Fabulous Husband – FH is a wonderful man, who has brought love, joy and a warp sense of humor into my life.
Son A and Son B so named so neither is regarded higher than the other. I’ll let you get to know them as we go along.
Here is a son inspired example of the two from my “Faceless Super Hero” short story (which I haven’t finished. Names are different from the real characters in my life.)
The alarm sounds.
Hearing it, our super hero opens her eyes. Ever vigilant to saving the world, she responds by swatting at the button to put a stop to the endless racket. The beeping stops but the peaceful sound of silence did not follow in its wake.
Angry words, loud shouts, and grunts of conflict race down the hall to her ears.
Our hero, tired and weary from a sleepless night, leaps from her resting-place, throws her satin cape around her shoulders, slides her feet into her bunny slippers, and heads for the door. With her pace less than the speed of light, she shuffles around the corner in a rush. The sleep in her eyes blurs the sight of the kitchen, which lays only a short distance in front of her.
The scene she’s faced many times before was a battle of wills, a force of nature clashing together, their youthful action plays out the fight for dominance. One locked in the grips of puberty, the other loud with adolescent energy vibrating off the walls. Each uses his muscles to take out his frustration on the other.
With his arms around his opponent’s neck, the older one struggles for the contents of a cereal box that is between them.
“You have to finish the other cereal before you can have any of this.”
Twisting forward the smaller one tries to throw his assailant over his shoulder, but the action only achieves a more precarious position. “No, you do. I ate more than my share.”
With the weight advantage, the larger one bears down on his contender, attempting to push him to the ground. There the dance starts. With a quick dart, each move is countered with a responding movement.
If it wasn’t for the restrained violence in the movements, it could be viewed as a graceful ballet. Each knowing their part, they duck—turn--sway to the rhythm of an unseen orchestra.
Each actor makes the defensive response, but our hero knows how quickly the dance can end with someone getting hurt.
“Stop it. I haven’t even gotten dressed yet and you two are at it,” our hero communicates her displeasure, killing the action with her voice.
Sullen looks and wounded pride flash through their eyes before they release their holds. A final push, a dirty look, neither shows any weakness to the other. They each wanted to show that they were only bowing to a force stronger than both of them.
Neither was brave enough to oppose our super hero.
“He started it,” Cory whined.
“Sorry,” Haden murmured in a lower voice.
Spoken close together they both hope to win favor from their enforcer with their plea, a predictable ploy and ineffective in gaining them lenience.
With a grim look and a decisive judgment, our hero controlled the situation. “Split the last of the old cereal, then if you want more we can open the new cereal.”
Our super hero hits the wall of her true reality.
Doesn’t reality bite?