Closed for Ohia Lehua
Jack looked at the photo: a woman holding a young girl and boy. The woman was unquestionably attractive - blonde, busty, leggy. The kids, though young, were undoubtedly hers. The boy's hair was a darker blond, like a sandy beach, but his cheekbones and nose were clearly similar. The daughter was even closer, save that her blonde hair was almost platinum. All three shared the same brilliant green eyes. All three had the same cheerful smiles.
But the photo was old. Well over a dozen years had passed since those clothes and hairstyles had been fashionable. Jack sighed. A dozen years and this was still among the most recent photographs of him with his mother.
The frame was dusty. It had been sitting on a shelf in a closet for the better part of a decade. He hadn't thought about it in years. He hadn't thought about her in years. He hadn't wanted to.
At 18, he could vaguely understand his mother's decision to leave when he was just a boy. His father certainly seemed to have accepted it. "I loved your mother very much, Jacques." (His father was one of the few Jack tolerated using his true first name.) "I loved her passion. To leash that passion would be like caging a tiger. I had to let it be free or I would destroy it."
Jack had taken years to reach a tenuous acceptance of that reasoning. He still remembered the pain of watching his mother and sister leave. All so his mother could follow her passions.
He'd found the best way to cope was not to think about it. Mom made that easy enough after the first couple years. He and Dad would receive post cards a few times a year, but nothing more. Jack had stopped reading them altogether. It was easier to think he was the only child of a single father than to think about having not seen his mother and sister in years.
Consequently, he was thunderstruck when his father announced that the lost half of his family would be returning next week. After all this time, they were finally coming home.
He'd dug the photo out of a closet because he honestly couldn't remember what his mother had looked like. That felt shameful to admit. But then whose fault was that? Who chose to break up his family?
And then there was his twin sister, Anouk. Technically she was the elder, by all of about two minutes. She'd refused to abandon their mother when the plan to move overseas was announced. So his sister, too, had abandoned Jack and his father.
He wondered what they looked like. His father had grown a short beard, but otherwise looked much the same. Perhaps his mother would resembles her 20-something self, too.
When his mother left Jack hadn't yet come up to her shoulder. Now he was 6'2", his chest and arms carved with lean muscle from all those hours of swim practice. Would she even recognize him?
And what about Anouk? They'd been close as children, but they hadn't communicated in ages. What did she look like? What sort of woman had the little girl become? Would he even recognize her?
Just a few days till he answered by those questions. Jack wasn't sure if the uneasiness in his stomach for the impending arrival reflected excitement or dread.
Jack looked at the photo: a woman holding a young girl and boy. The woman was unquestionably attractive - blonde, busty, leggy. The kids, though young, were undoubtedly hers. The boy's hair was a darker blond, like a sandy beach, but his cheekbones and nose were clearly similar. The daughter was even closer, save that her blonde hair was almost platinum. All three shared the same brilliant green eyes. All three had the same cheerful smiles.
But the photo was old. Well over a dozen years had passed since those clothes and hairstyles had been fashionable. Jack sighed. A dozen years and this was still among the most recent photographs of him with his mother.
The frame was dusty. It had been sitting on a shelf in a closet for the better part of a decade. He hadn't thought about it in years. He hadn't thought about her in years. He hadn't wanted to.
At 18, he could vaguely understand his mother's decision to leave when he was just a boy. His father certainly seemed to have accepted it. "I loved your mother very much, Jacques." (His father was one of the few Jack tolerated using his true first name.) "I loved her passion. To leash that passion would be like caging a tiger. I had to let it be free or I would destroy it."
Jack had taken years to reach a tenuous acceptance of that reasoning. He still remembered the pain of watching his mother and sister leave. All so his mother could follow her passions.
He'd found the best way to cope was not to think about it. Mom made that easy enough after the first couple years. He and Dad would receive post cards a few times a year, but nothing more. Jack had stopped reading them altogether. It was easier to think he was the only child of a single father than to think about having not seen his mother and sister in years.
Consequently, he was thunderstruck when his father announced that the lost half of his family would be returning next week. After all this time, they were finally coming home.
He'd dug the photo out of a closet because he honestly couldn't remember what his mother had looked like. That felt shameful to admit. But then whose fault was that? Who chose to break up his family?
And then there was his twin sister, Anouk. Technically she was the elder, by all of about two minutes. She'd refused to abandon their mother when the plan to move overseas was announced. So his sister, too, had abandoned Jack and his father.
He wondered what they looked like. His father had grown a short beard, but otherwise looked much the same. Perhaps his mother would resembles her 20-something self, too.
When his mother left Jack hadn't yet come up to her shoulder. Now he was 6'2", his chest and arms carved with lean muscle from all those hours of swim practice. Would she even recognize him?
And what about Anouk? They'd been close as children, but they hadn't communicated in ages. What did she look like? What sort of woman had the little girl become? Would he even recognize her?
Just a few days till he answered by those questions. Jack wasn't sure if the uneasiness in his stomach for the impending arrival reflected excitement or dread.
Last edited: