A little more

A continuing of a past post: https://mementomori07.wordpress.com/2013/11/19/not-much/

Growing up, his mom had told him many a story about this city. Once, she had taken him here, when he was much younger. He could not remember much of his trip. Or about his mother. He hated that. He loved her so much, but yet could barely remember her voice. If it hadn’t been for her love of pictures, he may not even remember what she looked like. No stories, no special talks. His oldest, clearest memory seems to be the summer after her death. His Father just told him he would not be staying at the house that upcoming fall. “I am just too busy William. I travel all the time and am never here to keep an eye on you.” With tears forming in his crisp green eyes, his Father raised his voice “Tears? Tears! Maybe this will be good. You will get away from here, from being babied. Get your ass beat once or twice and maybe learn what it takes to be a man.” “Can’t the help watch me? What about my friends?” “No, you ungrateful bastard, the help cannot, will not raise you. You are a Stevenson, and you will do good to remember that. You will be raised as all the Stevenson men before you, at ____________. Most of us went at sixteen, you’ll just get an early start. Charlotte has your bags packed. You are on the first train out in the morning.” His eyes swelling now, a look of terror comes over young Williams face, “But father…” He pulls his hand to his face, stopping mid sentence as Samuel gave him a hard smack across the face. With a stern look, “What did you say William?” That look, brows furrowed, anger and disappointment looking down upon William. He always looked down on him, never a good thing to say it seems. “Yes Samuel, I will be ready to leave first thing in the morning.” His Father just looked down and walked off.

“Sir, where too… Sir!” William snapped back to the real world. He was now sitting in a cab, confused, not sure how he got here. “Yes sir, sorry sir, must be the jet lag. Shakspeare and things, please.” He made small talk with the cab driver. “My mom had been born here, she brought me once, I don’t really remember it though. No, she actually died when I was just nine. It is ok, thank you sir, thank you. Here keep the change.” William knew this would be his first stop. His first love would always be his mother, his second, books. Books to escape his world. Any world he could imagine could be found in a book. Mainly, books did not have his Father. Most had nice parents, happy parents. He liked those books the most. His Father thought any book with imagination, had no right being read. Only books with facts that taught subjects as business and law mattered.

Opening the door, it hit him immediately. That smell. That old book smell. The kind of books a child would get lost in. The kind William got lost in. Death, love, tragedy, comedy, he loved them all. In school, he excelled at literature, but to his father, literature was not a proper profession. “You want to what! English, write… ha! I did not, I will not pay for you to get a dumbasses education. Business, medicine or law. Those are your choices, not English. Not another word about it William. I have better things to do with my time then sit here discussing your future, leave me.” Samuel would say with that same furrowed brow of anger and disappointment. “Yes Samuel, I chose law.” Samuel mumbled, “Yes, good, leave now.” This time too wrapped up, he did not even look up.

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