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have you ever wished for an endless night ][ narrative
Alexander says he only smokes cigarettes when he’s at political functions where people whose influence surpasses his own do; that it’s a neat trick to put people at ease and endear himself further. He doesn’t smoke even then – those people find the fact that he politely declines the offer and still doesn’t wrinkle his nose or cough rudely while they smoke to be entirely charming.
The truth is he can’t stand to do it unless he’s with one person – one person who probably shouldn’t be offering him cigarettes, but he does anyway, and Alex always takes them.
Alex is leaning against a workbench, cigarette in hand, watching his father tinker with the carburetor of a vehicle older than he is. Elias Georgiou smokes, and so does his son, when they’re together.
Once, there was Phillip, and his relationship with his son was chaotic and full of fire and thunder and fighting and, despite it, love – but it ended, as all things did with Phillip, in blood. He was a passionate, strong man, and he taught Alexander how to be a warrior. But he wasn’t strong like Elias is. Elias is quiet and unmovable with a good heart and clear mind, a man who is firm in his morals but not thickheaded enough to prevent himself from learning.
Unlike Alexander’s mother, whom he never truly connected with – Olympias’ strings still too tangled even thousands of years later – he thinks of this man as his father without question. He’s not forsaken Phillip, for as chaotic as their bond was, it served its due purpose and he’d not be the man he was without it. But this time, it’s Elias, and he loves Elias with the quiet fervor all sons should have for their fathers.
“I notice your mother’s abstaining from spending the rest of the day with us,” Elias comments, voice still thick with his Greek accent. He insists on English, however, habit long made, fluency unquestionable, accent or not. He crushes out the paper tube he’d been smoking, reaching for some bolt or screw to continue his work.
Alexander understands car maintenance, even car construction, having worked so long with his father. “Yeah,” he says, moving away from the work bench and coming to crouch down and peer at the grease-covered parts. “She’s on her grandkids thing again.”
Elias makes a noise, perhaps thoughtful, perhaps resigned. They both know that Alexander’s mother – never the brightest woman, but always loving and selfless in her care – hasn’t come to terms with her son’s sexuality, and likely won’t ever. Each visit inevitably brings the topic of why hasn’t he married a nice girl yet, and each time it happens, he’s wounded a little more. He knows, of course, that he’s wronged his mother. Waking up at thirteen and hating her for not being Olympias was cruel and unfair of him, but he’s tried in his own way to make up for it.
Eventually, his father speaks: “I hope you adopt from America, when you do. People using kids from Africa as political statements… it gets obnoxious.”
And that’s all it is; quiet acceptance that doesn’t need commented on. Alexander makes a soft noise of agreement and hands him a different sized wrench. They work in companionable quiet, never feeling out of place.
The truth is he can’t stand to do it unless he’s with one person – one person who probably shouldn’t be offering him cigarettes, but he does anyway, and Alex always takes them.
Alex is leaning against a workbench, cigarette in hand, watching his father tinker with the carburetor of a vehicle older than he is. Elias Georgiou smokes, and so does his son, when they’re together.
Once, there was Phillip, and his relationship with his son was chaotic and full of fire and thunder and fighting and, despite it, love – but it ended, as all things did with Phillip, in blood. He was a passionate, strong man, and he taught Alexander how to be a warrior. But he wasn’t strong like Elias is. Elias is quiet and unmovable with a good heart and clear mind, a man who is firm in his morals but not thickheaded enough to prevent himself from learning.
Unlike Alexander’s mother, whom he never truly connected with – Olympias’ strings still too tangled even thousands of years later – he thinks of this man as his father without question. He’s not forsaken Phillip, for as chaotic as their bond was, it served its due purpose and he’d not be the man he was without it. But this time, it’s Elias, and he loves Elias with the quiet fervor all sons should have for their fathers.
“I notice your mother’s abstaining from spending the rest of the day with us,” Elias comments, voice still thick with his Greek accent. He insists on English, however, habit long made, fluency unquestionable, accent or not. He crushes out the paper tube he’d been smoking, reaching for some bolt or screw to continue his work.
Alexander understands car maintenance, even car construction, having worked so long with his father. “Yeah,” he says, moving away from the work bench and coming to crouch down and peer at the grease-covered parts. “She’s on her grandkids thing again.”
Elias makes a noise, perhaps thoughtful, perhaps resigned. They both know that Alexander’s mother – never the brightest woman, but always loving and selfless in her care – hasn’t come to terms with her son’s sexuality, and likely won’t ever. Each visit inevitably brings the topic of why hasn’t he married a nice girl yet, and each time it happens, he’s wounded a little more. He knows, of course, that he’s wronged his mother. Waking up at thirteen and hating her for not being Olympias was cruel and unfair of him, but he’s tried in his own way to make up for it.
Eventually, his father speaks: “I hope you adopt from America, when you do. People using kids from Africa as political statements… it gets obnoxious.”
And that’s all it is; quiet acceptance that doesn’t need commented on. Alexander makes a soft noise of agreement and hands him a different sized wrench. They work in companionable quiet, never feeling out of place.