thisfatefulhour: (Young'un)
[personal profile] thisfatefulhour
August 26, 1982

"Are you ready to go back to school?"

Charles looks down at Ananda, who's stretched out blissfully and letting him scratch her belly. He's sitting on the floor next to her, leaning back against the cough.

"Not exactly," he tells his mother, looking back up with a smile. "I hadn't realized how much I missed this place, in the city."

"There was a reason we moved out here," his mother says. "But the opportunities are greater in the city, you know."

"I know." He pauses as Ananda shifts and sighs. "More opportunities, more connections, more resources . . . more people, more distractions . . ."

His mother gives him a curious look. "Do you not want to go back?"

"No, I do." He smiles at her. "I'll just be homesick."

August 27, 1982

Charles' father drives him to the bus center and helps him haul both big suitcases in. When the time comes for him to leave, Mr. Murry pulls his son into a quick hug.

"Good luck." He pulls back and looks Charles in the eye. "Come home."

"I will," Charles promises.

He falls asleep on the bus, finger holding his place in his book of Sanskrit poetry. For yesterday is but a memory, reads the poem, And tomorrow is only a vision.

He wakes as the bus roars into New York City, feeling displaced, and watches the buildings slide past.


thisfatefulhour: (Default)
Charles Wallace Murry

September 2009

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