literature

Fox 024: Holding On To Fox

Deviation Actions

Published: May 18, 2012

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Literature Text

_{[AN: This is the twenty-fourth in the Fox Tale series. Please read them in order.]} _{[Creative property of Lady Quindecim]} Part Twenty Four: Holding On To Fox When I had escaped my bedroom through my window, I was fearless, or careless, but now trying to sneak back inside, I was nervous. I imagined Mom sitting in my room inquisitorially waiting for me to return. I imagined her panicked with the police on the phone, or angry with my father on the phone. I imagined her sitting with morning coffee at the breakfast table, waiting and testing me to see if I will confess my transgression. My room was dark in contrast to the morning light outside. I traded my trainers for slippers and jeans for sweats and headed to the bathroom to check my reflection. The person who looked back at me in the mirror looked too... normal to be me. A little ragged, like she had suffered a night of crying, but far too much like a proper human being. I tried to check if smiling would work but what came back at me off that person in the mirror was far from passable. It just looked forced and plastic. Nonetheless, I ventured downstairs in search of coffee and... And trying to avoid revisiting last night's conversation with my mother. There were no lights on, but this late in the morning, that was not a problem, just a little odd. The coffee pot was empty. I knew how to operate the thing so this too was not a problem. I added the water, letting myself get absorbed into the task. I measured the beans into the grinder, capped it, checked the settings and hit go. The grinder was shockingly loud. Once it stopped its whirring I may as well have been deaf for as little as I could hear. I put in the filter, added the grounds, rechecked the settings, still stunned from the noise the grinder had made. Stepping away from the machine and it's brewing noises I came to realise that I was not hearing anything else. There was no radio, no TV, no shuffling about sounds that a person makes. Mom normally wakes up the house, but the house just seemed to have been on hold this morning. Quickly, I crossed to the other side of the living room and around to Mom's bedroom. The door was still closed, so I knocked softly. No answer. I opened the door slowly. "Mom?" She was naked in bed, covers askew, so I pulled the sheets up. Her phone was on the pillow beside her, so I moved it to her nightstand and plugged it into the charger. "Mom?" I repeated and sat next to her on the bed. She rolled sleepily into me and taking me into her arms, guided me down next to her. "Um... Mom, you are on my hair." She opened her eyes, our noses were almost touching. "Oh, mercy! Chole! Um..." "Coffee's brewing." "Have you been here.... long?" "Nope. I just walked into tell you there's coffee." Mom turned me loose so I could sit back up. "You okay?" I asked because everything was so odd and out of place and time. It would not have been much stranger if I had come back to someone else's house. "Yeah, I, um, I was talking to your father." I looked at her suspiciously. "Talking? Mom. Really." "Well, if he was here... It was the long distance version of makeup sex-" I got up and put my hands over my ears, "Mom! I am much too related to you to hear this!" She laughed, I laughed, I went back to the coffee maker. They, Mom and Dad, were talking, and apparently talking, um, rather well. I carried that line of thinking all the way back to the kitchen, getting down my mug of preference, utilizing the pause and serve and it hit me with my first sip. She has no reason to be away from him now. She will take me, us, back home. We will leave my friends, my band, and... we will leave Fox. I can't leave her. I need her. I took my mug to the garage and set out to set up my drum kit. I uncased the bass and negotiated it in the garage where it would be the anchor point of all the other equipment. I had to occupy my head with thoughts focused enough to keep it from going where I needed it not to go. I uncased the snare and set it aside while I found the stands. I mounted up the hanging toms, octobans, and rototoms before positioning the floor tom and snare. I tweaked the drums before moving on to the cymbals. Mom stepped in and leaned on the fender of her old car, coffee mug in hand. "I made some muffins - blueberry - from a box." "Mmm," I answered without commitment. If I started to talk about it now, it would just be a lot of yelling and hurtful words that I may not mean when I rationalize it through. "They still have some time before I can take them out." "Mmm," I did want them together, and to be with my dad and brother - all of us together. But none of us are the people we were back then and so that past can never be reclaimed. "Of, course, once the space aliens that parked out back get their share... Well I wanted to save you one before, you know." "Mmm," But Dad can't leave the state. Not yet. Actually, I do not think he can leave his yard without it being scheduled and approved a week in advance. Maybe together we can work to get everything overturned so he truly can be free. "You're not listening to me, are you?" "Sure, sure." Last cymbal was tightened into place and I grabbed my seat. "Buttered?" Something snapped my attention back to my mom standing by her car, holding her mug of coffee and giving me an odd look. "Huh?" "I know you are about to start playing, and I know that helps you, and I am sure that you have a lot to work out in your head," I nodded as she went on, "but I... I cannot change overnight and just run back to your father." I nodded again and sat at my kit, still looking at her, listening carefully for hidden or underlying messages and meaning. "Let's just take it slowly while everyone adjusts. Your father and I have a lot of things to work out." "And the house." She looked at me like I was speaking French and I had to replay it in my head to make sure I had not. "We still have a lot to do with the house before we will be ready to move. It needs a lot of work." "I thought-" Whatever it was she thought was lost as we heard the kitchen timer go off. This time I looked a little lost. "Was something cooking?" ^{[You have been reading the twenty-fourth installment of the Fox Tale Series by Lady Quindecim.] [If you received this text from a source other than DeviantArt, please let the author know via e-mail to lady.quindecim@gmail.com] [I hope you have enjoyed this installment]}

If this is the first one you are reading, by all means please stop and read the first one [link] first, then proceed in order, if you would be so kind.

And if you like it/them, let me know. If you do not, I would still like to know. If you are completely indifferent and do not feel it is worth your time to comment, that's okay, you can let me know that as well.

Part One: Fox at First Sight → [link] ←
Part Two: Foxy Lady → [link] ←
Part Three: Still a Fox → [link] ←
Part Four: Fellowship of the Fox → [link] ←
Part Five: Fox Free Period → [link] ←
Part Six: Fox, but not Forgotten → [link] ←
Part Seven: Fox Report → [link] ←
Part Eight: Fox in socks → [link] ←
Part Nine: Lingering Fox → [link] ←
Part Ten: Bargain with a Fox → [link] ←
Part Eleven: Speechless Fox → [link] ←
Part Twelve: Fox Filled Dreams → [link] ←
Part Thirteen: In a Box, With a Fox → [link] ←
Part Fourteen: Fox and Stone → [link] ←
Part Fifteen: Chef Fox & On the Spot → [link] ←
Part Sixteen: Fox Proud → [link] ←
Part Seventeen: Fox is Watching → [link] ←
Part Eighteen: Foxless Day? → [link] ←
Part Nineteen: Cornered Without a Fox → [link] ←
Part Twenty: A Fighting Fox → [link] ←
Part Twenty One: What Fox Can Never Know → [link] ←
Part Twenty Two: The Wounded Fox → [link] ←
Part Twenty Three: The True Fox → [link] ←
Part Twenty Four: Holding On To Fox → You are Here ←
Part Twenty Five: A Box for Fox → [link] ←

If, for whatever reason, you want to use any of this/these, please check with me first.

As always, comments and feedback are welcome.

Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 License