve shared this adventure together!)

Word Count: 1977

Content Warnings: None

As the warmth of Spring washed over Paxis, the residents of the city of Organasville turned their attention to their fields. Temmin had managed to build an increasingly successful farm which started to employ more and more residents as the size of the fields grew. It wasn’t easy work, but everyone saw it as work worth doing. Snap Farms fed the entire city most of their fruits and vegetables. And he’d expanded to dairy animals and meat birds, though never Porgs, which had become popular pets among the children. Chewie’s flock of them which had snuck back from Achtoo had started to become a problem but the children on base loved them and kept them as pets. That too had in turn become a big business for the people of Paxis.

Ava’s family hadn’t escaped the Porg obsessions. All of the Dameron children had one, except for Poe and Ben, who at only two months old, had no need for pets. Poe had been right that they would fill their house with kids. Seven months after they rescued Ben, they’d welcomed little Kes into the family. He was Poe’s son through and through, from his vibrant brown eyes and cocky smile, to his risk taking and limitless affection. A little over a year later they had Rora, quiet and gentle like Ava but commanding and firm. And then the second set of twins, boys this time. Both Poe and Ben had had their reservations, giving the twins their names, but in the end, Ava won with the argument that since she’d suffered the excruciating pain of bringing them into the world, she was going to pick their names. It was hard to tell the littlest boys’ personalities yet. They were both clever, that was for certain, and quiet, which was welcome. Rora had been quiet too, which was a very nice balance to the riotous, raucous ways of their eldest siblings.

That afternoon, Ava was planting their family garden. Temmin plowed the patch in their backyard for it each year when he plowed his own fields and it had been sitting for a few days just waiting. The problem was wrangling the children to help. Kes didn’t want to wear shoes. Rora cried because she didn’t want her Porg, Sir Screech, to be left out even though Ava explained to her red-faced child that Sir Screech would eat the seeds and therefore couldn’t come. Leia and Shara had opted to spend the day working with Poe, Ben, and Luke in their workshop. They had named it Dameron, Solo, and Son, and their reputation had spread through the Republic as being the best place to get speeders and light ships. Leia had taken a shine to the business side of things, the negotiations, making sales, while Shara really enjoyed the actual mechanics of building and repairing ships.

“You’re going to have to change the name when the girls are old enough if they decide they want in on the business,” Ava teased Poe.

“So, we’ll change it,” he beamed. “Dameron and Solo Family Ship Builders Has a good ring to it.”

Poe had gone completely grey in the past five years which prompted a lot of good-natured ribbing from both Ben, who wasn’t grey at all, and Snap who had gone grey himself. But Ava liked it and insisted that he shouldn’t dye it even though it was an option he sometimes considered.

“I don’t know,” he had stood in front of their bathroom mirror that morning, brushing at his curls with his fingertips as though looking for any remaining strands of jet colored hair. “You don’t think I look like a geriatric?”

“You aren’t even forty,” Ava slipped her arms around his waist and kissed his cheek. “And grey is very sexy on you.”

That had resulted in a very…physical affirmation of just how sexy she found him, which delayed the whole process of the morning. It wasn’t until after lunch that Ava marched her little troupe of helpers out into the garden to show them how to plant the seeds neatly in their little rows. She’d caved on Kes’ demands to go barefoot but Sir Screech was notably absent, though Rora just sniffled at the injustice.

They had hit a stride about ten minutes in though it was slow going, since her kids had a million questions and felt the need to go slow and lay the seeds individually and just the right way. Kes’ attention was shot though when Finn came over, holding hands with his four year old daughter Hannah, a little girl with her mother’s vibrant brown eyes and her father’s tight curly black hair in three buns running down the middle of her head, and on the other side, toddled his two year old, Lee, who had his broad nose, round cheeks, and brilliant smile.

“Mama Uncle Finn is here!” Kes shouted gleefully, standing up straight and pointing. “Hi Uncle Finn!” He stopped pointing and waved instead. “Hi Hannah! Hi Lee!”

“Kes whatcha doing?” Hannah called back. “Daddy I’m gonna go see Kes.” She stated before letting go of Finn’s hand and running to her favorite friend and catching him up in a hug. They always greeted each other like they’d been apart for years, even though they saw each other pretty much every day.

“We’re planting seeds. I’ll show you how,” Kes took Hannah by the hand and went to the next row with his little packet of seeds and began to instruct her on how to plant like his Mama had said.

“Afternoon, Sis,” Finn kissed her on the cheek when they hugged hello. “Hope you don’t mind a few extra hands. Though I don’t know how much help we’ll be,” he chuckled.

“Well we’ve already had two tantrums and a meltdown this morning,” Ava laughed. “So, nothing can really hinder us much more. And we love having you here. Hi Lee,” she bent down and tickled the little boy’s tummy, making him giggle.

It took another hour and a half to get the whole garden planted and Ava was grateful that it didn’t take any longer because the children’s attention and energy were both vanishing rapidly. Ava insisted that Finn and his kids come inside for a snack before sending them home and sending her own kids up to their rooms for a nap. She checked on the babies, who were under the careful watch of C-3PO. Luke and Ben had come up with a new program update for him to help him pick up on social queues a little better and to understand babies’ needs. Ava still didn’t leave the babies with him long term, just when she had to go outside and couldn’t bring them with, or if she had to run into the city, which had grown up from the original base. Otherwise she had Finn and Rey watch them.

With the kids napping, Ava had time to work on ideas for the next lesson she was going to teach her Jedi students. She and Rey had taken on a few more students in the past few years. There wasn’t any political or social motive for their doing so. They simply agreed that if there were people out there in the galaxy who suddenly found themselves able to connect to the Force and they wanted some guidance, someone should be there to provide it. Six whole families had come in the last two years so that one of their members could learn to control their connection. She’d planned out some exercises and started on dinner by the time the rest of the family arrived home.

BB-8 and R2 zipped right into the living room, alongside Shara and Leia, to join Kes and Rora who were making little cities with building blocks. The babies were in little bassinets where Ava could see them just outside the kitchen.

“Honey we’re home,” Ben snickered, announcing their arrival as he came around the corner from the foyer, followed by Poe and Luke. They smelled of grease and oil and were all utterly filthy. She had gotten used to it though. She enjoyed when her men came home after a long day of working together. They were always so pleased about what they were working on and loved to talk about their most recent projects.

“How is the new speeder coming?” Ava asked, smiling as Ben kissed her on the cheek in greeting. He had changed so drastically for the better in the last five years. It had been countless sleepless nights of staying up with him through the nightmares. Endless days of building his confidence and ensuring him that they wanted him there with them. They assured him regularly that his past was in the past and it seemed now he finally believed it. There were still days when the sorrow hit, when he thought of Han and was torn up with guilt, or Leia and felt a sharp emptiness consuming him. Being surrounded by his family helped.

“We’re trying to increase the max speed on it,” Ben scratched his head and went to the sink for a cup of water as Poe stepped forward, kissing his wife on the lips.

“The engine is meant to go faster but the frame is dragging it back,” Luke added. “We have to find a way to compensate for the weight without losing some of the size and features.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” she assured him, reaching up and ruffling his hair, which prompted him to groan slightly but he smiled. “Why don’t you three go get cleaned up. Rey and Finn are coming with the kids for dinner in about thirty minutes.”

“Uncle Ben,” Rora scuttled into the kitchen and grabbed Ben by the hand and tugged at him to go back towards the living room. “Come play with us. You can put the top on the tower,” she pointed at a high, narrow, teetering stack of blocks. “Please?” She pleaded, pulling his arm.

“All right, sweetheart,” Ben laughed. “I’ll help with your tower but then I need to go wash up.”

“Come on, Uncle Ben!” Kes waved eagerly for him to get over there as he added another block to the top of the tower, watching it teeter slightly.

“Mom can Jaina come over for dinner?” Luke asked, filling and then gulping down a cup of water.

“Of course,” Ava beamed. “You know she’s like family.”

“Pushing,” Poe cautioned under his breath, holding her from behind.

Jaina and Luke had officially begun dating a few years prior and while nineteen was young still, Ava was hoping to add a daughter-in-law permanently to the family in the near future. Luke had a level head on his shoulders and plans for his future. He’d become a fine young man and Ava was excited to see what his future held, unaffected by war.

“I’m going to go shower,” Luke ignored the commentary about his relationship, set his cup in the sink, and hurried upstairs. The little kids kept playing. Ben fulfilled his promise to Rora and completed her tower before ducking into his own room to shower too.

“Twenty years ago, when you asked me to marry you the first time, did you think this would be the end result?” Ava asked, leaning against her husband, enjoying being held in his sturdy arms. He kissed her on the cheek and sighed in contentment.

“No,” he admitted. “I never expected seven kids. Definitely didn’t anticipate Ben. Or having an adopted brother, his wife, and their kids living next door. I don’t know if I ever really expected anything other than war for the rest of my life. I hoped. But this is better than anything I’d hoped for. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

“Yeah?” Ava turned around, smiling.

“Yeah,” he kissed her happily.

The End

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barkley-col-blog · 5 years

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Earthstar fanfic chap 1 cont.

cont... I’ll post a possible start to Earthstar Book One, Passage, in a few pieces. I only know of books three and four, but this starts with Ariat before he starts traveling and shows up in Soucy’s Book One. Hope you like it - let me know if you know the Earthstar series or remember other characters.

When Ari got home his father was sitting at breakfast, eyes still puffy and hair still sticking out at odd angles from bed. He could hear his mother working in the family plot behind the house where she tended the smallest possible amount of vegetable and an award-winning flower garden. Riad’s roses were especially prized. They were the size of dinner plates brilliant purple, and blood-orange, a pure green that faded to lagoon blue in the center that she called dragon’s eye. She had roses so white that they lit the garden at night and hurt the eyes in direct sunlight. And she grew roses of every color that were no larger than chicken’s eggs; Backwater girls would pay two half pence just to put one in their hair, or on their dresses for special occasions. Also, they would get to talk to Ariat, awkwardly, when they came by. Artas saw him looking out the back window.

“I always tell her, you can’t eat flowers, woman! But you know, it makes her happy so we allow it, right my friend?” He looked to Ari as if his mother’s eccentricities were a burden they both shared.

“No father, you just want the oranges.”

Artas’ face darkened even as he bit into an orange, his favorite food that he finished every meal with. Riad kept a small grove of fruit trees so rare for Backwater they could not win awards, there was nothing with which to compare them. Long ago, she had convinced Artas that the roses were needed for good fruit. “Something about bees and pollination,” he would say dismissively for the rest of his life in order to explain his odd wife to company.

Artas returned comfortably to his politician-and-father voice. “You’re to go to Tom Smithson’s. He has work for you today. No time to wash-up and not much water besides. Best be on your way.” Tom Smithson was not particularly popular. When taxes went unpaid, Tom made housecalls on behalf of the government.

“You’ll have me act the public servant with the farmer’s in the morning and chase down debtors in the afternoon? Are you trying to win or lose this election?” He regretted his last words. Brough and Kemp would have laughed at such a comment, not Artas. He stood.

“Listen to me, boy. You don’t want to do the work of a man but you speak to me like one. I can still tan your hide and you are no one to be scoffing at a day’s work. Your mother… Tom’s work is necessary, important. Tom collects taxes, taxes go to our king, the king keeps us safe. Who cares if some piss-ant Backwater dirt farmer doesn’t like it? Too bad. Understand?”

Safe from what? He wanted to tell his father about Brough’s hilt-for-a-sword but thought better of it. He never should have provoked Artas in the first place.

“Yes, father,” was all he said.

“Good. Now go. I’m plenty busy without managing you.” As Ari slipped out the door, his father called after him, “And watch your damn mouth!”

Ariat took his time walking from his house to downtown, which meant that he walked to the end of the street and took a left. Backwater was a single square of four long streets. One corner was occupied by the homes of those wealthy enough to live in town: merchants, politicians, smithies, millers, clothiers, and tax collectors; the other two streets held the few shops, government buildings and Backwater’s two alehouses, and third alehouse that was more than an alehouse. The house was often full but no one was ever seen entering or exiting from the street. The rear of the house had a high fence that blocked it from view of the town square. Everyone in town used the fountain for drinking and washing. Everyone in town pretended not to notice to looking fence in the northeast corner. Boys who punched holes in the fence to peer through one night would find their efforts patched and filled by the next day. Ariat was more interested in the square. There was nothing to see but some chickens, sheep, and a tall plain fountain with water running out four spigots in each of the cardinal directions. Ariat had been told that a knight’s tournament was once held on the square when King Adira II had passed through, or Adira III, or possibly King Onwe. The story changed, no one living had seen the tournament. It didn’t matter to Ariat, he could only imagine what armor looked like much less two knights in armor on plated horses charging at one another across this field occupied by calmly grazing sheep.

Ariat knocked softly on Tom’s door thinking that if Tom didn’t answer he could leave. Tom answered without delay, however, calling Ariat into the small, clean office. He had always been perfectly pleasant when Ariat reported for duty, likely because he was staying in to send letters of notice while Ariat did his legwork. And no one lived farther out of town than the man Ariat was sent to.

“The Star-Geezer?” Ariat exclaimed despite himself when Tom handed him the slip.

“Yes,” Tom said as if it was wholly uninteresting, “and his name is Lord Hubbard. He may be delinquent on the king’s tax but still wealthy. Close your mouth, you look like a fish and it’s making me hungry.”

“You expect me to collect his taxes?”

“The king’s taxes, son.” Tom always said ‘king’s taxes’. He said that people see his face when they think of losing money, the least they could do is not connect his name. It did not work. “I’m told the Star-G…Lord Hubbard is very genteel and perfectly hospitable. It’s just so far-” he trailed off and busied himself to end the conversation. Only as Ariat was walking out did Tom call, “Don’t come back without all of it!” and then start whistling to make it clear he was not expecting dialogue.

The day was hot and Ariat was soon sweating in his leather pants. Once out of sight of town, he took his boots off and walked in the sharp, dry grass grasses alongside the path. He had never wanted to leave Backwater, but he often dreamed of interesting people or things coming to him. For his whole, though, there was only one interesting person in the whole village and Ariat was now going to ask him to please pay up. As he slid his feet through the grass he remembered good reason to be even more embarrassed. He had heard a dozen stories about the night Star-Geezer appeared in town and saved Artas’ life. Artas never spoke of it, but nearly everyone else in town did. Ariat’s family came to Backwater before he could remember for a ‘political appointment’ as Artas called it. Last year, Ariat had finally thought to ask why Artas had to run elections for an appointment. He didn’t get an answer but he get told to start gardening for town council members, running errands for Tom Hill, carrying water to the town elderly, and helping farmers in the field. Appointed or elected made little difference. Artas’ affable nature, and willingness to change nothing in town life, had gained him fast friends in Backwater. One night at the Balehouse, or perhaps the Plowman depending on the telling, a stranger had gotten rough with Artas about his king-granted home and his “sweet wife.” By all accounts, Riad, was at home. After words were exchanged, a blade was drawn. The blade was between four inches and four feet long, the man was a dwarf or a giant and weighed between two and six stone. Everyone agrees though, Artas was a moment from death, the two men squared, Artas with no weapon but pleading words when a voice said blithely, “You should have come prepared assassin.” All eyes turned to the strangest of strangers at the door. A few say that he was wearing pants, and a robe, and leather armor, and a cloak, and a rain cover on the cloudless night; they say he had one gauntleted hand and had hooves for feet. Only Ariat believed such things, because he desperately wanted to think something so strange could have occurred in his own town. Most people say simply that he was wearing all the right things but still looked wrong. As Brough had put it, “He looked like a farmer who had never dirtied a hand.” From the doorframe the man who would become known as Star-Geezer spoke again, “It’s time to go.”

The assassin began, “I came prepared - ” but when he lifted his hand he wasn’t holding the blade. Star-Geezer was turning it over in his hands, studying it.

“Interesting markings…Well,” he said, looking up, “it appears you’ve brought a beer to a knife fight! Good sirs, I believe you all can handle this situation. I’ll be just beyond the hill if needed. Goodnight.” He passed back out the door and the crowd turned its angry attention to the now unarmed man who had just threatened their beloved councilman.

Thinking on these events for the hundredth time brought Ariat right to Star-Geezer’s squat cube home, all alone on the infertile side of Root Hill. Water never crested over the hill.

He put his boots back on quietly, took a moment to survey his surroundings and knocked on the door. Star-Geezer answered. He was taller than Ariat remembered from the few times he had seen him at a distance. He had also thought of him as being a gaunt old man but the Star-Geezer who answered the door was far more robust. His dark black hair was only touched by grey and he had trimmed it recently as well as his beard. He wore a loose tunic and riding breeches, though Ariat had neither seen nor smelled a horse. Despite his strong, youthful appearance there was no doubt he was Lord Hubbard, the Star-Geezer. His black eyes locked onto Ariat with bold shining white centers as if they reflected the lenses of his seeing glass. Ariat had to remind himself that he existed.

“I’m here for the…king’s taxes,” he heard himself say.

“The what? Come on, get inside now.” Ari stepped into the cool dark home. Most of it sat in shadow except for the reading table directly below the East facing window. “The what?” he repeated, now behind Ari.

“The king’s taxes!” Ari said louder, in case it was a hearing problem.

“The king? Is that what Tom is calling himself these days? Better not word of that get about, eh?” He chuckled to himself and turned a slow circle. “Well, it’s here anyway, the money. Come in to the table. I don’t live so close to town, I know. Would like something to drink?”

Ari meant to say ‘No’ but instead he said, “Yes please, tea would be nice,” then he remembered himself and added, “Ah, and where might the payment be?”

“Tea, splendid idea,” he disappeared around the corner into a kitchen. Ariat was getting ready to shout the question when Star-Geezer called, “It might be under the hill with your potatoes! It might be that I turn my coins into stars and every night I’m simply keeping an eye on my vast fortunes! Or, it might be behind the toilet.” He went silent after that, apparently listening for some reaction from Ariat. Then he stuck his head out from the kitchen, “Guess which.”

“It’s behind the toilet.”

“Clever, boy. It’s behind the toilet!”

“Will you-”

“No, I won’t. Go fetch Tom’s gold.”

Back outside and around the side of the house stood Lord Hubbard’s toilet shed. Ari pushed the door open with his toe and stepped into the space. Sure enough, one of the short panels in the wall, just below the toilet seat was a disguised wooden box set into the wall. Ari never would have noticed it if he hadn’t been looking for it.

Stopping outside of the outhouse for a quick minute, he opened the box. It was so heavy. He found it as full as possible with gold. One of the pieces would pay three year’s taxes. He thought about taking a small piece for himself but the cunning of Star-Geezer was not to be trusted. When he re-entered, Lord Hubbard was setting the tea down on the reading table.

“Did you find it?”

“Yes, I have it.”

“Good, good!” He sounded both relieved and proud of Ari for fetching something from his toilet. “Bring it here. Ah, this – no this one. Here’s is more than sufficient coin for Tom. So, did you take one for yourself?” his tone was purely curious without any accusation.

“No, of course not.”

“Why not? I have plenty. You could have taken one outside. I’d never know.”

“I didn’t. I swear.”

“Alright. So why not? Because stealing is wrong and these don’t belong to you?” He hefted the box so the coins chunked heavily inside.

Ari looked at him for a long time, sipping his tea, which had the right amount of leaves, hadn’t been over-boiled, and had some other pleasant taste Ari couldn’t quite place. “No,” he said finally. “Because I thought you’d know and you scare me a little.”

“Good. It’s good to be honest. A boy your age doesn’t know right from wrong, only fears getting in trouble. Stealing is wrong unless you want to impress your friends or a girl. Then, it’s just a prank, right?”

“Right.”

“Right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m a lord, actually.”

“Yes, m’lord.” They sipped their tea. Ari didn’t know what Lord Hubbard thought of him. At least he knew when his father was angry. As he was casting about for something to say, the tea bloomed in his mind and he thought aloud, “With all that money, why have you delayed paying the king’s taxes? Do you disapprove of the king?”

“No, not particularly. I just wanted to see you.”

“But it’s Tom who collects delinq- late payments. How did you know I would be sent here?

“You call me Star-Geezer in town, do you not?”

After their talk of theft, Ariat did not consider lying. “Yes, you are called by that name in town.”

“I like it. Well, I look at very far away objects with my seeing glasses. Some people who do what I do forget how to see what’s right in front of them but I see close-up things with great clarity and detail”

“Yes, m’lord.” Ari did not understand. “Why would you want to see me? You know me not. Is it about the election?”

“Politics don’t concern me. I want you to ask me a question, any question.”

“I’ve asked several, I hope I’ve not gone over my limit.”

“No,” he smiled. “We have talked and you have asked for clarification. But now I want you to ask a question.” It seemed important. Ariat thought hard on a single question worthy of the time of astronomer Lord Hubbard but all he could think of was the question he’d always wanted to ask since the day he first heard of Star-Geezer.

“Is it true that you have mirrors on top of mountains that allow you to watch the galaxy of the Mezostar?”

“Do you think that I can look at suns?”

“I don’t know.”

“Come outside,” he said springing up. He snatched a seeing-glass from beside the door and hustled outside. By the time Ari had sipped his tea once more and walked outside, Star-Geezer had the tripod fixed to accommodate Ari and the seeing glass pointing directly at the sun.

“Come, look.”

“At the sun?”

“Yes, you wanted to see galaxies.” He hadn’t said that. He had simply been asking if Lord Hubbard had seen them. But he had never looked through a seeing glass before. Stepping up, he put his eye to the glass and felt it immediately start to burn. Vision went from red to black with all white stars searing his eyes.

“Gods!” he cried, reeling back.

“Do you see it? Do you see the galaxies? Ha!” Star-Geezer was beside himself laughing. He’s no sage, just a crazy old man. He and Ari calmed down from their respective hysterias.

Star-Geezer looked controlled when Ari asked, “Why did you do that?”

“You did that.”

“You told me to.”

“And, do you do everything you’re told?”

“I trusted you.”

“You can trust me. But you can’t trust any man, including myself, when he’s telling you to stare at the sun, juggle swords, or tie a rock to your belt for swimming. Besides, you asked me a question but I answered a better one.” ----- rubbed his eyes and couldn’t remember what his question had been. Star-Geezer continued, “Suns and stars are the same things except that you can look at stars. Men are lovers of light and we like to believe it brings truth, but you can learn much more by gazing into the darkness.” He watched Ariat for a quiet moment before clapping his hands and adding, “And there’s no such thing as star-gazing at mid-day! Ha!”

“I understand, m’lord.” He understood – this is what happens to unsuspecting tax collectors.

“No, you don’t but that takes time. Unfortunately, I must be off. I’d like to give you something for your troubles.”

“No thank you, m’ lord. I have what I came for.”

“Not yet,” and in his hand was a coin. It was gold on the outside, platinum in a middle ring and a clear stone was set in the center. He pressed it into Ari’s hand. It almost filled Ari’s palm, the largest coin he’d ever seen.

“This is too much. I mean it, I can’t have this”

“It’s yours.”

“It can’t be mine.”

“See?” Star-Geezer smiled broadly. “You are wiser than you know. It is not yours, but you will keep it, for now. You cannot spend it, and your possession of the coin will be our little secret. Yes? You will keep it and tell no one?”

“I will.” Ariat knew he spoke the truth.

“Excellent, young sir. Now hurry back to Tom, I have much to do.”

He disappeared through the front door, leaving the seeing-glass on the lawn. Ari stood for a moment gazing at the coin. As his eyes roamed over the inscribed gold he realized, lemon. The tea was flavored with lemon; his mother kept the only lemon tree in Backwater, probably in all of the Powder River Valley. He kept his hand on the coin in his pocket as he hurried back to town.

#earthstar ariat bookone lordhubbard

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refusemyreality-blog · 6 years

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Doin’ Good, Anon

“I cannot even tell my boss I grew up in a mobile home,” she says to me. She’s my sister, not quite three years my junior.

She’s at the top of a large non-profit in DC. She still shops at thrift stores, buys groceries at Aldi, and drives used cars. Her thrift is #TBT. It’s a matter of pride to pare down our closets and pay five bucks for a nice jacket. It’s a gift from our mother who garage saled, goodwilled, resaled us through childhood and adolescence. We grew up “kind of poor,” like one pair of flip flops for warm months, one pair of quality mary janes for church during the school year. When we ruled the trailer parks, rugrats on bikes, we wore twenty-five cent knotty knit jumpers from garage sales or my hand-me-downs. It comforted me to be stacked three girls to a bedroom.

My sister and I had one authentic Cabbage Patch to our names. The third one of us got one my mom made from a kit. Cute as ours but not the brand and it did have that funny nose- two little upraised handlebars instead of a pert little nose. My sister’s had a funny name though. She could have sent in adoption papers to have it changed, but she kept it. At least the sister with the handcrafted patch doll got to name her own.

We each had stuffed animals of our favorite type. She had a mother-child monkey set. The baby sucked its thumb. All other toys were in the shared pool: battered tin kitchen set, Fisher price put-together train, riding horse, mini-tupperware dishes, fake food and grocery cart, plastic record player, Muffin Family Bible storybooks, and a box of cast off dresses for costuming.

Mom cut coupons on Sundays after dad picked out the parts of the paper he read with us on our orange swivel chairs in the living room. We’d help her organize them on those rare occasions she let us. Every morning, mom brushed our long locks into tight ponytails and trimmed the ends in the bathroom of our trailer (Baby curls trimmed by yours truly in great-grandma’s white bathroom while our parents were visiting. My mother discovered it the next morning and never let me forget that the gorgeous sweat curls around my sisters’ faces had be shorn away by me. Like I’d absconded with their beauty and made them plain jane white girls too early.)

I was the oldest of seven kids (eight if we count the one wasn’t born). Most of them came home to the trailer and several came in seventeen months succession. (Them winters was cold?) The big fat break between this sister and me is one of the longest. Almost three years, because mom was sixteen when my dad knocked her up. They married a few weeks after he graduated high school. While she finished up her junior and senior years, my grandmother babysat me. My parents cleaned up before this sister. They quit toking up, smoking, found Jesus and moved into a bigger trailer across the street.

This sister has a MA in Non-Profit Development from a swanky Philadelphia private university. She’s newly minted on the board of an East Coast private college in her denomination. She keeps her hair in a bob that she never has to curl. She barely blows it dry. She wears almost no makeup except black mascara to emphasize her eternally thick long lashes. She looks exceptional in a scoop neck shirt because she has thin broad shoulders that make her clavicles stand out. That’s a white girl beauty standard.

She carries herself like a queen. She’s barely been in debt since high school. She’s a saver, not a spender. A half-glass of wine makes her tipsy so she rarely drinks. She’s never smoked. Her skin has always been flawless except for that one well-placed beauty mark.

People say she and I are alike. We share traits. But not beauty. I’m thicker in the face. I have dad’s nose and everything about his side of the family. Bulbous nose, dangerous incisors (they’ve been ground to look more normal but still stand sentry in front of all my other teeth. We were too poor to get the traditional American braces. This makes me relate more to the Brits. Mind my gap.) I have narrow shoulders, thick bones, mousy brown hair that gets nappy on the underside. And zits, still.

I’m over forty and I still get zits. In high school I slathered them in toothpaste all night (some brute pranked me and said toothpaste would dry those red bumps. They only grew.) During the winter I smeared orange foundation from Big Lots over them. In the summer I baked them in the sun, then slathered more orange foundation on them.

But it’s not the variation in beauty that matters. It’s her comment.

“Why? You raise money for poor mothers and children.” Her organization gets women off the streets, provides medical care, connects mothers and children to basic assistance along with housing and education. I thought our upbringing motivated, at least in part, or that it would give her cred.

Granted our poverty is not like the women of color she raises money to help. We grew in Rust Belt white urban poverty. My mom organized and handled the church food pantry so she could work for the with government cheese and donations like endless pints of Ben and Jerry’s Chunky Monkey, dented cans of vegetables and freezer burnt gas station sandwiches that we ate once there were six of us. (Gardening to feed six kids? She’d have to crazy on caffeine. She gave up on gardens after two years of building a house while home-schooling the lot of us.)

We were never homeless. We had a safety net. My grandfather owned the trailer court. He gave my parents “free” rental space in exchange for tapping my dad for snow plowing, road work and cement laying on my grandfather’s schedule, of course. (Um, yeah, I’m gonna need all day Saturday to help me lay cement for.... Sigh. My father just wanted a day off. Maybe that’s why he volunteered to lead worship, Saturday night church school, the youth group and a crap ton of outings for our church.)

When dad got itchy to get out of the trailer life-- Quote: “I don’t want boys coming to pick my daughters up for dates in a mobile home park.” -- grandpa gave my mother her inheritance of five acres of land and we moved into a camper for nine months so my parents could build the house. Not have the house built. No. They built it. The aunts and uncles and grandparents and church folk kicked in so we could have a real house.

So we grew up thrifty, boot-strappy, bleeding heart volunteering-types. Most of my siblings work with at-risk populations. Two work with addicts who have mental illnesses. My dead sister worked with high school girls in lock-up till she had kids and couldn’t afford daycare. Her husband works with teens on disability. One sibling is a nurse. Another sibling a programmer who adopted two kids with physical disabilities from the Philippines.

I teach at risk high schoolers. Most of my students have failed so many classes or grades they are just waiting on eighteen and the right to drop out. The ones who stay have babies, parents who are dependents, crippling anxiety and depression or other mental illness, full time jobs, a history of missing thirty or more days of school most years, or physical illnesses or disabilities. Almost all of them grew up in need. When my assistant principal pitched the program, she recruited me because we both grew up white poor. I didn’t want to say yes. Teaching general education high schoolers is daily triage. And, I would be aiming right for the hardest luck cases.

My other grade level teachers begged me not to go to the program. I tried some hang-ringing and soul searching and self-cajoling because this group of kids takes all my energy, but I couldn’t say no. I grew up around these kids, with single moms who have bad chunky highlights and don’t use the helping verbs before participles because they speak Hoosier. I might have been one, but I had what many of them don’t- a lot of breaks: my parents stayed together, my mom and dad kicked the TV out of the house and made music, talk radio and books our entertainment, then mom home-schooled us (with a rigor that surpasses most elite private schools, like “You will read the ENTIRE history textbook, answer all the questions and ace those tests. I don’t care how boring it is. Oh, and yes you will do thirty algebra-trig-geometry problems a day. I know you are cheating on the evens because the answers are in the back of the book and you didn’t show your work. Do you think I’m stupid?”).

We had a healthy diet, mostly. My mom and dad gardened a big ass garden and my mother canned most of our vegetables for years. She sweated with the pressure cooker and the bulging veins of a constantly pregnant woman while shooing us outside to either A) shuck the corn so she could freeze cobs, B) ride your bikes and stop letting all the cold air out. Do you think we are air conditioning the neighborhood?, or C) swing on the swings, go the park or just disappear peacefully for a while because I’m canning while a baby is attached to my boob.

Just after three pm, my father arrived from the warehouse. We’d spy his orange VW Rabbit coming down the road and run into the house slamming the aluminum screen door several times in succession and scream as we ran down the hall to “hide” so we could jump him as soon as he entered the house. Dad’s return highlighted our day. He’d shrugged us off after a lot of giggling and my mother chewing us out for waking whichever baby was sleeping. Saturday nights, after church, when we had popcorn and ice cream were the sanctioned “attack dad” nights. We throttled him with our pillows while he tried to tickle us. He laid on the ground while we beat him and he crawled at us threatening to tickle more than achieving it. Just the threat of his tickle made our sides hurt from laughing. Then he’d lay there, tossing us up and over his head in a twist, time after time until the butter brickle ice cream high, from servings the size of a tub of margarine, wore off.

The next morning, he made us pancakes and fake maple syrup and took us to church where we slept off our sugar haze during a two or three hour song and sermon service. In the middle, we saw some Pentecostal action- flags waved, people dancing in the spirit, blowing a shofar (an animal horn), and getting anointed then “slain in the spirit.” In other words, we had extraordinary loving parents with a great work ethic and a network of friends who spoke ancient tales and metaphors to embed in us all the advantages that working poverty can offer. Most of my students lack those safety nets.Our poor life wasn’t perfect but it was good. I keep thinking it was a life worth living and one worth telling.

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