AN: I wasn't old enough to understand My So-Called Life when it came out but saw it when I was older and I loved it, still do. Wish there were more shows like these that weren't flashy but had a kind of simplicity that yet spoke so many words. This is a future-fic that I had in mind, don't know when it will be the next time I update (although I should have the first real chapter out soon) but keep on the look out. Same goes to my other stories, I try to update but you know how life is. Enjoy!
Title: Life, it Happens.
Chapter 1: The Adison Household of Two - Introduction.
My mother always told me how her parents, my grandparents, would sit in bed next to each other and read. Right before they went to bed. Of course this was all told to me cause she tried to do that with me as she put me to sleep but it was said with a sad smile.
"Think of it as mother-daughter bonding time. I can read you can read until one of us yawns so big we now it's time to really tuck in," she said to me as crawled into bed with me, her eyes shining with tears and her quivering smile, desperately trying not to cry.
I was seven at the time and my father's death was still lingering in the dry air that surrounded us. It was my father, Thomas Adison, who read to me as my mother prepared my things for the next day. It was my favorite time of the day as both my parents smiled and laughed as I got ready for bed, as my mom took out my clothes looked over my homework and watched my father read and sometimes sing me to sleep. He owned his own music shop, Adison Records and Strings. It was a shop him and his college buddies opened up when I was 5. Three grown men tired of being lawyers and needed real fun, or so they would say. So they opened it up and it was my favorite place in the world.
As I stared at my mom as she laid next to be reading The New Yorker as I pretended to read Green Eggs and Ham I knew she was doing it for me. When I learned about my father's death, I didn't utter a word as I tried to understand what had happened. One minute I'm at the kitchen table eating Spaghettios with my mom, both wondering where my father was. Unanswered phone calls were beginning to put my mother on nerve as she called everyone who might know where he was. Then there was a knock as I was slurping up my food as my mother ran to the door. I continued eating even after I begin to hear my mother cry as what I guessed were the police officers breaking the news to her that my father was hit my drunk driver on his way back from work. She was unconsolable as she gave big inhales as she struggles to breathe and the officers had no choice to help sit her down and I hear my mother in between sobs:
I heard footsteps as a tall skinny man with a bump in the middle of his noise pulled the chair out in front of me with a scrape. I stared at his bony fingers with the hairs on his knuckles which led me to count (or attempt to) every hair on his ear, nostrils all the while I continued to eat.
"What's your name?" he asked me.
I looked up from my plate, "Emma Penelope Adison."
"Pretty name," he said with a cough.
"Thanks. What's yours?" I asked with another mouth full.
"Uh Officer Benjamin Banks," he answered as he folded his hands on the table.
"Oh," I continued looking back and forth from him to my plat and distinctly hear my mother asking the other officer to call my grandma Patty. I heard the beeps from the phone as my grandma's tired voice answering and then blocked out the rest. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew what had happened; why exactly my father wasn't home and why Officer Benjamin Banks was sitting in front of me at the moment.
"Officer Benjamin Banks, you want some spaghettios?"
Everything else was a bit of a blur. My mother finally calmed down as my aunt and uncle (my mom's sister and husband) came rushing in. The officers left at one point and I never really left the table until my mother told me it was time for bed.
"Mind if Uncle Brian reads to you?" and I responded with a nod as I took my uncle's hand and led him to my room. I didn't bother changing as I crawled into bed as he pulled the blankets over my little body and he read me my book until I fell asleep.
The next day it seemed everyone was home as my both my grandparents where there along with my mother who's eyes were swollen red along with the purple bags under her eyes that contrasted against her pale skin and dyed honey brown hair. I had walked downstairs on my own as I stood in the kitchen doorway feeling the harsh cold floor sting my bare feet.
My mom looked at me and cleared her throat trying to get rid of the grogginess, "Emma, sweeties, I need to tell you something."
And she broke the news as I sat on her lap and felt her thin weak arms hold me body almost as if she was protecting my from her own words. I hugged her back as my heart broke and cried but not once saying anything. I was mute the rest of the day never leaving my mom's side needing her. Knowing she needed me.
She brought up the idea of us reading next to each other the day after the funeral and I agreed. I think it was cause she wasn't comfortable with taking over my father's role of reading me to sleep. Her idea was helpful cause I needed her next to me as I slept and some mornings I would wake up to see my mother fast asleep next to me.
Now I'm fifteen. Eight years later as I sit next my mother on the couch in our two bedroom apartment, the night before my first day as a sophomore at Liberty High School in Three Rivers, Pennsylvania the hometown where my mother Angela Adison (or as pen name goes Angela Chase). We moved here when I was nine as the memory of my father was everywhere as we lived in Philadelphia and I agreed. It was hard to leave everything behind but it was for the best.
"Oh your Uncle Howard called and said they got the new counter in today," my mom said as she abruptly looked up from her lap top.
"Cherry Red or Midnight Blue?"
My mom smiled, "Cherry Red. Or as he said electric Cherry Red. He says it makes the store look much more sharper or whatever."
My mother gave a snort as laughed, "He did actually say that."
"But the shop doing good"
"It is," she answered with a nod. "Adison Records and Strings is as successful as ever. We got a uh great following uh customers you get the point. I was thinking of going up for a weekend staying with Danielle and Brian check up on things, how about it?"
"Yeah that would be great, I miss them all. I miss the store too!" I said as I looked up from my magazine.
"Me too. But I need to see when exactly and check in with work,"
"Alright sounds good," I smiled as I turned back to my magazine with a smile.
"Wait a minute. Are you reading Cosmo?"
I smiled up at my mother, "No..."
"Emma! This is to, to mature!"
"Mom calm down it's just a magazine I'm not about to use the 101 sex tips on my imaginary boyfriend," I laughed.
My mother gaped at me trying to form a sentence. "Rayanne gave you the magazine didn't she? And don't joke you're going to give your poor mother a heart attack."
"Oh mom don't worry. We don't need to have the talk...again. The first time was awkward enough. I am a virgin, no boyfriend so no worries. I'm fifteen that stuff is not going to come up anytime soon."
"It's just that your a sophomore now. And you're beautiful way faster developer than I was at your age and that doesn't help the situation cause when I was your age... they were pressuring times so if you ever feel pressured..."
I hugged my mom as she stopped mid sentenced, appreciating her but at the same time not wanting to get into the sex talk. "Mom I trust you and if I ever need advice on anything I will go to you don't worry."
"How did I ever deserve such a good kid?" She said as she kissed my forehead.
"I love you mom."
"Love you Emma."
"Wait a minute who were you pressured by?" I gasped with a smile.
My mom glared at me as she got up from her seat, "Well look at the time, it's time for bed," she rushed as walked to her room.
"Mom!" I laughed as looked back at her.
"Night honey!" she winked as she closed her door.
My mother was a mystery at times. She told me stories about her teenage years and how they were confusing as hell. She told me about her friends and family and insecurities and her college years and my favorite were the stories of her and my dad. Every now and then she would tell me something (like the pressuring one that just happened) but were so vague and didn't make sense. I've seen pictures of when her hair was dyed crimson glow and her outfits from baggy over-alls to the plaid shirt or floral dress and I could go on. I would ask her about them and she would just smile and say "It was the nineties and I was 15, can you blame?"
My mother was a writer. She went NYU and studied English and Creative Writing. She had a way with words as she expressed herself. Everyone says I get that from her. I wouldn't say I was as articulate as she is but we do share the passion of literature. And writing. And words. she works at a publishing company that she has to commute to back in Philadelphia and does some free-lance stuff for the local paper here.
She did everything she possibly could when my dad died. She sheltered me, possibly to much as times, trying to save me from the world. She was both parents and did her best to put our lives back together after that night, days, weeks...year(s). She still is at times and doing one hell of a job. It took time to heal and maybe it's something you can never really move on from. We are stable who cherish the memory of my father deeply. But it's hard but we got through it.
But I was never able to eat Spaghettios ever again.