Crying Within An Empty Grave

>> But his weak and mild demeanor made him cautious and unnerving to others.

Now, that's thought-provoking. It's more usual to imagine that a loud, aggressive person would be unnerving to others. But on reflection, I can see how I might find a timid, cautious person unnerving.... if his manner suggested to me that he might be concealing a dangerous side, a Mr. Hyde inside his Dr. Jekkyl.
 
Copperfox said:
>> But his weak and mild demeanor made him cautious and unnerving to others.

Now, that's thought-provoking. It's more usual to imagine that a loud, aggressive person would be unnerving to others. But on reflection, I can see how I might find a timid, cautious person unnerving.... if his manner suggested to me that he might be concealing a dangerous side, a Mr. Hyde inside his Dr. Jekkyl.
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Yes, especially since it is the quiet or meek ones that are more unpredictable.
But as my story suggests, Uncle Cyrus is more conniving than we at first thought. It was hinted in the will scene, but more noticeable here since we see things slightly from his viewpoint and psyche.

But yes, we have the loud and flamboyant Half-Uncle Joey to contend and consider with. He will appear later, though.
 
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(Chapter 3, Part 3)

It took Chris at least over an hour before he was capable and able to be properly dressed to come down. He felt ill at ease, possibly from eating only toast. But he knew it was something more than that. Despite his best efforts to get himself ready, Chris did not feel in a right state of mind since he had woken up.


I felt numb and tingly all over my body, the sickly sensation almost making me feel the need to gag after my morning shower. It wasn’t until I was decked out in my newly-ironed briefs that I felt the need for assistance. I had yanked the silent bell rope draping down beside my bed and sat upon my bed, waiting until Thomes had arrived. Without a word as he glanced at me in a way of understanding, he began the task of helping me into my clothes. I felt a bit silly but I knew my heart just wasn’t into the daily routine this morning. The last time I had needed help being dressed was when I was four. But Thomes did not seem bothered by it. He just went through the motions, my light morning suit having been prepared for me by one of the maids earlier on as I was in the bathroom taking my morning shower.
After helping me with my clothes and re-adjusting the collar of my white undershirt, Thomes smiled slightly in satisfaction at my appearance.
“Will there be anything else, Master Chris?” he asked humbly.
I merely shook my head slightly, watched as he bowed lightly and left me alone once more. I started to cry again and held myself, creasing my morning suit slightly. Determined to be not overwrought with tears again, I brushed them hurriedly from my eyes before getting off my bed and opening my bedroom door to make my way downstairs.

My dad was awaiting me in the Dining Hall as I entered, the newspaper open as he solemnly grimaced at it from the head of the long table. His breakfast lay untouched in front of him upon one of our china plates. He did not glance up as I entered. I did not expect him to and I did not say anything to him as I went and sat in the head chair at the other end of the long table.
The room was eerily silent aside from the early morning twitter of birds we could hear from the drawn open glass doors framed in polished mahogany that led outside to a partial view of the mansion grounds. I gazed out at the bright day, a nice change in weather from yesterday. I would normally go running out to investigate the grounds, the mildewed and freshly cut green acres a playground for me to have fun in. But today I did not feel like it. The gray clouds from yesterday were still in my heart.
Dad rustled his newspaper, making me glance back to him as he cleared his throat. He had discarded the newspaper with disdain, leaving it upon the floor in a crumpled mess. A servant, likely one of the maids, would pick it up eventually.


(to be continued...)
 
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(Chapter 3, part 4)

My dad finally started eating his warm breakfast slowly, uttering nothing as usual. I was used to the silence by now. Ever since my mum had died a month ago, the conversation between Dad and me has been almost non-existent. We only talked when needed and even then what we said to each other seemed somewhat strained.
Our silence was abruptly interrupted by the sound of the front doorbell ringing. We remained where we were seated and ignoring the ringing sound that was interwoven with the sound of Thomes’s feet upon the Grand Hall floor as he walked briskly in an unhurried manner to answer the front door.

By the time Thomes reached the grand double doors of the entrance to Kettering Manor, the constant ringing had stopped and was replaced by a frantic knocking.
Prepared for the worst, Thomes steadied his demeanor and graciously opened one of the double doors just as Delores Kettering had raised the top of her umbrella to give it another whack. In the instant of seeing the door flung open, Aunt Delores lowered her umbrella and the slight scowl on her face was replaced with a false smile of humility and embarrassment.
“Forgive me, Thomes. But is my brother-in-law in?” asked Aunt Delores primly.
Thomes drew himself up briskly in an affronted manner, the slight sign of disdain upon his face.
“I’m afraid Mister Kettering is indisposed at the moment, ma’am,” responded Thomes meekly and started to shut the door.
Aunt Delores placed her free hand upon the door and pressed lightly, causing Thomes to stop for fear of harming the lady.
“I’m sure Derek would not mind if i were to join him. After all, we are family,” insisted Delores that made the old butler give pause.
This mild pause was all Aunt Delores needed as she bustled her way past Thomes as he moved to let her pass with regret and followed her with stifled protests towards the main Dining Hall.
The grand flustered entrance of Aunt Delores was not lost upon Chris, whom turned as his Aunt stormed in and without invitation, sat down nearby Derek Kettering after drawing out the chair by herself.
“I’m sorry, sir, but she would not wait,” said a perplexed Thomes to Derek Kettering.
After gulping down his coffee from the fine china cup and placing the cup back onto the matching saucer, Derek seemed to hardly acknowledge Aunt Delores until Thomes had spoken to him.
“It’s quite allright, Thomes. You may leave us,” replied Derek reassuringly to Thomes as he noticed Aunt Delores was starting to open her mouth to speak with a frightening glare upon her face.
Thomes felt relieved and bowed before exiting the Dining Hall, turning around and shutting the door.


(to be continued...)
 
Overall this is very well written. But there's one little false note:

Thomes drew himself up briskly in an affronted manner, the slight sign of disdain upon his face.
“I’m afraid Mister Kettering is indisposed at the moment, ma’am,” responded Thomes meekly and started to shut the door.

If his feelings are disdainful and affronted, it seems unlikely that his tone of voice would be meek.
 
Copperfox said:
Overall this is very well written. But there's one little false note:

Thomes drew himself up briskly in an affronted manner, the slight sign of disdain upon his face.
“I’m afraid Mister Kettering is indisposed at the moment, ma’am,” responded Thomes meekly and started to shut the door.

If his feelings are disdainful and affronted, it seems unlikely that his tone of voice would be meek.
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Obviously one must put on a mask, especially regarding one's station.

He is in a delicate position, having the fact of dealing with one of the "ladies" (also the elder daughter of the original owner of the Manor) of the house that was a resident of Kettering Manor but had moved out due to no misgivings of the family or herself. So, naturally, Thomes has to appear humble despite his inner feelings. That is what a good butler does.

But true, he could have been a little more forceful in his tone or manner but discretion is the better part of valor for Thomes.
 
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(Chapter 3, last part...)

“I trust you have heard the news, then?” asked Derek calmly to Aunt Delores, watching the woman with a sinister scowl upon her plump and diminutive face.
Aunt Delores glanced over at Chris, not at all sure whether it would be best for him to hear such things. But her temper appeared to get the better of her judgment for the most part as she directed her gaze back to Derek Kettering.
“Yes,” she remarked with reproach. “That fool of a lawyer assures me that Joey is going ahead with it.”
“It was your sister’s wish. I have no need to contest with her will,” stated Derek to the fact Aunt Delores had brought up.
“But, he’s your child, Derek. Surely you can’t allow such a brute of a man to take Chris?” Aunt Delores asked, a slight sound of panic within her voice as she grasped her umbrella handle until her stubby fingers were as white as her made up face.
Derek Kettering shrugged his shoulders in reply and was silent for a second as he dejectedly let out a sigh.
“What would you have me do? Beat the man up?” he asked with a solemn grimace.
Aunt Delores seemed to have heard enough. To her, it was obvious that the boy’s father had given up hope.
“Well, you may do what you like, Derek. But I shall not give up. I will contest that portion of the will until Chris is with me,” said Aunt Delores with vigor, getting up from her chair with the aid of her umbrella.
With one final look of pity at her nephew’s befuddled face, Aunt Delores waddled her way out of the Dining Hall towards the open gardens in a huff.
After she had left, Derek resumed eating his now cold breakfast whilst Chris stared directly at his father, wondering what he had done wrong to deserve what he assumed was a terrible fate.


It was by midday that Aunt Delores had finally left the Kettering Manor, a trunk load of the more “tasteful” art pieces that had hung around the mansion in the back of her late husband’s car. Despite a lot of second-talk and discussion, she was still not able to make Derek change his mind, least of all try to make him support her motion for her right to Chris.
‘Let it be on his head what happens to his son,’ she thought sourly as she motored away from Kettering Manor, her feathers definitely ruffled from the whole ordeal.



End Of Chapter 3.


(to be continued...)
 
Chapter 4

(chapter 4, part 1)



Chapter 4: Old Cars And New Beginnings...


Martin Kettering looked up with disdain of the place he once called home. He hated it now, though by no fault of the building itself. Just old memories he was now embittered to endure, a time of a troubled past.
With s snide sneer upon his slightly unshaven face, Martin took a long breath of his cheap cigarette that was in his mouth. With his right hand he withdrew the cigarette and flicked it upon the gravel stone driveway entrance of Kettering Manor, a gritty mark left as he crushed it forcibly under the sole of his cheap brown loafers.
Martin paid it no mind, leaving the half-crushed remains behind him as he walked slowly up towards the grand double doors that was the main entrance to Kettering Manor. Unlike his sister before him, Martin felt there was no need to wait on pleasantries and started pounding on one of the sturdy doors with the side of his clenched right hand.
It did not take long for the perturbed manservant Thomes to answer this loud banging, for Martin was expected and Derek Kettering had no wish to trouble the head of his staff any further. But it was still perplexing for the old butler and Martin could see it in the old man’s eyes as he opened the door and stood to the side to allow Martin in.
Martin took his time, being led by Thomes after a small exchange of polite conversation that Martin barely paid attention too. He had given up the airs and graces of comfort long ago. The only reason Martin had not changed his last name was out of kindness to his dead sister. There was no denying bad blood between him and his father as he grew up. Martin felt it best to forget his roots and be a vagrant, a drifter on the road called Life.


Thomes opened the door to the Study, where Derek Kettering was sitting in Martin’s father’s old leatherback chair that had been in the family almost as long as Kettering Manor was built.
“Ah, Martin. Please, do come in,” invited Derek Kettering with seriousness in his tone.
Martin Kettering was lucid and calm. He walked past Thomes without so much as a glance and sat in one of the chairs opposite the great oaken desk he had seen many times before in his youth. Most of those times were an unpleasant experience for him. His father was always so serious and stern whilst looking down at Martin with disfavor in his eyes.
Thomes left the room at a silent nod from Derek and shut the door, leaving the two men alone in the Study.
Martin Kettering felt uneasy. Derek had that familiar look on his face as Martin’s father had. That was never a good sign.
“So, what’s the problem, Martin?” suddenly asked Derek, bringing Martin out of his past thoughts.
Martin nervously ruffled his already tussled black hair while his blue eyes stared balefully at the man opposite him. For the briefest of moments, Martin Kettering thought of reaching over and punching Derek right in the kisser. He never liked Derek. It was mostly due to the fact his father treated Derek more like a son than he did Martin. And then there was his younger sister. She deserved better, at least that was what Martin thought. This Derek, he was a nothing, a commoner from the town village. No better than a street urchin. And yet there was this “high standard” Martin’s father always talked about and drilled into Martin’s skull. It was no wonder he turned out the way he did, shunning society and all the gallantries and politeness he had been brought up on.
Martin forced a smile upon his face, his mouth muscles aching with the effort.
“No trouble, Derek. No trouble at all,” responded Martin with fake sincerity.
Derek stared hard at Martin, his eyes piercing as if seeing through the man at the broken child so long ago. But Martin did not bulk. He did not even flinch or twitch. He had grown accustomed to his father’s unrelenting glares. And if anything, Martin knew he was not even the least bit afraid of his brother-in-law.
Martin gazed back in a cool and collected manner at Derek, as if challenging him in a way. But the moment soon passed as Derek suddenly broke his gaze and picked up a few papers from the Study Desk.


(to be continued...)
 
(Chapter 4, part 2)

“These are the papers you need. Registration forms and historical documents for the cars stored here,” said Derek Kettering mildly, the urge to throw the papers at the young man sitting opposite him.
But Derek kept his composure and just held the papers in his hand, reaching out delicately to be rid of the whelp. Derek knew how Old Man Kettering was to his only “male heir”, as Gerald Kettering mockingly put it. But whatever happened to the boy in the past was of no concern to Derek. He had to deal with the man of today. And Derek took no pleasure in it.
Martin did not move forward, if anything he seemed to relax and lean more back in his chair.
“Are you that so earnest to be rid of us?” asked Martin suddenly.
Derek was caught off-guard but his grim face grew more serious as he furrowed his forehead slightly and allowed himself to let his outstretched arm go limp but still clutch the papers.
“As much as I dislike your conduct, I can’t say I wholeheartedly hate you, Martin,” responded Derek in a very pompous and polite fashion, knowing the worm in his stomach was squirming at the poison-laced lie from his lips.
Martin shrugged with indifference but his eyes blazed a fury he had not known since his childhood.
‘That’s my Father talking,’ Martin Kettering thought with disdain and loathing.
“Fair enough,” Martin heard himself saying. “I shall not make a fuss. Hand me the papers.”
Martin leaned forward with his arm extended. Derek felt relieved slightly but still had a frown etched on his face as he passed the documents over to Martin.
“But you are not the only one who loved her,” stated Martin, as he grasped the papers in his right hand and got up suddenly to depart.
Derek had heard enough once again. These relatives, this Family, it was not making things easier. In a sudden temper of fury, Derek stood up and banged his hands down hard upon the Study Desk!
Martin suddenly grew terrified, picturing his own Father doing the same when Martin was a small boy, frightened beyond belief of actions at such a young age.
“Get out, get out of here NOW!” enraged Derek, though through Martin’s eyes as if channeling the very words and spirit of Gerald Kettering.
Unable to speak out of sheer terror, Martin Kettering fled the Study whilst clutching his documents and ran away once more from Kettering Manor. The fear of being punished by the terrors of his past and the guilt only he alone knew of.



It was two weeks later when Uncle Joey came to pick me up. I felt miserable. I lost my mum a month ago. I did not want to lose my Dad too. But I knew it would happen, though I dreaded the day. I’m sure my Dad did not want it to happen either. Aunt Delores had tried yet failed to gain custody of me. My Dad explained to me that it was probably due to the fact she was a widow and had nearly no means of income aside from the paintings she got from my mum’s will.
I had help packing my suitcase by one of the younger maids, Beatrice by name. She seemed to try to put on a cheerful front but I knew it was an act for my sake as she neatly folded one of my shirts into my suitcase.
“There ya are, Master Chris. All neatly packed for ya,” Beatrice said over-enthusiastically whilst her superficial grin was plastered upon her face.
“Thanks,” I merely muttered, not smiling back.
Beatrice must have picked up on my unhappy response as she lightly curtsied and left my room without a fuss and closed the door gently after leaving. It made me feel more terrible. I knew she was only trying to help me but I just no longer had the effort in myself to hold back my feelings.
I sat upon my bed glancing at my packed suitcase before hearing a knock upon my bedroom door.
‘Well, time to go,’ I thought, closing and locking my suitcase before gripping the handle of it.
I got off my bed to go and open my bedroom door with my free hand.



(to be continued...)
 
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I miss coming here and reading some of the stories. I hope to start again soon! I'll start with yours Simon! :)
 
(chapter 4, part 3)



The sleek red Ferrari was a bright contrast to the dreary white stonework of Kettering Manor, not that Joey Fernando paid any notice of it. He was leisurely enjoying himself behind the wheel of his Ferrari Italia, the erratic wheel spin of the dangerously fast sports car kicking up the loose gravel of the driveway.
Pulling himself and his machine to a jerking stop, Joey adjusted the rearview mirror to check himself out. His eyes were hidden by fashionable dark shades as he smoothed out his hair-gelled jet black hair with his free hand while his dominant hand held the wheel in a confident manner. After admiring himself in the mirror, Joey finally turned the roaring engine off by turning the key with his hand he had just seconds ago used to adjust his hair. Putting the keys with gaudy golden baubles upon the key ring into his black tailored long jeans, Joey deftly got out of his Ferrari and stood up to be greeted by the manservant Thomes.
“Mind the car for me, eh, Jeeves? There’s a good fella!” exclaimed Joey as he handed the keys to the thin old man he tormented as a child and walked past the flabbergasted manservant whilst strolling confidently into Kettering Manor.
Joey glanced around the Main Hall, seeing his half-nephew being led by hand down the steps by Derek Kettering from the top of one of the grand staircases.
“Will this take long? I got an appointment due any minute,” Joey announced boisterously, his voice echoing lightly around the decorated marble Hall.
Derek seemed to ignore Joey, a look of disdain on his face as he led Chris by the hand down the stairway, stopping at the bottom step a few feet from Uncle Joey.
“You have to go now, Chris,” Derek said without a quiver in his voice and let go of Chris’s hand, the twelve-year-old boy holding his suitcase in the other hand tightly.
“I know. I’ll miss you, Dad,” muttered back Chris, trying desperately to hold back the tears welling up in his eyes.
Chris walked over to Uncle Joey, the tanned and ripped man wrapped in white and black fabric.
“Ya ready to go, then?” asked Uncle Joey with a white-flashed smile plastered upon his smooth tanned face.
It took Chris a few seconds and all his effort to finally nod his head silently.
“Well, looks like that’s all to say then, right?” asked Uncle Joey suddenly seriously as he adjusted his white-collared fine silken white jacket and directed his low-tilted gaze from behind his black sunglasses at Derek Kettering as if Chris wasn’t even there.
Derek gave back a glance at Uncle Joey and then also nodded silently, reassuring Uncle Joey in his confidence.
That was all Uncle Joey needed. His grin reappeared as if nothing had happened and ushered Chris to the front door, almost herding the boy out of Kettering Manor and all Chris knew and loved.
“Well, here she is. Ain’t she a beauty?” asked Uncle Joey in almost a purr-like manner as they made their way to the driveway and Uncle Joey’s red Ferrari Italia.
Chris said nothing, not really enthused but slightly impressed by something so red and shiny.
Uncle Joey paid Chris no mind, as if asking the question only to satisfy his own ego. He was handed the keys by Thomes, the old butler not amused by the jape at his expense earlier.
“Your car, Master Joey,” stiffly remarked Thomes in a reproachable manner.
“Oh, lighten up, Jeeves. Help the boy with his suitcase. Good-o, old chap,” responded Uncle Joey as he busied himself with his reflection in the side mirror.
Sighing silently to himself with disgust, Thomes helped Master Chris with putting the suitcase into the boot of the car. Master Chris did not seem enthused and Thomes could understand the reason why. To be losing one’s parents a month apart was devastating enough but to live with practically a stranger was probably unfamiliar and strange to the impressionable lad.
Shaking his head sadly, Thomes closed the boot of the disgustingly gaudy machine and opened the rear door for Chris to enter.
Grudgingly and with unenthusiastic vigor, Chris hauled himself into the black-lined interior leather seat of the red sports car. By this time, Uncle Joey had already entered the driver’s side and started up the car.
As soon as his seatbelt was in place and Thomes had shut the side door, Uncle Joey let her rip into the loose gravel once again, leaving a disgruntled Thomes standing in the driveway of Kettering Manor.
Chris suddenly felt sad and afraid. The emotions within him were suddenly tearing as he realized what he had left behind. Chris began to weep silently to himself, Uncle Joey not noticing as he was enjoying his sweet ride.



Derek Kettering had not moved from the bottom of the red carpeted stairway. He merely sat down, trying to take it all in.
‘I hope I did the right thing, Beth. I did my duty to you,’ thought Derek Kettering with tears in his eyes.
Derek Kettering no longer needed to be a strong figure for his son, the only thing keeping him from despair was Chris. Now that was like a shiver in the wind. No more pretending, no more time for stern pre-tense. Derek Kettering was merely a man, a man with a half empty house and a few servants. Chris was the light of the place, just like his dead wife was. Now that was gone too.
Standing up with a tear-stained face, Derek Kettering pulled himself up emotionally. There was still a lot that needed to be done. Still a few buzzards to beat back. He may be a broken man, but what is broken can be fixed. Bethany believed in that and by God, Derek believed in that too as much as he believed in her.



(to be continued...)
 
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SimonW said:
Well, glad you could find the time to log on and start on this one, BK! :D
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Yeah me too! I already read chapter one so I'm on my way there! I got a little confused at first when you switched from first person to third person perspective. I also was confused a little about the boy's mother dying a month before the funeral? I might have missed something there so I'll have to re-read that chapter I think.
 
BarbarianKing said:
Yeah me too! I already read chapter one so I'm on my way there! I got a little confused at first when you switched from first person to third person perspective. I also was confused a little about the boy's mother dying a month before the funeral? I might have missed something there so I'll have to re-read that chapter I think.
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Well, I can see why you'd be confused. At times when certain things the character can't describe or extra detail is needed in retrospect, I like to switch up the viewpoints at times.

Sorry if I did not make it clear. My characters speak of Chris's mother's death mostly in past tense, it is her funeral they are attending. I just want to clarify that so it simplifies maters as you go into Chapter 2.

Also, there was not much detail into what happened during her death due to the fact it is told from Chris's perspective and mentions him and Derek finding her dead body. Just putting tit out there.

And I had a grammar error. I meant "We ARE at her funeral." not WERE. I'll edit it.
She died a month ago, they attended her funeral. So unless I make her a ghost or use time travel, doubt she'd be there.
 
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SimonW said:
Well, I can see why you'd be confused. At times when certain things the character can't describe or extra detail is needed in retrospect, I like to switch up the viewpoints at times.

Sorry if I did not make it clear. My characters speak of Chris's mother's death mostly in past tense, it is her funeral they are attending. I just want to clarify that so it simplifies maters as you go into Chapter 2.

Also, there was not much detail into what happened during her death due to the fact it is told from Chris's perspective and mentions him and Derek finding her dead body. Just putting tit out there.

And I had a grammar error. I meant "We ARE at her funeral." not WERE. I'll edit it.
She died a month ago, they attended her funeral. So unless I make her a ghost or use time travel, doubt she'd be there.
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Got it now! Thanks.
 
(chapter 4, part 4)



I felt uneasy sitting in the back of my Uncle Joey’s car. The leather seating felt uncomfortable to me and the black looked unappealing to my eyes. I did not glance at the front, not that I expected Uncle Joey to pay particular attention to me in the slightest. Uncle Joey looked like he was too busy driving, his sharp turns at corners and fast speed jolting me slightly within my seat. I was glad to be wearing my seatbelt.
I glanced out of the black-tinted window to the left of me. A blur of familiar countryside was all I could see before we were heading to the township and very briefly left that behind as Uncle Joey roared through the deserted streets.
More farmland was shortly followed and then we were upon the highway, the open area that was a welcome contrast to my eyes. But I was starting to get sick of the view, what I could see of it that is. I decided to turn my head away from the window and gazed down at my hands in silence.
It seemed like an hour had passed before we had finally reached our destination, the airport. Not paying me any mind as he got out of the car, Uncle Joey simply swaggered away as I got out of the car on my own and took out my single suitcase as I followed him inside to the queue line.
“Are we going somewhere?” I asked Uncle Joey, glancing up at the muscle-toned white suit he was wearing. It was a striking contrast to his tanned brown skin as the sunglasses glanced down at me.
“That’s right, kid. We are going to my pad,” was the boastful reply with a dazzling flash of white from his grinning mouth.
“Where’s that?” I innocently asked him, which made his smile stiffen slightly.
“You’ll just have to wait to find out,” he stated seriously, all jovial humor gone from his voice as he lifted his gaze from me and we moved up in line.
I gave up trying to talk to my Uncle. His obvious resentment of me was a sure sign we would not get along. I remained quiet as we waited another five minutes before we stood in front of the lady behind the glass.
“Two one-way tickets to New York,” Uncle Joey said, his smarmy grin plastered once again on his face.
“Coach or First Class?” asked the receptionist in a blue and white uniform.
She looked pretty and had her hair done up in a fashionable way in order to wear her uniform hat. She caught me staring up at her and gave a small grin before I glanced away, feeling bashful.
“First Class,” answered Uncle Joey briskly with a slight edge in his voice to make the pretty lady pay attention to him once more.
The lady suddenly stopped smiling and it seemed like an invisible mask covered her face as her manner turned all businesslike again when she directed her gaze at Uncle Joey.
“Window seat?” she asked briskly.
Uncle Joey did not seem to care but the corners of his mouth twitched slightly before flashing his gaudy grin once more.
“I don’t really care either way,” he responded in a bored voice.
It seemed at this point the lady just seemed to ask curt but short questions and Uncle Joey responded to them likewise until he flashed his credit card on a sensor and was handed two tickets by the woman.
“Here, don’t lose this,” said Uncle Joey to me in a flippant manner, presenting the ticket hurriedly towards me.
I could tell he was not looking at me and not even the slight frown upon the pretty lady’s face at him. I reached out with my free hand, holding my suitcase with the other.
“And don’t lose me, kid,” he remarked half-heartedly as he pocketed his own ticket and started making a brisk walk towards a waiting area nearby what I assumed was our departure gate.
I did as Uncle Joey instructed, hefting my suitcase with two hands, my ticket clasped in between them both. I tried to keep up to my Uncle’s fast footwork, nearly bumping into people on numerous occasions but making sure to keep sight of my Uncle at all times.


(to be continued...)
 
I am rather too familiar with the experience of being the passenger of a driver who refuses to slow down for corners and curves. :eek:

Now, exactly what IS a "muscle-toned white suit"?
 
Copperfox said:
I am rather too familiar with the experience of being the passenger of a driver who refuses to slow down for corners and curves. :eek:

Now, exactly what IS a "muscle-toned white suit"?
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I am sure others are familiar with the experience too, Copperfox. :)

A "muscle-toned white suit" is a suit styled and designed to fit a person's body-type. It is clear-cut, an example of fitting so well on a person that their body outline or build is easily seen at a glance. Obviously, Uncle Joey's white suit jacket and pants make it obvious he is a broad-shouldered muscled thug type build, something he has no trouble displaying, if you recall his get-up in the reading of the will.
 
Okay. Although I am aware of the meaning of the phrase "muscle tone," in the context of describing a garment I thought your narrative was somehow referring to "tone" as in the COLOR of the fabric.
 
Copperfox said:
Okay. Although I am aware of the meaning of the phrase "muscle tone," in the context of describing a garment I thought your narrative was somehow referring to "tone" as in the COLOR of the fabric.
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Understandable. But I am glad to correct the assumption. :D

Anyway, I plan to put up the next part fairly soon, once I get the structure of where I want to go with this straight in my head.
I can only say, Chris has left his comfort zone and the destination will be America. In New York with his Uncle Joey, whom you can already tell has become "Native" to the American lifestyle and possibly attitude.
 
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