Half-Forgotten Childhoods - Memories

Post of the Month - May 2007

by James Markson

ON:

Patterson: OK so either this is a joke I'm not getting or at the least I'm missing something.

Markson: You finished the analysis.

Patterson: Yup, just checked a few of the genetic markers, all that you can with a tricorder scan. But it was enough to convince me they're your skin cells. Did you find them on a dog or something, because otherwise it's a bit late in life to be discovering you've got skin.

Markson: Thanks Sarah, you don't know how much this means to me.

Patterson: You've got that in one, but no problem I guess.

She closed the comm. link.

The Lieutenant Commander had just finished pulling on his uniform when he noticed the slim figure standing at the doorway, her long hair wet and tangled.

James: *smiling at the sight of her* Good bath?

There was a non-committal shrug and murmur in response.

James: Hold on a second.

He slid past her into the bedroom and rummaged around in the back of a drawer by the bed. He retrieved an old brush from it and handed it over to the girl at the doorway. James watched her.

James: Do you want me to brush it for you?

She had stopped short of raising the brush to her hair, and now ran her index finger along the handle's edge. It was a carved handle, shaped in the likeness of a thick rope, but in stone, its dark surface cold and smooth to touch. The rim of the brush continued this theme, and the whole brush seemed one short length of looped rope, knotted at the end of the handle. It was one of those things he kept in a bag at the back of the drawer, a reminder of a half-forgotten childhood, of a time when his mother would take the time to use such things, when he would whine at the delay as she tidied his bedraggled mane. It was a thing not appreciated at the time, but now wrapped up within the rope of the brush; a memory tied away and almost forgotten.

<<9 years previously>>

James: Yeah of course it's great to be home, not like I'm not enjoying myself at the academy, but you know.

He trailed off. He always had to choose his words carefully with his mother. Given the slightest excuse she would find something to be concerned about. Perhaps it would be best if he just changed the subject before he was guided into turbulent waters.

James: So how are things here? You didn't say much when last we talked over the phone.

Mother: Well there really wasn't all that much to say. Everythings going fine. Your father has got it into his head that it was a good idea to buy us a yacht for our anniversary, so he just went ahead and did it as usual. I really don�t know how often we're going to be able to get down to Dartmouth to use it though. So far it�s just sat there. I don't know if it's safe to take Sophie out in it, especially since we haven't had many calm days so far this summer. Your father insists there's nothing dangerous about it but I'd rather not risk it to be honest. And I don't want to leave her here alone so I don�t know when it'll actually be taken out.

James: Well I�m home for a week, and the wonderful weather can�t last forever. I can stay and look after my little sister and you can take this new boat out.

Mother: Are you sure about that?

James: Yeah really it's no problem. I've hardly got to spend any time with her at all what with being off at the academy all this time. It's bad enough that I've missed all but one of her birthdays.

Mother: *smiling* Alright then, I'll talk to your father and we'll probably go out tomorrow.

<>

His parents had indeed left that morning, and it was now lunchtime. James had already been out for a walk with Sophie, and had ended up carrying her back when she had declared she was tired. She seemed to love being tall and was constantly reaching up to brush her hands through the overhanging leaves over the paths they walked on. They had stopped by the river and she had wet her feet standing in the shallow water. Before she had put her tiny shoes back on James had dried her feet with his shirt. Now it lay outside on the patio, drying on a deckchair. James stepped out through the French windows into the dappled shade and called out.

James: Sophie. Foods ready.

Only the birds answered with a flurry of tweets, obviously not interested by his offer as they fled from the top of the oak tree at the sudden breach of the quiet. James had left Sophie sitting in the garden to sort out some lunch, and when last he had looked out through the window she had been lying on the grass, picking daisies and buttercups. The wooden table in the sun caught his eye. There was arrayed in white and yellow two tidy words. The picked flowers spelled out, 'FIND MEE'. James smiled at the two Es. She had managed to make him feel eight again, when similar games had seen the passing of many a summer day with his younger brother. At the academy it was all about responsibility, about maturity and reliability. Now he was home, food could wait a few minutes while he looked for his baby sister. Throwing the tea towel back inside onto the kitchen table he looked around the garden, over the dappled shade underneath the old oak tree, the rope swing swaying gently in the breeze. A giggle reached his ear and he turned to look at the rose garden, and see a brown amidst the red and yellow, disappearing around the side of the house. James vaulted over the railing by the side of the patio, and the small flowerbed on the other side of it, his trailing foot brushing through the tall lavender before his bare soles touched the springy lawn. He set off at a sprint, unhindered by his shorts and with the sun on his back. Once at the roses he paused and looked around again. The ajar back door caught his eye and he ran to it, following a noise up the stairs.

James: Come out, come out, wherever you are.

Another giggle, this time from James' own room.

He slowly pushed the door open, and found her sitting on his bed, running a brush through her hair as she grinned at him.

James: I found you. Want to have some lunch now?

Sophie: I'm brushing my hair first.

James: Do you want me to brush it for you?

Sophie: Alright.

She pressed the brush into his hands as he sat down beside her and sat up expectantly. James studied it as he ran it smoothly through her silky hair, and for a long time they sat in silence.

James: Is this your brush.

Sophie: Yesup. Mum got it for me on my birthday.

James: Yesup?

Sophie: Mum says 'yes' and Dad says 'yup'. I say 'yesup'. It annoys Mum though.

James laughed.

Sophie: I like you brushing my hair. Why are you never home?

James: I'm at Starfleet Academy training to go on starships.

Sophie: That's what Mum said. Are they like the ones on the news? Like the Enterprise?

James: I doubt I'd get on a ship as good as the flagship, but yes, like that.

Sophie: So that means even when you finish at Starfleet Cadyme you won't come home.

James: Probably not.

James had finished brushing Sophie's hair and now ran his index finger along the handle's edge. It was a carved handle, shaped in the likeness of a thick rope, but in stone, its dark surface cold and smooth to touch.

Sophie: Do you like my brush?

James: It's beautiful.

Sophie: I can give it to you, then you can remember me when you brush your hair. That's what Mum said on my birthday. But I see her every day and you don't see me.

James: No, I couldn't do that. It was your birthday present, and besides, I hardly ever brush my hair, its too short.

Sophie: But why can't it be your present as well? Pleeease?

James: Alright, but if you want it back you just have to ask me.

Sophie: I don't. Now you have to write to me every time you brush your hair, and I'm going to get lots of letters.

James: But we can have lunch first, c'mon.

A few times in the next few weeks James had sent letters, but then as tests came down on him they subsided to a monthly affair, and then yet more sparse. But he kept the brush.

James looked at the small girl, now not quite so small, in the doorway as he straightened his uniform and attached his pips.

"No, I can manage on my own."

OFF:

Lt. Cmdr. James Markson
Chief Flight Operations Officer
USS Pacifica