The Blanket (CC/Teen) (complete)
Posted: Thu Aug 03, 2006 10:32 am
Title: The Blanket
Disclaimer: The characters of "Roswell" belong to Jason Katims, Melinda Metz, WB, and UPN. They are not mine and no infringement is intended.
Category: CC
Rating: Teen
Summary: It is two weeks after Sexual Healing and......…
The rising New Mexico sun was in his face as he drove the jeep down the dry river bed. It was already eight o’clock and it had been a long night. He was tired as he approached the start of the trail he had left only four hours ago.
As he drove he remembered the real start of this journey, an early morning two weeks earlier. The four of them had talked for almost an hour before the two teenagers entered the restaurant to find both sets of their parents looking at them. The two had entered side by side, but as they saw their parents they had instinctively moved together, their hands finding one another, each seeking the others reassurance, as they had looked at the disapproving stares.
Their excuse of “stargazing” had served only to further anger their parents, who had long since decided their fates. Nothing was negotiable, no excuses would justify their actions, and the sentence had already been passed in absentia.
They were not to talk to one another, not to date, not to visit, not to phone, not to be together at all unless a parent was present. These rules were not negotiable. Perhaps in four months, or maybe six, the rules might be revised, assuming good behavior. The parents might find the time from their busy schedules to meet again to discuss this. But until then, the rules were absolute, and no argument from emotional teenagers would change those rules. That was the law, and the teenagers would not violate it.
Or so it had seemed until he had gotten up seven hours ago, awakened by some dream. He’d heard it then, the creak of a dusty fire escape lowering from the brick building. He’d gone to her room and found it empty, the window open to the roof. Climbing out on the roof he’d gone quickly to the fire escape to find it empty as well. But moving slowly down the dark alley was this same black jeep with two people in it.
He’d followed them then, through the New Mexican desert, headlights off and driving by the light of the full moon, the pair oblivious to the car that followed them, reveling in each other’s company, enjoying the rush of the cool air of the high desert ruffling their hair. They had driven out the old road, past the long abandoned airbase, through the arroyo and up the old access road to the base of the rusty radio tower.
He’d caught them there, surprised by the headlights suddenly lighting their faces as they sat in the jeep. He’d confronted them, already angry even before hearing the excuse of more “stargazing.” But then he’d seen it, the brown wool blanket on the back seat of the jeep and he had no doubt what their true purpose was in being out in the desert.
She had always been such a perfect girl, always obedient to her parents, and somehow that made the betrayal even worse to her father. He flung the jeep keys into the desert, and dragged her from the car, the boy starting at him in anger but then restrained by a word from the girl. She was pushed into the car, and quickly driven away.
She had tried to protest, tried to justify her actions, but that had inflamed him even more. He called her the names then, hateful names, spawned by the anger of her betrayal, and of fear for what might have happened. She had cried then, deep sobs that should have melted any father’s heart, but instead his rage continued.
When he then talked about the boy her anger too had flared. She had suffered in silence her father’s slurs on herself, but she defended the boy with vehemence, with anger, with a passion matching his own. And that too had angered him.
As they had started the descent into the arroyo he had yelled at her, amazed as she again responded with a fury toward him, amazed to see his own hatred reflected in her eyes. Too late he looked forward and saw the three foot boulder that had tumbled from the cliff onto the narrow dirt road, too late to avoid the crack of the tie rod as the wheel struck the rock, too late to avoid the skid that propelled the car careening off the road crashing down into the arroyo.
The vehicle tumbled then and time seemed to stand still. Only a few seconds perhaps, but time enough. Time enough to regret the hurried departure and the seatbelts left unbuckled. Time enough to regret angry words spoken to a beloved child. Time enough to remember that his job was to love and not to judge.
He felt the jarring impact as he was thrown from the car, and coughed as the dust cloud cleared to show the car on its right side, his daughter trapped halfway out the window, her body crushed by the window frame and roof.
All his anger had left long before the few seconds it took to drag himself to her side, to look down at her eyes that held such pain, to see the trickle of blood that came from her lips with each labored breath. To hear her voice whisper, “Daddy..…”
He would have given his life to lift that car, to push it off of his daughter, but his best efforts found it unmoving, continuing to squeeze the life from his only child. As he watched each breath more labored than the next his guilt had known no bounds.
His worst fear an hour ago was that she might be with the boy, off under the moonlight, laying on the blanket with the boy, perhaps creating life. He had tried to rescue her from that and caused her instead to be here, ….here where her own life was oozing from her on the cold floor of the high desert. And the irony was crushing as he found himself wishing so very much that right now she were back in the warm arms of the boy, back on that brown blanket.
He heard it then, the noise of the engine, the squeal of the brakes, the clatter of rocks as the boy ran down the slope.
“Mr. Parker……are you OK? …..Where’s Liz.”
He saw the horror fill those large brown eyes as they found her face and he knew that the same terror and fear and pain that gripped his own heart filled the boy, that he loved her, not a father’s love, but a love just as deep, a love far greater than the simple teenage passion of raging hormones and superficial feelings. Too late he realized how wrong he’d been about the boy, how wrong he’d been about both of them.
He was surprised when the boy toppled the car off of her, it hadn’t budged with his best efforts. But the release of his daughter brought him no comfort as he saw the crushed body that had been hidden under the vehicle. Horror and terror and guilt swirled into his mind as he knew, …knew that those injuries could not be survived.
He watched the boy kneel by her, the moon shining on his black leather jacket as he brought his face to hers. He looked away then, the guilt overcoming him. He’d done this to them, he’d never forgive himself for it. And he didn’t need to carry for all eternity the look of their pain as they said their last goodbye, had their last kiss, spoke their last words to each other.
But as he heard the words, his eyes filled with tears, because he knew.
“Liz. You have to look at me…”
“Max..?"
Tears of hope and tears of joy because he knew….
“You have to look at me, Liz."
He knew even before he saw the yellow light from the boys hand splay out over her broken body, even before that he knew……
…that sometimes there really were miracles…..
…that sometimes crazy tourists were really not that crazy after all…
…and that sometimes a kind and loving God gave second chances to fathers, even those who had forgotten that it was their job to love and not to judge.
He had carried her up the side of the arroyo asleep in his arms to the back of this same jeep. He had half-carried the boy to the passenger seat. Apparently lifting cars and doing miracles took its toll on a 17 year old, whatever his origin. He had driven them where the boy had asked, to find shelter, to find safety, where they could rest awhile and he could complete the healing.
He had helped the boy stand to reach the spot on the cliff that had opened the entrance to the chamber. The boy had promised as he left to get them food and water that his daughter would feel no pain, that she was not in danger, and that he would heal her fully, completely when they both had rested.
Now as he drove back toward them with the food and the water he remembered spreading the blanket on the floor of the chamber, helping the boy from the jeep to the blanket and carrying his daughter to the boy’s side. The irony was not lost on Jeff Parker but he only smiled. He could not begrudge a kind and loving God His little jest.
As he ran up the trail, anxious to see his daughter awake, anxious to beg her forgiveness, he hesitated at the open door to call to them. He wasn’t sure how fast his future son-in-law would recover, how fast he might be able to heal Lizzy, or how…..energetic Lizzy might feel.
He wouldn’t want to embarrass the two teenagers. He loved them far too much to do that.
==========================
Author's note: Obviously this is a short story and is complete in one posting. Nonetheless, I welcome input from all as to what I could have done better, what I could have done differently, so that I can write better short stories in the future. Thanks.
Disclaimer: The characters of "Roswell" belong to Jason Katims, Melinda Metz, WB, and UPN. They are not mine and no infringement is intended.
Category: CC
Rating: Teen
Summary: It is two weeks after Sexual Healing and......…
The rising New Mexico sun was in his face as he drove the jeep down the dry river bed. It was already eight o’clock and it had been a long night. He was tired as he approached the start of the trail he had left only four hours ago.
As he drove he remembered the real start of this journey, an early morning two weeks earlier. The four of them had talked for almost an hour before the two teenagers entered the restaurant to find both sets of their parents looking at them. The two had entered side by side, but as they saw their parents they had instinctively moved together, their hands finding one another, each seeking the others reassurance, as they had looked at the disapproving stares.
Their excuse of “stargazing” had served only to further anger their parents, who had long since decided their fates. Nothing was negotiable, no excuses would justify their actions, and the sentence had already been passed in absentia.
They were not to talk to one another, not to date, not to visit, not to phone, not to be together at all unless a parent was present. These rules were not negotiable. Perhaps in four months, or maybe six, the rules might be revised, assuming good behavior. The parents might find the time from their busy schedules to meet again to discuss this. But until then, the rules were absolute, and no argument from emotional teenagers would change those rules. That was the law, and the teenagers would not violate it.
Or so it had seemed until he had gotten up seven hours ago, awakened by some dream. He’d heard it then, the creak of a dusty fire escape lowering from the brick building. He’d gone to her room and found it empty, the window open to the roof. Climbing out on the roof he’d gone quickly to the fire escape to find it empty as well. But moving slowly down the dark alley was this same black jeep with two people in it.
He’d followed them then, through the New Mexican desert, headlights off and driving by the light of the full moon, the pair oblivious to the car that followed them, reveling in each other’s company, enjoying the rush of the cool air of the high desert ruffling their hair. They had driven out the old road, past the long abandoned airbase, through the arroyo and up the old access road to the base of the rusty radio tower.
He’d caught them there, surprised by the headlights suddenly lighting their faces as they sat in the jeep. He’d confronted them, already angry even before hearing the excuse of more “stargazing.” But then he’d seen it, the brown wool blanket on the back seat of the jeep and he had no doubt what their true purpose was in being out in the desert.
She had always been such a perfect girl, always obedient to her parents, and somehow that made the betrayal even worse to her father. He flung the jeep keys into the desert, and dragged her from the car, the boy starting at him in anger but then restrained by a word from the girl. She was pushed into the car, and quickly driven away.
She had tried to protest, tried to justify her actions, but that had inflamed him even more. He called her the names then, hateful names, spawned by the anger of her betrayal, and of fear for what might have happened. She had cried then, deep sobs that should have melted any father’s heart, but instead his rage continued.
When he then talked about the boy her anger too had flared. She had suffered in silence her father’s slurs on herself, but she defended the boy with vehemence, with anger, with a passion matching his own. And that too had angered him.
As they had started the descent into the arroyo he had yelled at her, amazed as she again responded with a fury toward him, amazed to see his own hatred reflected in her eyes. Too late he looked forward and saw the three foot boulder that had tumbled from the cliff onto the narrow dirt road, too late to avoid the crack of the tie rod as the wheel struck the rock, too late to avoid the skid that propelled the car careening off the road crashing down into the arroyo.
The vehicle tumbled then and time seemed to stand still. Only a few seconds perhaps, but time enough. Time enough to regret the hurried departure and the seatbelts left unbuckled. Time enough to regret angry words spoken to a beloved child. Time enough to remember that his job was to love and not to judge.
He felt the jarring impact as he was thrown from the car, and coughed as the dust cloud cleared to show the car on its right side, his daughter trapped halfway out the window, her body crushed by the window frame and roof.
All his anger had left long before the few seconds it took to drag himself to her side, to look down at her eyes that held such pain, to see the trickle of blood that came from her lips with each labored breath. To hear her voice whisper, “Daddy..…”
He would have given his life to lift that car, to push it off of his daughter, but his best efforts found it unmoving, continuing to squeeze the life from his only child. As he watched each breath more labored than the next his guilt had known no bounds.
His worst fear an hour ago was that she might be with the boy, off under the moonlight, laying on the blanket with the boy, perhaps creating life. He had tried to rescue her from that and caused her instead to be here, ….here where her own life was oozing from her on the cold floor of the high desert. And the irony was crushing as he found himself wishing so very much that right now she were back in the warm arms of the boy, back on that brown blanket.
He heard it then, the noise of the engine, the squeal of the brakes, the clatter of rocks as the boy ran down the slope.
“Mr. Parker……are you OK? …..Where’s Liz.”
He saw the horror fill those large brown eyes as they found her face and he knew that the same terror and fear and pain that gripped his own heart filled the boy, that he loved her, not a father’s love, but a love just as deep, a love far greater than the simple teenage passion of raging hormones and superficial feelings. Too late he realized how wrong he’d been about the boy, how wrong he’d been about both of them.
He was surprised when the boy toppled the car off of her, it hadn’t budged with his best efforts. But the release of his daughter brought him no comfort as he saw the crushed body that had been hidden under the vehicle. Horror and terror and guilt swirled into his mind as he knew, …knew that those injuries could not be survived.
He watched the boy kneel by her, the moon shining on his black leather jacket as he brought his face to hers. He looked away then, the guilt overcoming him. He’d done this to them, he’d never forgive himself for it. And he didn’t need to carry for all eternity the look of their pain as they said their last goodbye, had their last kiss, spoke their last words to each other.
But as he heard the words, his eyes filled with tears, because he knew.
“Liz. You have to look at me…”
“Max..?"
Tears of hope and tears of joy because he knew….
“You have to look at me, Liz."
He knew even before he saw the yellow light from the boys hand splay out over her broken body, even before that he knew……
…that sometimes there really were miracles…..
…that sometimes crazy tourists were really not that crazy after all…
…and that sometimes a kind and loving God gave second chances to fathers, even those who had forgotten that it was their job to love and not to judge.
He had carried her up the side of the arroyo asleep in his arms to the back of this same jeep. He had half-carried the boy to the passenger seat. Apparently lifting cars and doing miracles took its toll on a 17 year old, whatever his origin. He had driven them where the boy had asked, to find shelter, to find safety, where they could rest awhile and he could complete the healing.
He had helped the boy stand to reach the spot on the cliff that had opened the entrance to the chamber. The boy had promised as he left to get them food and water that his daughter would feel no pain, that she was not in danger, and that he would heal her fully, completely when they both had rested.
Now as he drove back toward them with the food and the water he remembered spreading the blanket on the floor of the chamber, helping the boy from the jeep to the blanket and carrying his daughter to the boy’s side. The irony was not lost on Jeff Parker but he only smiled. He could not begrudge a kind and loving God His little jest.
As he ran up the trail, anxious to see his daughter awake, anxious to beg her forgiveness, he hesitated at the open door to call to them. He wasn’t sure how fast his future son-in-law would recover, how fast he might be able to heal Lizzy, or how…..energetic Lizzy might feel.
He wouldn’t want to embarrass the two teenagers. He loved them far too much to do that.
==========================
Author's note: Obviously this is a short story and is complete in one posting. Nonetheless, I welcome input from all as to what I could have done better, what I could have done differently, so that I can write better short stories in the future. Thanks.