Stuart never cried. He was the one who wiped his tears, until he got old enough to learn how to hold them in.
It's a lesson he's on the verge of forgetting right now. He always preferred to remember Stu as he was when he was a teenager, before the drugs got him. In those golden years when they'd both grown old enough to take their dad, and dish out some of what they'd been taking from him for years. Those few years when they weren't afraid any more, before Stu broke, and tried to hide in chemicals.
Before Gene went to work one day, and got his head blown off.
He presses a hand to his forehead now, and closes his eyes to ward off the ache behind them. It's all in the past. He knows it. He knows it. There's nothing to be done. Except now, he has to face the fact that his mother might not be what he wants her to be either.
'Stop that,' she says, sharp, and Gene's hand falls away from his face. Only she wasn't talking to him. She's talking to Stu.
'Stop it, Stuart. He'll be back in a minute, and you know how he gets if you cry. I've got to get the turkey in, I can't be...Gene, come here.'
The boy walks forward at once. He's unresisting as the car is taken from him, though he does look at it longingly when it's chucked on the bed. Their mother pushes the flannel into his hand.
'Look after your brother. He'll tell you what to do. I need to sort dinner, unless you both want cheese sandwiches for Christmas?'
She doesn't look back as she walks out. Gene watches himself standing there helplessly, and yes, OK. He remembers this bit. He doesn't need to see any more.
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How did he not remember that?
Stuart never cried. He was the one who wiped his tears, until he got old enough to learn how to hold them in.
It's a lesson he's on the verge of forgetting right now. He always preferred to remember Stu as he was when he was a teenager, before the drugs got him. In those golden years when they'd both grown old enough to take their dad, and dish out some of what they'd been taking from him for years. Those few years when they weren't afraid any more, before Stu broke, and tried to hide in chemicals.
Before Gene went to work one day, and got his head blown off.
He presses a hand to his forehead now, and closes his eyes to ward off the ache behind them. It's all in the past. He knows it. He knows it. There's nothing to be done. Except now, he has to face the fact that his mother might not be what he wants her to be either.
'Stop that,' she says, sharp, and Gene's hand falls away from his face. Only she wasn't talking to him. She's talking to Stu.
'Stop it, Stuart. He'll be back in a minute, and you know how he gets if you cry. I've got to get the turkey in, I can't be...Gene, come here.'
The boy walks forward at once. He's unresisting as the car is taken from him, though he does look at it longingly when it's chucked on the bed. Their mother pushes the flannel into his hand.
'Look after your brother. He'll tell you what to do. I need to sort dinner, unless you both want cheese sandwiches for Christmas?'
She doesn't look back as she walks out. Gene watches himself standing there helplessly, and yes, OK. He remembers this bit. He doesn't need to see any more.
'I want to go.'
He stands up, and rounds on the ghost.
'Take me back.'