FAMILY - PART ONE

13/08/1970. The First Breath.

Splash. Is the onomatopoeia of water falling on the boards that mark the floor.

"I thought I told ya, to watch that water bottle!", a woman expresses in frustration, as some of the water had caught her heel.

Furiously turning around to face the culprit, "Oh I'm so sorry", having realised the culprit was in labour, she immediately dialled down her attitude.

The pregnant woman was heavily breathing, "I'm sorry", she said, rubbing her stomach, "It was not that lid that broke"

"No, that's okay", the other lady said, helping her stay on her feet, "Bus stop!", she yelled, "There's a woman in labour!"

The rowdy bus quieted down as the situation quickly caught everyone's eyes and ears. Now that she was in labour many offered her their seat, but the woman collapsed on the buses' greasy floor.

Her heavy breathing had turned into grunts while her skin dampened, amid rising temperatures. A handful of concerned citizens gathered around her doing a lot of useful things such as adding more worry on her behalf, and merely standing around.

"Give her space, give her space to breathe", the one lady at her side had pleaded, "Oh Come on! Please stop the bus!"

"Where is she going to go after the bus stops!?", the bus driver replied in retaliation, "give birth on the sidewalk, as if it were some flea market!?", despite his complaints the bus began to gradually increased its speed.

"Buckle up everyone. I'm taking her to the nearest hospital"

Suddenly the allegedly worried passengers had turned into birds, "Aww, aww", they sounded like crying chickens as their speech had fizzled under the weight of their pretence.

"Oh Jesus frickin Christ", one bald man spoke up, the bold man was in fact bold in the literal sense, "Any sane person that's nine months in, would not have caught the bus"

"Oh you have no right to speak of her that way", the only lady comforting her defended, "She didn't think things would end this way"

"If she did not think", the old man remarked, "than that baby has all my prayers"

"Such lack of empathy, my word, it's no wonder you lost your hairline"

"Listen here, young lady, I saw the sun long before you did and if…"

"And in all those years the sun couldn't iron your wrinkled skin?", the lady shot back.

"If you don't quit ya yapping, my clapback's will straighten you better than the sun ever could"

The old man furiously opened his mouth, but soon realised he did not have the teeth to bite back at her glare, so he regrew his hair and fell silent. The little quarrel had the whole bunch of pre-puberty and post-puberty children giggling amongst themselves, they had respectively forgotten how late for school or work they were going to be.

Shortly after that, the bus had arrived at the hospital, the young lady, and two gentlemen from the pedestrian walk helped carry her out, and on duty paramedics rushed to receive her. About an hour after the incident, Gregor Stanfield was born to Cynthia Stanfield.

"Your baby is steady and healthy", the gynaecologist had said about the newborn.

Cretone, Eye of Deeds, had once again come to a stop on Panteku's command.

"Wow", it said, "what an eventful day your birth was, dramatic, comedic, and even contained a minor dilemma for the passengers"

"You know of this?"

"Yes", replied Homeless Gregor, "it was my mother's favourite story", he paused as if reminiscing, "she had told it to me about a hundred times when I were still a child"

"And the woman that defended her?"

"Dorothy Gambelia", he revealed, "after she dropped us off at the hospital, the bus left her behind, and she went about her way"

"However, mother was so grateful she searched for her, to thank her"

"And they became friends, long life friends"

"A heart warming story", the Panteku commented. 

16/08/1970. Day Four.

Toddler Gregor was still in hospital with his mother, still practising his vocals at the expense of surrounding ears. A nurse gently took him out of his infant bed, and tucked him in his mother's arms. She proceeded to hold him at her chest. Cynthia held him close and kept him dear, "sssh", she kept saying under his vocals, and began to move him around a bit, while humming a lullaby.

The fastest and truest route to make a baby stop crying does not recline in beating them, nor shushing them, and not even singing them lullaby's. No.

It is spinning them around until they're too dizzy to cry. Such was the advice given to Cynthia by a fly by night doctor.

Fortunately though, her motherly instincts had kicked in and had long forgotten the phony doctor's advice. She stuck to lullaby's, motioning him enough for him to lose focus on crying and start paying attention to her tunes, and her motherly touch.

In quick succession, toddler Gregor was calm again. And just then an agitated man walked in, aggressively pushing aside the nursing curtains that covered her bed.

"Oh my God", he broke, "Cynthia", a nurse had followed him in, and watched from behind.

"Jeremy, it's a boy", she whispered but smiled as best she could, "our son"

Shattered, and overwhelmed by joy, he fell on his knees and crawled to her bedside, embracing them both, his upper arm resting softly on Gregor's back. Before flooding him with back of the head kisses.

"I'm so sorry, I took so long to get here", he started explaining, "commuting through cities by bus took me too long, I should have been here sooner"

"It's okay", she reassured him, "I too was caught off guard, I went into labour on a bus, the people were helpful"

"But I did lose my wallet, in the chaos of things, so my means of transport was taken away, which is why I'm still here"

"Please, just get me discharged, I'd like to go home"

"Right away", Jeremy said, getting back to feet.

12/01/1977. Day Two Thousand Three hundred and Forty Five.

"First day of school, are you excited?", mother, Cynthia asked while helping the youngling with his uniform.

"No, I'm scared", replied young Gregor, "aren't you?"

"No, not really", she replied, "I'm more interested in seeing the type of person you'll become from this day forth"

"What friends you will make"

"What subjects will you favour, and what subjects will favour you, where your interests and dreams will lie"

"All those things", she said, wiping his nose with her index finger, as if patting it in encouragement, "but right now, just be a six year old boy"

"Okay?", she sounded it out.

"Yes, ma"

"Now then, remember what we spoke of last night, what we've been speaking about the whole week?"

The boy half-heartedly swayed his lower half from side to side trying to recall.

"I…I..", he started in his little twinkling voice, "must tell you everything that happens at school", he repeated, proud of himself.

"Yes, boy, that's right, you'll have teachers to handle you"

"And classmates too, but there's a lot of stuff that can happen at school"

"That mama may not agree with, so it will be very hard for me to guide you in life if I do not know what's actually going on in your life"

"Okay?", she sounded out, again, to which her son nodded.

"You are a smart boy", she encouraged, rubbing both arms as if keeping him warm on a cold afternoon.

"Now then, let's get you to school"

12/01/1977. Day Two Thousand Three Hundred and Forty Five.

A bunch of parents, guardians, and older siblings, are let into grade school, having waited outside the premises. The younglings too couldn't wait to go home, as most ran out of class or away from teachers and into the embrace of their parents.

Young Gregor had to wait a while, as Cynthia arrived a little later than the others. She found him still seated in class, with his teacher.

"Good afternoon", she greeted in a sigh of relief, "Sorry I'm late"

"No worries", replied Madam Balinda, Gregor's first ever teacher, "I believe we met this morning", said she.

"We did", agreed Cynthia, while suggesting her son packs up, "but there was a bunch of us this morning, and I had to leave a little earlier"

"Yes, I can recall", she politely smiled.

"How was he?"

"This is only the first day, but so far so good", replied Balinda, "while waiting for you, he sat still in class, he didn't wander around", she said.

"Ah, I'm glad. Glad he didn't cause a ruckus, these little ones can be rowdy"

"But, thank you for keeping an eye on him", she said.

"It is not a problem", Balinda replied in an understanding tone that switched up to a little more assertive one, the next time she spoke, "however", she began as Cynthia was about to turn around with her son in hand.

"This is not a day care centre", she remarked, "we constantly pursue parents to pick up their children on time, I know it's only the beginning of the year"

"And it could be a once off thing"

"But in the past couple of years parents have gotten too comfortable leaving their children here well beyond the fixed time", she informed, "and us teachers have to bear the responsibility of their negligence"

"I'm sorry if I'm being too forward right now"

"But this cannot become a habit, which is why I'm saying it now"

"I understand", Cynthia replied, slightly bowing her head, young Gregor looked up at her as she did, "it won't happen again", she promised, "have a good day"

12/01/1977. Day Two Thousand Three Hundred and Forty Five.

"So, what was your day like?"

"Nothing really happened", Gregor replied laughing, "we sat in class and introduced ourselves"

"Our names, what we like, and what our parents gave us for lunch, stuff like that"

"Ah, I see", said Cynthia, "do you recall anyone's name?"

"Yes", he happily replied.

"Who? And how many?"

"One. Gregor", he said, still giggling in between phrases.

"Oh, that's how it is. Well, you'll get used to everyone soon enough"

"Now let's get home quickly so you can eat"

"Since, I didn't pack you lunch"

24/04/1977. Day Two Thousand Four Hundred and Forty Seven.

Gregor was in deep sleep, and was swaying across his mattress. His feet were shrugged several times, and he slowly opened his eyes to find his father Jeremy at bedside.

"Sorry for waking you", he excused, Cynthia was at the door leaning against the frame with crossed arms, "but I had no choice", Jeremy said.

"This is the first time I'm seeing you since you started school, three months ago"

"But that doesn't matter, your mother tells me you've been a good boy at school", he informed, gently patting his shoulder.

"She told me you are off to a good start", he said, "such news makes me happy, even though I'm hardly around, know how proud I am of you", he said and proceeded to hug him tightly.

The boy hugged him back, "you're not full of sand", he commented.

"Full of sand?", asked Jeremy, still hugging, "what's that supposed to mean?"

"Mama, said you work with sand, and that's why you're not always home"

"Looks like she's trying to grow your imagination", he grinned.

"I'm a mine worker", he confessed, "I…dig into things for extended periods of time"

"I work in fields occupied by nobody, and I work really, really long hours, which is why I'm never home", he explained it to him as if talking to an adult, "I'm on a short break, I'll have to return soon, to another place and keep digging"

"I don't understand anything, you're saying", Gregor confessed.

"You don't have to, just focus on school, and don't cause any trouble for your mother okay?"

Gregor, shook his head, in that aggressive fashion children often display, whereby it's as if their heads are about to fall out.

06/06/1977. Day Two Thousand Four Hundred and Ninety.

"Mother", said Gregor, walking at her side, "I should learn to walk back home on my own", he said.

"Why?"

"Why do you want to do that?"

"The teacher doesn't really like waiting too long for you"

"I don't like the way she looks at me every afterschool"

"Is that so?"

"Hmm. She's nice but she also gets upset, I can tell and I think, it has something to do with keeping her in so late"

"I see", said Cynthia, attentively listening, "so that's why you want to walk home alone?"

"Yes", he nodded, "you must be just as busy as dad is", he said.

"You're a thoughtful and sweet child", she admitted.

"But you're not even seven yet, you are too young to walk home alone. It's just not safe", she said.

"But, also I can't get you into trouble all the time"

"I've asked aunty Dorothy, for help"

"From now on, either her or me will come pick you up from school"

"Also…", she paused, "you should know"

"Your sister will be transferring next semester"

"Lusanda, is coming back?", the boy almost jumped when asking.

"Your father guaranteed it"

"So don't you worry about anything only your books"

"And yes…thank you for being open with me"

"Keep it up"

Panteku brought Cretone to an abrupt stop, again it focused its attention to the mortal witnesses in court.

"Cynthia Hertha Stanfield", the Prosecutor called.

"Do rise to feet, and interact with your own accord"

Cynthia stood up, and immediately let out a polite smile in an attempt to ease her recognisable son.

"Anything you have to say to him", Panteku said after noticing, "now is the time for that"

"Yes, please. I'd like to talk to my son"

"Yes...I just permitted it"

"Hi Gregor", she greeted, "sorry, I couldn't talk earlier, I must have made you anxious, but to answer your question"

"I unfortunately did not see it. Or maybe I did but I cannot remember seeing my funeral"

"But I do know, you did your best, whatever you did, I'm proud and content", she said.

"That said…", she mused.

While she spoke, the Homeless mortal listened on in disbelief, how long? He asked himself, how long has it been since I heard her voice?

How long? he asked himself, how long has it been since I've seen her up close? Forgive me, he told himself, it has been too long, I was beginning to forget what you looked like.

Forgive me, he told himself, I was beginning to forget what you sound like. Forgive me, he told himself, we may never reunite again.

While he went on over mortal things in his head, his mother, or Cynthia rather, went over similar mortal things too, her head had already begun to ache as she was struggled to find the correct words nor the appropriate approach for this unusual interaction.

"That said…"

"I want to say sorry for dying too soon"

"I can't recall how old you were when I left, nor my own age of death"

"But you do not look much older than I remember you", she noted, and looked at him from head to toe, magnifying her inspections.

"You do not look old at all", she pointed out and frowned a little.

"Gregor...did you die the way you are right now or did the court bring you here at a random age of your life?"

Cynthia's question was so profound it earned a reaction out of all three entities. Prosecutor Panteku smirked at the question, the handler seemed impressed at her observation while Ansi paid her more mind. The mortal on the other hand did not know how to answer it. His age nor his death were two things he had failed to consider.

"I er…"

"…I…don't know", he confessed, while failing to examine his own body, due to the restrictions of his chains.

"Forget, I asked", she rectified ending his struggles, "you do look well, and that makes me happy"

Now able to speak with her freely, the mortal, ironically was at lost of words. A far contrast to how he had being earlier.

"Well then, let's not take forever, inside forever", the Panteku, stepped in.

"Cynthia, you know what I'm about to ask you, yes?"

"Yes", she replied.

"Well then, go on, give us your verdict"

"Heaven", she answered immediately, "the reason?"

"Whatever I say, you will use it against him and me later on"

"So, I say this – I choose Heaven because his my son, that is the only reason I can and will give you"

"Good choice of words", Panteku complimented, "you've proven to have great insight"

"And so far, I more or less, agree with you"

"He was an obedient son", it said.

"Now then", said Panteku, "father Jeremy, please stand up"

Seated beside Cynthia in the first row, Jeremy slowly rose to feet.

"And what will your verdict be?"

"Hell", Jeremy dryly replied.