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Jan. 24th, 2015 03:51 amMost days go like this. Brendan gets up, makes breakfast for his daughters, gets them ready for school and walks them there, on the early side so he isn't late for school himself; then, after a long day of teaching teenagers, he picks Emily and Rosie up from their various after school programs, and they all head back to the apartment, where he makes them dinner. There are people who watch the girls sometimes, who take care of some of it, but although he's considered it, he would never be able to afford something more full-time, not on a teacher's salary. He isn't sure he'd be able to go through with it even if he could afford it, anyway. It's too important to him to be there. Sure, it may be that, even after two and a half years, he's compensating for the absence of his wife, but that can't be such a bad thing.
It generally leaves him exhausted, but Emily and Rosie are barely aware of that, full of energy and chattering away beside him about their respective days. At least it's usually lighthearted. There's going to come a day, sometime soon, when they don't get along so well, when the age difference gets to be too much, but Brendan means to enjoy the relative peace while he can.
Emily is just in the middle of some story about one of her classmates' ten-year-old equivalent of a boyfriend when they reach the door to their building at the same time as someone else. Brendan doesn't really think much of it, but Rosie brightens a moment later. "Hey, I've seen you!" she declares. "Drawing outside!"
Brendan shakes his head a little. "Sorry."
It generally leaves him exhausted, but Emily and Rosie are barely aware of that, full of energy and chattering away beside him about their respective days. At least it's usually lighthearted. There's going to come a day, sometime soon, when they don't get along so well, when the age difference gets to be too much, but Brendan means to enjoy the relative peace while he can.
Emily is just in the middle of some story about one of her classmates' ten-year-old equivalent of a boyfriend when they reach the door to their building at the same time as someone else. Brendan doesn't really think much of it, but Rosie brightens a moment later. "Hey, I've seen you!" she declares. "Drawing outside!"
Brendan shakes his head a little. "Sorry."
walking tall into each breaking wave
May. 10th, 2013 07:18 pmHe's gotten someone to watch the girls. Even now, Brendan feels a little guilty for that, but he's trying not to think about it. While, on one hand, he thinks this is probably time they should all be spending together, when Emily's still worn out from breaking down at school and Rosie isn't faring much better and they all know the significance of this Sunday, he thinks he needs this just as badly. At home, he's got to keep it together for them, and he's barely managing to do that, when what he told Emily keeps ringing through his head. On some level, he thinks he's always known it, that Tess was never actually going to show up here. He's too stubborn to have admitted it that easily, though. Besides, it still doesn't quite make sense. He spent more than half his life with her; he shouldn't have been able to lose her so easily.
That's what he's done, though, albeit not by any will of his own. He knows that now, really knows it, having been all but forced into admitting as much making all the difference in the world. If it weren't so damn jarring, he thinks he'd almost be grateful for that. Instead, it's left him shaken, restless, and unable to push it all down — not an entirely new feeling, but one he hasn't dealt with in some time. At first, he thinks about just going to Tommy's, but he quickly changes his mind. Things are better between them these days than they were when he first showed up here, but that doesn't necessarily mean a hell of a lot, and he doesn't know how he'd begin to voice any of that. Tess is hardly a comfortable subject between the two of them, anyway. Maybe one day, he'll breach it, but it won't be this one.
Instead, he goes out. The boxing club on Peach Street is one he's passed dozens of times, though he's never set foot inside it. The day he showed up here was the last time he did any sort of fighting at all, in fact, and though he's not nearly as out of shape as he was when he went to see Frank and asked to be trained again, he's not the guy who won Sparta, either, what feels like a lifetime ago. He hasn't needed to be, when the debt he racked up hasn't followed him here, his job at the high school enough to support him and the girls, at least for the time being. That doesn't matter, though, when there's no one he's looking to beat, just to blow off some steam. He's got to do something, he thinks, or he just might lose his mind.
Judging by the sign in the window, it's a little less than an hour until closing, but they have no problem letting him in and getting him signed up as a member. If he'll come back after this, he doesn't know, but for now, he might as well. It gets him in front of a bag in short order, at least, which is all that really matters. His first few punches are slow, careful, measured, but that doesn't last. Frank's advice worked great when he was taking down guys twice his size in the ring, but this isn't about that. He's run out of patience, and the fury he feels deep in his bones doesn't mesh in the slightest with anything by Beethoven, certainly not Ode to fucking Joy. He loses himself in it after that, hit after hit, until there's sweat on his forehead and chest, his lungs aching with each breath he tries to take, nearly a year's worth of frustration taken out on this one object that can't defend itself.
By the time he stops, he doesn't know how long it's been. He's just grateful there aren't many other people in this place, leaning forward to rest his head against the bag for a few moments as he tries to catch his breath. Doing this, it doesn't bring Tess back and it doesn't make him alright with that, but he feels a little freer, and that's all he could have asked for.
That's what he's done, though, albeit not by any will of his own. He knows that now, really knows it, having been all but forced into admitting as much making all the difference in the world. If it weren't so damn jarring, he thinks he'd almost be grateful for that. Instead, it's left him shaken, restless, and unable to push it all down — not an entirely new feeling, but one he hasn't dealt with in some time. At first, he thinks about just going to Tommy's, but he quickly changes his mind. Things are better between them these days than they were when he first showed up here, but that doesn't necessarily mean a hell of a lot, and he doesn't know how he'd begin to voice any of that. Tess is hardly a comfortable subject between the two of them, anyway. Maybe one day, he'll breach it, but it won't be this one.
Instead, he goes out. The boxing club on Peach Street is one he's passed dozens of times, though he's never set foot inside it. The day he showed up here was the last time he did any sort of fighting at all, in fact, and though he's not nearly as out of shape as he was when he went to see Frank and asked to be trained again, he's not the guy who won Sparta, either, what feels like a lifetime ago. He hasn't needed to be, when the debt he racked up hasn't followed him here, his job at the high school enough to support him and the girls, at least for the time being. That doesn't matter, though, when there's no one he's looking to beat, just to blow off some steam. He's got to do something, he thinks, or he just might lose his mind.
Judging by the sign in the window, it's a little less than an hour until closing, but they have no problem letting him in and getting him signed up as a member. If he'll come back after this, he doesn't know, but for now, he might as well. It gets him in front of a bag in short order, at least, which is all that really matters. His first few punches are slow, careful, measured, but that doesn't last. Frank's advice worked great when he was taking down guys twice his size in the ring, but this isn't about that. He's run out of patience, and the fury he feels deep in his bones doesn't mesh in the slightest with anything by Beethoven, certainly not Ode to fucking Joy. He loses himself in it after that, hit after hit, until there's sweat on his forehead and chest, his lungs aching with each breath he tries to take, nearly a year's worth of frustration taken out on this one object that can't defend itself.
By the time he stops, he doesn't know how long it's been. He's just grateful there aren't many other people in this place, leaning forward to rest his head against the bag for a few moments as he tries to catch his breath. Doing this, it doesn't bring Tess back and it doesn't make him alright with that, but he feels a little freer, and that's all he could have asked for.
(no subject)
Jul. 1st, 2012 10:01 pmWhen Tess had asked him what he was going to do, he'd said he was going to fight Tommy. In a way, it felt like they'd been fighting for years, across countries and oceans and without a word, all culminating here. It wasn't like Brendan hadn't known his brother was angry. Hell, he was angry, too, though he'd come to terms with a lot of it. He still hadn't expected anything like this, raw fury that made him want to step away. He couldn't, though, he had to keep going, no matter how much it hurt to see Tommy still coming at him with one arm cradled to his chest, limp from the shoulder he'd dislocated himself. For Tess and the girls, for the life he'd chosen when he had decided to stay in Pittsburgh so, so long ago, he couldn't just give up. In that way, he thought, the fights were one and the same.
It was over now anyway — and he was saying so, too, only distantly aware of it through a haze of pain and adrenaline and emotion. This fight, Sparta, that was done, that was his and he knew it, so close he could practically taste it, the answers to all their problems, but that wasn't really what he meant. The fight between them, the silent battle lasting half a lifetime, that was done, too, or it could be. Nothing good came from being bitter. This was his little brother he had pinned, the one he'd lost so long ago, and it didn't have to be like this. Maybe it was for the best that it had come down to the two of them. Though they'd argued out on the beach, it was, or it seemed to be, the only way they could communicate at all, through punches and kicks and blows dodged, and there was still plenty left unsaid.
"I love you," he said, hoarse, voice breaking on the words. "I love you, Tommy." He should have said so a long time ago, before Tommy and their mom had left; he couldn't remember when he had before. But it was true, as true as all the rest of it, and more important now than ever, when they finally had a chance to put an end to all of this. Even with his arm around his brother's neck, desperate for what victory would bring, Brendan wasn't sure what he was doing more of, embracing him or holding him down. It didn't matter. Tommy's fingers tapped his shoulder and it was done, over, all of it, the crowd erupting in cheers that he could only half-hear with his arms around Tommy, one hand held up to keep everyone else at a distance, sheltering his little brother the way he should have been able to since a long damn time ago. None of the rest of it could hold his attention now, not the officials or the reporters and their questions or the people reaching out to try to touch them as they walked past. It wasn't going to stay like this, there would be plenty else to deal with, but for now, it was just them.
Until he wasn't. The noise from the crowd, which had started to dim, cut off suddenly, and where Tommy had been at his side, he wasn't anymore. Brendan blinked — once, twice — and drew in a breath, hand lifting to his head. It was possible — probable, really — that he could have had a concussion, but the last he'd checked, that wouldn't have caused full-blown hallucinations like this. Nothing changed, anyway. He was standing, barely, with movement under his feet, alone, or what seemed that way for an excruciating few seconds, until an all too familiar voice drew his focus to his side. "Daddy, what happened?" asked Emily, a question he'd given his girls plenty of reason to ask lately. "Where are we?"
It was a question he didn't have an answer to. For a moment, he was just relieved to see them, Rosie seated beside her, and he thought, for a moment, that it meant Tess might have been here, too. He couldn't see her, though, and she'd have made her presence known by now, he was sure of it. Trying not to think too hard about what that meant when he had so much else to try to make sense of anyway, he shook his head. "I don't know, sweetheart," he said. "And I don't know where Mommy is, either. How 'bout we go find out, huh? It'll be an adventure."
That, at least, seemed to satisfy them for now, which was a relief. Probably that wouldn't last long, but he wasn't sure how he could comfort his daughters when he couldn't even figure out where to start with what had apparently happened, which ought to have been impossible. With the train they were on pulling into the station, though, there was only one thing to do. He took one of each of their hands, and started off onto the platform slowly, watching for any signs of what this might have been.
It was over now anyway — and he was saying so, too, only distantly aware of it through a haze of pain and adrenaline and emotion. This fight, Sparta, that was done, that was his and he knew it, so close he could practically taste it, the answers to all their problems, but that wasn't really what he meant. The fight between them, the silent battle lasting half a lifetime, that was done, too, or it could be. Nothing good came from being bitter. This was his little brother he had pinned, the one he'd lost so long ago, and it didn't have to be like this. Maybe it was for the best that it had come down to the two of them. Though they'd argued out on the beach, it was, or it seemed to be, the only way they could communicate at all, through punches and kicks and blows dodged, and there was still plenty left unsaid.
"I love you," he said, hoarse, voice breaking on the words. "I love you, Tommy." He should have said so a long time ago, before Tommy and their mom had left; he couldn't remember when he had before. But it was true, as true as all the rest of it, and more important now than ever, when they finally had a chance to put an end to all of this. Even with his arm around his brother's neck, desperate for what victory would bring, Brendan wasn't sure what he was doing more of, embracing him or holding him down. It didn't matter. Tommy's fingers tapped his shoulder and it was done, over, all of it, the crowd erupting in cheers that he could only half-hear with his arms around Tommy, one hand held up to keep everyone else at a distance, sheltering his little brother the way he should have been able to since a long damn time ago. None of the rest of it could hold his attention now, not the officials or the reporters and their questions or the people reaching out to try to touch them as they walked past. It wasn't going to stay like this, there would be plenty else to deal with, but for now, it was just them.
Until he wasn't. The noise from the crowd, which had started to dim, cut off suddenly, and where Tommy had been at his side, he wasn't anymore. Brendan blinked — once, twice — and drew in a breath, hand lifting to his head. It was possible — probable, really — that he could have had a concussion, but the last he'd checked, that wouldn't have caused full-blown hallucinations like this. Nothing changed, anyway. He was standing, barely, with movement under his feet, alone, or what seemed that way for an excruciating few seconds, until an all too familiar voice drew his focus to his side. "Daddy, what happened?" asked Emily, a question he'd given his girls plenty of reason to ask lately. "Where are we?"
It was a question he didn't have an answer to. For a moment, he was just relieved to see them, Rosie seated beside her, and he thought, for a moment, that it meant Tess might have been here, too. He couldn't see her, though, and she'd have made her presence known by now, he was sure of it. Trying not to think too hard about what that meant when he had so much else to try to make sense of anyway, he shook his head. "I don't know, sweetheart," he said. "And I don't know where Mommy is, either. How 'bout we go find out, huh? It'll be an adventure."
That, at least, seemed to satisfy them for now, which was a relief. Probably that wouldn't last long, but he wasn't sure how he could comfort his daughters when he couldn't even figure out where to start with what had apparently happened, which ought to have been impossible. With the train they were on pulling into the station, though, there was only one thing to do. He took one of each of their hands, and started off onto the platform slowly, watching for any signs of what this might have been.
