The Tattered Apron

August on Coney Island

 An early autumn breeze rolled in off the Atlantic, sending a ghostly chill over the island as dreary gray skies filled the air. Lamps were lit in each little cottage that nestled itself beside the sea and worried mother's watched as their husbands and children played in the sand. For it was Sunday - the only day in a week where the majority of the island did not have to suffer the commute to Brooklyn or even Manhattan - and nothing stopped Sunday festivities on Coney Island. Not even an impending storm.

Down the gloomy shores an eerie song rang out.  If two bells ring in the tower of Bray, ding dong, your true love will stray. Birds that sat upon the roof of a white and green home scurried off into the skies and families that once played happily on the beach that had the displeasure of hearing this tune scampered off too. On the porch of that white and green home sat a boy, no older than 6 wearing a wrinkled Windsor tan button down that made the light ginger streaks stand out in his midnight hair. He continued his tune, playing with weeds beside the porch that was once a support to daisies that prior spring.

"Benjamin!" A woman hissed, her messy oak shaded boot heels clicking against the old, creaky floors as she approached the door but remained careful to not take a single step over the threshold. The boy, Benjamin, jolted at hearing his mother's voice, quickly standing and turning to look into the dark abyss of his home. "Dear, how many times 'ave I told you? It in't safe out there," she spoke softly, the slightest hints of an Irish accent in her tone as she stretched out her right hand from the shadows.

With a heavy sigh, the young boy took his mother's hand and walked inside. Walking through that door felt like walking into a musty puff of smoke that clouded your vision and mind. While the woman stayed behind to lock the door, Benjamin ran to the steamed up window, pressing on the ledge to pull himself up onto the old, dark brown wooden chair beside it. He knelt down on top of it, his fingers curling around the edges while his nose practically smashed itself against the glass to watch another child and a man - presumably their father - play near the water.

"Mother, why don't I have a father like all the other children on the island?" he asked, not breaking his focus on the other's happiness. His words caused his mother to shutter, the wooden spoon she once held falling into the pot below as she hovered over the stove, "Because, dear," she said, her shoulders shrugging as she tried her hardest to seem fine for her son.

However, her answers did not satisfy him. Benjamin sat so he could slide off the chair and hop to his feet, running over to her and tugging at the old black gown she wore. The sudden presence of him beside her quickly alarmed her as she jumped and shouted, "He got ill, dear! Back in London," after a steady breath she managed to calm herself. Seeing her child's frightened expression, she knelt beside him and placed his prickly cold hand on his rosy cheek, "dear... Before you were even born. Poor thing."

Her messy crimson hair flooded over her face yet that didn't stop her from soaking in every second he stood there. "A real shame, too. You would've adored him. He would've adored you." she chuckled softly, all he could see of her face was how bright her cheeks had turned at the thought of his father.

"What was he like? Did he look like me?"

"Very much so, love. Spitting imagine, I'd say. He was real brooding, mysterious. He liked to seem tough but I know 'im; On the inside he was nothin' but a giant teddy bear. The sweetest, gentlest soul you could've ever met." admiration rang out from her voice between sniffles, her way of keeping back a wall of tears. "Not as inquisitive as you though, dear. You get that from me." Her finger gently tapped the tip of his nose, causing him to giggle.

It was true, the woman could not provide a father for her son but she still took a great pride in him where most unmarried mothers would be ashamed. Watching her son with almost as much admiration she once gave to his maker as he ran back to the window she found the courage to stand and continue their supper.

"C'mon, dear. Faster you eat, the faster we can go for our walk." Later she spoke, setting bowls full of stew beside silverware on the dining table. The boy didn't budge for a moment until his nose twitched, the scent of his favorite food lingering in the air above him now, "Alright, mama!" His mother watched with a small giggled as he joined her. The two ate in a comfortable silence before, towards the end of the meal, Benjamin places his spoon down loudly in his bowl and looks at his mother again, "How... How did you meet him?"

His words cause her to freeze, stew dripping off her spoon that was lifted midair. Her mind raced, looking for a way to answer his question. "W-Why must you know, dear?" she muttered out, slowly lowering his spoon back to her bowl as now she suddenly felt too sick to eat another bite. "I'm just curious, is all." he replied, leading forward to look under her hair to meet her eyes with his widened brown ones.

With a final sigh, the woman released the spoon from her angered tight grasp and spoke, "C'mon, love," she stood and walked to the opposite side of the room, seating herself in a newer looking rocking chair beside the untouched fireplace. Once Benjamin realized what she was doing, he quickly ran, hoping up into her lap. His upper body nuzzled into her chest as his legs dangled off the side of hers.

Once settled, the woman raised her hand, cupping his cheek in her palm. Her head shakes in what appears to be disbelief, "So much like him," while she spoke the smile could almost be heard in her voice, "Now, dear, what is it you want to know?"

His expression turned sour for a moment, almost confused before stammering out the words, "How am I here?"

His mother laughs with amusement, tucking a loose hair behind his ear, "Well, there was a baker and a man and he was beautiful," her head finally tilts up to see her large, dark brown eyes. Her left arm raises to tuck her hair behind her ear, scars and gashes taken out of her hand. Her face tilted towards the window, revealing large, blustery red marks all along the right side of her cheek and neck, "but she... Oh, she was foolish."