a family affair
WHO Bradley Knochen [Brom Bones], Charlie Toussaint [Tin Soldier]
WHEN Saturday January 29th, 2008, about 3:30 PM
WHERE A bus top, later Charlie's apartment.
WHAT Charlie waits at the bus stop for his cousin. When he's a no show Charlie returns to his apartment, only to find out that Bradley's already made himself at home. Hilarity ensues!
RATING Let's say PG-13 for now.
STATUS In progress!
People must have thought he was crazy, waiting like he was. It had been an hour and forty-five minutes since Bradley Knochen was supposed to walk off that bus and into Charlie's life, but unless he had miraculously transformed into an ancient woman who was in the process of channeling Lucille Ball with her rust-colored dye job, or a simpering sorority girl (and her giggling, carbon-copied sisters), the deviant was nowhere to be found.
At first, Charlie waited a few minutes, idly flipping through a number of apartment ads Georgia had clipped for him-Jess' employer had not yet volunteered any names to call-but then, those fifteen understanding minutes turned into an aggravated forty-five. Charlie opened his compendium and leafed through the pages with a desperation he usually did not display in hopes that Bradley, in some strange fit of sensibility, decided to leave him a message regarding his inpunctuality. There was none, and with that realization those forty-five minutes turned to an hour of worry. For a moment, he thought about calling the boy's parents, but that wouldn't do him any good. They rarely knew the whereabouts of their son when he was in their own house. Now, he was Charlie's responsibility.
So he waited. Even when it began to rain, first as a pat pat pat on the shoulder of his leather jacket, and then a steadier drumming until it thundered down around him; by then, Charlie stooped over his lap, his compendium and apartment ads pressed tight against his chest. Buses came and left, and so did the rain. Then the bench Charlie was sitting on was empty except for him and the rare staccatto of raindrops.
"Whoever you're waiting for," barked an elderly woman, whose patience had worn out long before Charlie's as she watched him beneath the shelter of her umbrella. "They're not coming."
With that, he left.
WHEN Saturday January 29th, 2008, about 3:30 PM
WHERE A bus top, later Charlie's apartment.
WHAT Charlie waits at the bus stop for his cousin. When he's a no show Charlie returns to his apartment, only to find out that Bradley's already made himself at home. Hilarity ensues!
RATING Let's say PG-13 for now.
STATUS In progress!
People must have thought he was crazy, waiting like he was. It had been an hour and forty-five minutes since Bradley Knochen was supposed to walk off that bus and into Charlie's life, but unless he had miraculously transformed into an ancient woman who was in the process of channeling Lucille Ball with her rust-colored dye job, or a simpering sorority girl (and her giggling, carbon-copied sisters), the deviant was nowhere to be found.
At first, Charlie waited a few minutes, idly flipping through a number of apartment ads Georgia had clipped for him-Jess' employer had not yet volunteered any names to call-but then, those fifteen understanding minutes turned into an aggravated forty-five. Charlie opened his compendium and leafed through the pages with a desperation he usually did not display in hopes that Bradley, in some strange fit of sensibility, decided to leave him a message regarding his inpunctuality. There was none, and with that realization those forty-five minutes turned to an hour of worry. For a moment, he thought about calling the boy's parents, but that wouldn't do him any good. They rarely knew the whereabouts of their son when he was in their own house. Now, he was Charlie's responsibility.
So he waited. Even when it began to rain, first as a pat pat pat on the shoulder of his leather jacket, and then a steadier drumming until it thundered down around him; by then, Charlie stooped over his lap, his compendium and apartment ads pressed tight against his chest. Buses came and left, and so did the rain. Then the bench Charlie was sitting on was empty except for him and the rare staccatto of raindrops.
"Whoever you're waiting for," barked an elderly woman, whose patience had worn out long before Charlie's as she watched him beneath the shelter of her umbrella. "They're not coming."
With that, he left.