Talented (On Hold)

Chapter Nineteen

This chapter is dedicated to Willowshade101, for giving me the “motivation” I needed.

Chapter Nineteen

            Connor blinked, looking around. This wasn’t what he had expected. Where was he? And where was Alina? He was standing on the landing of a house. With a sharp intake of breath, he recognized where he was. This was his old house, before… he knew what was happening. This was his memory. This was the night. He walked forward, peering over the edge of the railing. Beneath him was the entrance hall, and he could hear voices coming from the kitchen. A little boy stood in front of the door, his ear pressed to it. He seemed about six, and he was wearing long, batman pajamas.

Connor ran down the stairs, taking them two at a time like he used to. He came to stand next to the kid, and looked down at him. The little boy looked miserable. Connor waved his hand in front of the kid’s face, making sure that the boy couldn’t see him. He was worried that since the kid was him, he might be able to see him, but the boy didn’t move. Connor followed the kid’s example and pressed his ear to the door. Through it, he heard arguing. His mother was screaming at his father, yelling at him for never paying attention and not caring. Connor’s dad was arguing, saying that he didn’t know what she was talking about, but even the young Connor could tell that his words were only increasing his mother’s fury. Suddenly, he head footsteps heading toward the door. Connor sprung backwards as the younger Connor ran, quickly hiding himself in a closet and pulling the door almost shut, leaving just enough open to see through. Connor considered hiding too, just out of reflex, but caught himself just in time. What was the point? They couldn’t even see him anyway.

The door was thrown open and Connor’s mother stomped through it. She was wearing a short, black dress, and her red hair, as curly as Connor’s, was frizzy, as it always got when she was angry. She was about thirty.

His father followed closely behind. He was older, in his mid thirties. His brown hair was still perfectly done, gelled back without a hair out of place despite it being nearly midnight, and his suit was crisp. “Honey, be reasonable!” He called.

“No!” His mother yelled back, her voice nearly hysterical. “I’m leaving. And don’t worry, I’m never coming back! One less thing for you to worry about, right?” She hiccupped, throwing open the door.

Connor’s dad made a last ditch attempt to stop her. “What about our son?”

The last words that Connor could hear as she disappeared into the night were “I never wanted a child anyway!”

The image changed, something which was becoming annoyingly familiar. He had now figured out that Alina was probably with him, so he hoped the next memory wouldn’t be too bad, or at least not as bad as the first one. As the image reformed around him, he glanced around. He was standing in his father’s huge office, right next to his younger self. The little boy, this time about eight years old, was shifting from foot to foot nervously, though his face was defiant. His father was sitting in his huge, high-backed chair. His fingers grasped the chair’s armrests, and a paper lay in his lap. Little Connor’s eyes stayed on the paper, on the letters etched so permanently in its surface. One letter in particular, actually. The big, black “D” next to the word “Math”.

His father picked up the report card. He held it out. “What’s this, Connor?”

Connor shifted from foot to foot. “My grades.”

His father scowled. “You know that’s not what I meant. Whet’s this?” He pointed to the “D”. “How is it that a son of mine gets such consistently low grades?”

Connor crossed his arms. “Math doesn’t matter anyway. All of this is so useless.”

The man stood, rising out of the chair to tower over the child menacingly. “Of course it matters! These things, these mistakes, they stay with you your whole life!”