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rainbowfic2012-01-23 03:11 pm
kay_brooke) wrote in rainbowfic2012-01-23 03:11 pm
Entry tags:
Black #13 and Tea Rose #8
Could I have a tag for the color Black, please?
Name:kay_brooke
Story: Unusual Florida
Colors: Black #13 (black sheep), Tea Rose #8 (From politics, it was an easy step to silence)
Word Count: 1,793
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; No warnings
Summary: An introduction to Hope and her family.
Notes: Something I wrote based on some character notes I did over the weekend, and no one is terribly sympathetic with the possible exception of Charlie. Takes place in 1996.
Hope Fern was stiff. And bored. She fidgeted to the left, and immediately received a sharp reprimand from her sister.
“Don’t move!” Sherri shrieked. “You’re messing me up!”
Hope felt as frustrated as Sherri sounded, and she was tired of being yelled at. “I’ve been sitting here for hours,” she said, desperately wanting to reach up and twirl a strand of her light red hair around a finger. It was a nervous habit, one that she hated but couldn’t seem to break. She had sharply reminded herself not to do it several times during the past hour, resulting in her hand popping up and down like a nervous tic.
“You have not,” her sister replied. “It’s only been an hour and a half, and I think I’m done now, anyway.”
“Thank god,” said Hope, instantly leaping up and stretching. “Let me see.” She crossed the room and peered closely at the canvas, momentarily lost for words.
“What do you think?” asked Sherri.
Hope found her voice. “What is it?”
“It’s you!” said Sherri. “What else would it be?”
“Why is my hair purple?”
Sherri scrutinized the painting. “Maybe I overdid it on the highlights,” she admitted. “I’m not real good with those yet.”
“What is that thing behind me?”
“The ocean.”
“Sherri, we’re in the middle of Nebraska,” said Hope irritably. “There’s no ocean.”
“What was I supposed to paint as the background?” said Sherri. “The living room wallpaper? It’s a romantic setting.”
“What do you know about romance?” argued Hope. “You’re eleven years old.”
Sherri sniffed. “Fine,” she said. I bet Mom will love it. You just have no eye for art.”
“Don’t bring Mom into this.” Hope was seriously doubting whether Sherri had an eye for art, either. Two weeks in a painting class and Sherri thought she was the best painter there had ever been. Which was typical for Sherri, really. Hope estimated her sister might last another month in the class before she got bored or distracted by some new hobby. Then she would beg to drop out and do something else, and Hope's mom would let her.
“Why not?” said Sherri. “Mom says you’re mean all the time because you just like being contrary. She say it's immature."
“I don’t care what Mom says.”
“She told Daddy you were a problem child. I heard her.”
“Oh, shove it, you eavesdropping little creep,” Hope seethed, her hand finally winning its battle to get to her hair. She twirled a strand, trying hard to calm down. Despite her best efforts irritation bubbled up within her, caused mostly by embarrassment that her little sister had overheard her parents having such a conversation.
“I’m telling Mom!” Sherri wailed, right on cue. Hope knew the tears were fake. Sherri was quite the little actress, which meant she got her way more often than not. Before Hope could come up with something particularly nasty to call her sister (if she was going to get in trouble anyway, she might as well do it right), her older brother stormed into the house.
Charlie kicked off his boots and sent them flying across the room, almost hitting the mat where the family stored its shoes. A clump of mud stuck to the bottom of one boot dropped off onto the beige carpet. Charlie ignored it and flopped onto the couch. His wire-rim glasses slid down his sweaty nose and he angrily shoved them back into place.
“What’s your problem?” asked Hope, attempting to stifle the annoyance in her voice. Charlie was the one family member she actually liked, as well as the only one who did not fit the old adage that redheads had hot tempers. Charlie hardly ever got angry, which meant that now something was genuinely wrong.
He muttered something unintelligible and dropped his head into his hands.
“What?” asked Sherri. She, too, had apparently decided to abandon the argument for this more interesting development of events.
“Dad,” said Charlie, looking up. “Needed help with the car. Volunteered me. Messed it all up, naturally.”
Sherri smirked. “You mess up all the time,” she said. “So why’s it bothering you now?”
Charlie glared.
“Is that all?” asked Hope, trying to steer the conversation away from Sherri’s rudeness.
“No,” said Charlie, calming somewhat. “Told him what I really thought of our summer trip. He got mad.”
“What?” Hope scowled. “To that stupid resort in Florida?”
“Yeah,” said Charlie. “Needless to say, I don’t want to go. Do you?”
Hope shrugged. “As far as Florida goes, we could do worse. I suppose it’s better than sitting around here all summer.”
It had only been a couple of months ago that Hope’s parents had revealed their plans for a big summer vacation, six weeks at a resort in northern Florida. Hope’s father had once been a coworker of the resort owner, and the family had been personally invited to stay at a significant rate discount. The family was puzzled that a man only one of them barely knew was so eager to get them to come to the resort, but it was not an opportunity they wanted to turn down.
Except for Charlie. Sherri was excited, Hope approached the whole thing with a timid optimism, but Charlie had been set against the idea from the beginning.
“It’s our last summer in this house!” he argued. “I’ve been here my whole life, and now you’re saying I won’t even be able to spend our last few months here in the house?”
Hope understood somewhat. Charlie actually had friends, and he didn't completely hate everyone in their small Nebraska town. Her father's company had made the sudden decision to transfer him to New Jersey, so that was where the family was moving at the end of the summer. Hope wasn't nearly as sentimental about leaving the house as Charlie was. She felt her high school alone could qualify as having the most idiots per capita in the country. New Jersey was a new start. Hope was a fan of new starts.
“Stupid resort, stupid Florida, stupid trip,” Charlie continued muttering. “Not even allowed to spend my last summer here . . .”
“I’m excited,” stated Sherri. “I’ve never been to Florida.”
“We all know how you feel,” said Hope. “And just because . . .”
Fortunately, before Hope could say anything she might come to regret, Charlie spotted the painting Sherri had just finished.
“What in god’s name is that?” he asked, eyes wide.
“It’s Hope!” cried Sherri. “Any idiot can see that!”
“Why is her hair purple?”
“Argh!” Sherri shrieked. She whirled around, grabbed her painting, and stormed out of the room, no doubt, Hope figured, to show it to their mother, who would most likely praise it and soothe Sherri’s feelings by telling how she was the better daughter, not like Hope, the Disappointment.
“You’re all so predictable,” Hope muttered.
“What’s that?”
She’d almost forgotten Charlie was still in the room. “Nothing,” she said.
#
Dinner that night was the typical quiet affair it had been for as long as Hope could remember. Her mother forbade all but the most banal comments at the dinner table, because in Hope’s family, conversation led almost inevitably to disagreement, then to argument, then to one or more of the siblings being sent to their room while their mother fumed and popped antacid tablets like they were candy.
That night, however, was rare in that Hope’s father was actually home to eat with his family. He sat at the head of the table, not speaking. He had not exchanged looks with his wife once since coming home, which Hope figured was a good thing because when her parents exchanged looks, it meant one or more of the kids had done something wrong. Hope knew it wasn’t exactly healthy that the only thing that kept her parents talking to each other was mutual disappointment in one of their offspring, but staying under her mother’s radar was of more immediate concern.
Grace was said before the meal, a tradition that Hope’s mother insisted on, and the usual pleasantries exchanged before everyone became focused on their food. Hope, with false regret in her voice, told her mother that, no, school report cards hadn’t come yet, and no, she didn’t know when they would. Sherri prattled on about her painting to her father, who nodded occasionally and didn’t listen to a word she said. Charlie kept shifting around in his seat, obviously wanting to bring something up but not daring to. Dinner was almost over before he finally succumbed.
“I was thinking, I could stay over at Matt’s this summer. I’m sure his parents wouldn’t mind, and then the rest of you could all go to Florida while . . .”
Hope’s father put down his fork and looked at Charlie, the first sign of interest he’d had in any member of his family all night. “Charles. We’ve been through this.”
“But it isn’t fair. This summer is the last chance I’ll have to see my friends. I can spend as much time as I want with you guys.”
“Charles.” Hope’s mother had also put down her fork. She exchanged a glance with her husband, and Hope wasn’t sure whether to cringe or be thankful that she wasn’t their target this time. “The dinner table is not the appropriate place for this discussion.”
“Nowhere is the place for this discussion, Brenda,” said Hope’s father. “He and I have already talked about this. The answer was and still is no. The whole family is going to Florida, and that’s final.”
Charlie opened his mouth again, but closed it. Looking defeated, he resumed eating, and the dinner table regained its air of quiet discomfort. Charlie quickly finished his food, asked to be excused, and practically fled from the room when his mother nodded her consent.
“So,” said Hope’s father, “how’s summer vacation been for you girls so far?”
“Better than school,” muttered Hope. Her mother frowned at her.
“We’ve only been out for two days, Daddy,” Sherri giggled. “Tomorrow Erica and I are going to the pool.”
“I see,” said Hope’s father, smiling widely. “And you, Hope? Are you going with them?”
“Why on earth would I do that?”
“Hope,” said her mother warningly.
“I don’t swim,” Hope amended quickly. “I think I was ten the last time I got a new bathing suit.”
“I was only asking,” her father said.
Hope looked at her food, ashamed. She didn’t want to alienate her father. He was still occasionally on her side, when he was home and not worried about work.
“When are we going to Florida?” she asked quickly. “Couple of weeks, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” said her father, brightening again. “Are you looking forward to it?”
“Oh, yeah,” said Hope. “I’ve never been to Florida.”
Name:
kay_brookeStory: Unusual Florida
Colors: Black #13 (black sheep), Tea Rose #8 (From politics, it was an easy step to silence)
Word Count: 1,793
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; No warnings
Summary: An introduction to Hope and her family.
Notes: Something I wrote based on some character notes I did over the weekend, and no one is terribly sympathetic with the possible exception of Charlie. Takes place in 1996.
Hope Fern was stiff. And bored. She fidgeted to the left, and immediately received a sharp reprimand from her sister.
“Don’t move!” Sherri shrieked. “You’re messing me up!”
Hope felt as frustrated as Sherri sounded, and she was tired of being yelled at. “I’ve been sitting here for hours,” she said, desperately wanting to reach up and twirl a strand of her light red hair around a finger. It was a nervous habit, one that she hated but couldn’t seem to break. She had sharply reminded herself not to do it several times during the past hour, resulting in her hand popping up and down like a nervous tic.
“You have not,” her sister replied. “It’s only been an hour and a half, and I think I’m done now, anyway.”
“Thank god,” said Hope, instantly leaping up and stretching. “Let me see.” She crossed the room and peered closely at the canvas, momentarily lost for words.
“What do you think?” asked Sherri.
Hope found her voice. “What is it?”
“It’s you!” said Sherri. “What else would it be?”
“Why is my hair purple?”
Sherri scrutinized the painting. “Maybe I overdid it on the highlights,” she admitted. “I’m not real good with those yet.”
“What is that thing behind me?”
“The ocean.”
“Sherri, we’re in the middle of Nebraska,” said Hope irritably. “There’s no ocean.”
“What was I supposed to paint as the background?” said Sherri. “The living room wallpaper? It’s a romantic setting.”
“What do you know about romance?” argued Hope. “You’re eleven years old.”
Sherri sniffed. “Fine,” she said. I bet Mom will love it. You just have no eye for art.”
“Don’t bring Mom into this.” Hope was seriously doubting whether Sherri had an eye for art, either. Two weeks in a painting class and Sherri thought she was the best painter there had ever been. Which was typical for Sherri, really. Hope estimated her sister might last another month in the class before she got bored or distracted by some new hobby. Then she would beg to drop out and do something else, and Hope's mom would let her.
“Why not?” said Sherri. “Mom says you’re mean all the time because you just like being contrary. She say it's immature."
“I don’t care what Mom says.”
“She told Daddy you were a problem child. I heard her.”
“Oh, shove it, you eavesdropping little creep,” Hope seethed, her hand finally winning its battle to get to her hair. She twirled a strand, trying hard to calm down. Despite her best efforts irritation bubbled up within her, caused mostly by embarrassment that her little sister had overheard her parents having such a conversation.
“I’m telling Mom!” Sherri wailed, right on cue. Hope knew the tears were fake. Sherri was quite the little actress, which meant she got her way more often than not. Before Hope could come up with something particularly nasty to call her sister (if she was going to get in trouble anyway, she might as well do it right), her older brother stormed into the house.
Charlie kicked off his boots and sent them flying across the room, almost hitting the mat where the family stored its shoes. A clump of mud stuck to the bottom of one boot dropped off onto the beige carpet. Charlie ignored it and flopped onto the couch. His wire-rim glasses slid down his sweaty nose and he angrily shoved them back into place.
“What’s your problem?” asked Hope, attempting to stifle the annoyance in her voice. Charlie was the one family member she actually liked, as well as the only one who did not fit the old adage that redheads had hot tempers. Charlie hardly ever got angry, which meant that now something was genuinely wrong.
He muttered something unintelligible and dropped his head into his hands.
“What?” asked Sherri. She, too, had apparently decided to abandon the argument for this more interesting development of events.
“Dad,” said Charlie, looking up. “Needed help with the car. Volunteered me. Messed it all up, naturally.”
Sherri smirked. “You mess up all the time,” she said. “So why’s it bothering you now?”
Charlie glared.
“Is that all?” asked Hope, trying to steer the conversation away from Sherri’s rudeness.
“No,” said Charlie, calming somewhat. “Told him what I really thought of our summer trip. He got mad.”
“What?” Hope scowled. “To that stupid resort in Florida?”
“Yeah,” said Charlie. “Needless to say, I don’t want to go. Do you?”
Hope shrugged. “As far as Florida goes, we could do worse. I suppose it’s better than sitting around here all summer.”
It had only been a couple of months ago that Hope’s parents had revealed their plans for a big summer vacation, six weeks at a resort in northern Florida. Hope’s father had once been a coworker of the resort owner, and the family had been personally invited to stay at a significant rate discount. The family was puzzled that a man only one of them barely knew was so eager to get them to come to the resort, but it was not an opportunity they wanted to turn down.
Except for Charlie. Sherri was excited, Hope approached the whole thing with a timid optimism, but Charlie had been set against the idea from the beginning.
“It’s our last summer in this house!” he argued. “I’ve been here my whole life, and now you’re saying I won’t even be able to spend our last few months here in the house?”
Hope understood somewhat. Charlie actually had friends, and he didn't completely hate everyone in their small Nebraska town. Her father's company had made the sudden decision to transfer him to New Jersey, so that was where the family was moving at the end of the summer. Hope wasn't nearly as sentimental about leaving the house as Charlie was. She felt her high school alone could qualify as having the most idiots per capita in the country. New Jersey was a new start. Hope was a fan of new starts.
“Stupid resort, stupid Florida, stupid trip,” Charlie continued muttering. “Not even allowed to spend my last summer here . . .”
“I’m excited,” stated Sherri. “I’ve never been to Florida.”
“We all know how you feel,” said Hope. “And just because . . .”
Fortunately, before Hope could say anything she might come to regret, Charlie spotted the painting Sherri had just finished.
“What in god’s name is that?” he asked, eyes wide.
“It’s Hope!” cried Sherri. “Any idiot can see that!”
“Why is her hair purple?”
“Argh!” Sherri shrieked. She whirled around, grabbed her painting, and stormed out of the room, no doubt, Hope figured, to show it to their mother, who would most likely praise it and soothe Sherri’s feelings by telling how she was the better daughter, not like Hope, the Disappointment.
“You’re all so predictable,” Hope muttered.
“What’s that?”
She’d almost forgotten Charlie was still in the room. “Nothing,” she said.
#
Dinner that night was the typical quiet affair it had been for as long as Hope could remember. Her mother forbade all but the most banal comments at the dinner table, because in Hope’s family, conversation led almost inevitably to disagreement, then to argument, then to one or more of the siblings being sent to their room while their mother fumed and popped antacid tablets like they were candy.
That night, however, was rare in that Hope’s father was actually home to eat with his family. He sat at the head of the table, not speaking. He had not exchanged looks with his wife once since coming home, which Hope figured was a good thing because when her parents exchanged looks, it meant one or more of the kids had done something wrong. Hope knew it wasn’t exactly healthy that the only thing that kept her parents talking to each other was mutual disappointment in one of their offspring, but staying under her mother’s radar was of more immediate concern.
Grace was said before the meal, a tradition that Hope’s mother insisted on, and the usual pleasantries exchanged before everyone became focused on their food. Hope, with false regret in her voice, told her mother that, no, school report cards hadn’t come yet, and no, she didn’t know when they would. Sherri prattled on about her painting to her father, who nodded occasionally and didn’t listen to a word she said. Charlie kept shifting around in his seat, obviously wanting to bring something up but not daring to. Dinner was almost over before he finally succumbed.
“I was thinking, I could stay over at Matt’s this summer. I’m sure his parents wouldn’t mind, and then the rest of you could all go to Florida while . . .”
Hope’s father put down his fork and looked at Charlie, the first sign of interest he’d had in any member of his family all night. “Charles. We’ve been through this.”
“But it isn’t fair. This summer is the last chance I’ll have to see my friends. I can spend as much time as I want with you guys.”
“Charles.” Hope’s mother had also put down her fork. She exchanged a glance with her husband, and Hope wasn’t sure whether to cringe or be thankful that she wasn’t their target this time. “The dinner table is not the appropriate place for this discussion.”
“Nowhere is the place for this discussion, Brenda,” said Hope’s father. “He and I have already talked about this. The answer was and still is no. The whole family is going to Florida, and that’s final.”
Charlie opened his mouth again, but closed it. Looking defeated, he resumed eating, and the dinner table regained its air of quiet discomfort. Charlie quickly finished his food, asked to be excused, and practically fled from the room when his mother nodded her consent.
“So,” said Hope’s father, “how’s summer vacation been for you girls so far?”
“Better than school,” muttered Hope. Her mother frowned at her.
“We’ve only been out for two days, Daddy,” Sherri giggled. “Tomorrow Erica and I are going to the pool.”
“I see,” said Hope’s father, smiling widely. “And you, Hope? Are you going with them?”
“Why on earth would I do that?”
“Hope,” said her mother warningly.
“I don’t swim,” Hope amended quickly. “I think I was ten the last time I got a new bathing suit.”
“I was only asking,” her father said.
Hope looked at her food, ashamed. She didn’t want to alienate her father. He was still occasionally on her side, when he was home and not worried about work.
“When are we going to Florida?” she asked quickly. “Couple of weeks, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” said her father, brightening again. “Are you looking forward to it?”
“Oh, yeah,” said Hope. “I’ve never been to Florida.”
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