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Reunion

The air was cold. A biting wind blew through Arnold's hair, threatening to lift his hat off his head. He could barely feel the iciness of the wind; he was burning too hot inside. It was rare for him to be this angry. He could only recall one other person who had ever infuriated him this much.

His feet pounded on the ground as he ran through the streets. He was intent only on reaching his destination. Finally, with his chest heaving, Arnold found the family plot in the cemetery. Two headstones stood out to him. Arnold looked at them for a long while, not sure if he wanted to cry or kick down the headstones.

After some deliberation, he did both, not bothering to stem the flow of tears from his eyes. The only other time he cried like this was when Grandpa gave up, holding a funeral for his son and daughter-in-law, burying empty caskets. Arnold bit his lip and kicked both headstones. Neither moved, and Arnold didn't feel any better. His foot just hurt, adding to how much he was hurting inside.

He grabbed the light blue hat off his head and threw it on the ground before stepping on it with his foot. Arnold crushed the hat into the ground.

"How could you leave me?" he wanted to shout. "How!"

But he didn't. Arnold wiped off his face then stuffed his hands into his coat's pockets. He turned on his heel and walked back to the boarding house, which he now ran in addition to his other job. His wife was still there, probably confused as to where he went. He owed her an explanation, but he had a feeling she wouldn't need one, she would already know.

Staring at the green door, Arnold took a deep breath and steeled himself. He pulled the door open and stepped inside. He hung his coat in the closet, then walked slowly towards the sitting room, where voices could be heard talking.

It made his stomach turn with feelings he couldn't even give names too, seeing his parents sitting there, talking to his wife. They looked nothing like the image of them he kept tucked away in the very bottom of his heart. They were withered, old, grey, and shaking.

"I'm sorry," Arnold started, announcing his presence, "I just needed a moment to myself."

He took a seat next to his wife, then grabbed her hand and squeezed it as hard as he could.

"That's understandable, Arnold," his mother said. "We were just telling Helga about our time in—"

"I don't care," Arnold cut her off. "I just want to know why. Why did you take so long? I'm a grown man, I have my own family, my own life, and all without you. Why now, why not fifteen years ago when I needed you?"

"Son, you need to understand that we lost our papers, we couldn't get anywhere. We were stuck where we were."

"You said you got granted entrance into the US ten years ago!" Arnold said, trying to keep his voice level.

"That was because we saw these people were hurting," Stella said, her voice soft. "They had been so kind to us, nursing us back to health, opening their homes to us... We needed to repay them."

"They needed you more than your own son?" Arnold said quietly.

"Maybe they did, maybe they didn't, but our choice has already been made, and we can't change what we did," Miles said.

"I just... I thought you were dead for so many years... I had accepted that I would never know my parents, and now, you just come back into my life, I don't, I don't even know what to say," Arnold couldn't keep his voice from cracking.

"You don't have to say anything, Arnold," Stella said. "We know this must be so painful for you, so the choice is up to you."

"I won't make any more excuses," Miles said, his voice breaking. "Yes, we chose helping other people over being there to raise our own son. We're sorry for choosing it, but we can't change it. We just want to make up for the times we missed while we still can."

"If you were dead or still alive, I don't care, just go and leave this all behind, because I swear, I don't care," Arnold rose to his feet and left the room.

He walked upstairs to his old bedroom, which was now his fourteen year old son's room. The room was still the same as it was when he slept in it, except his son was not as neat as he was. The spot on the shelf where Arnold had kept the little blue hat burned empty, just like his head. He hadn't worn the hat for years, and now it had likely blown away with the wind, never to be seen again.

His heart was burning. Arnold reached out over his son's desk and flipped the picture of Miles and Stella face-down. He couldn't stop the tears from coming again. Arnold didn't know what to do. He hated his parents, he hated them! They had abandoned him, they didn't love him enough to come back to be with him, they didn't do this, they didn't do that! But yet, his parents were sitting in his sitting room, they had come back! They weren't dead, they were alive! His optimistic hope from so many years ago had turned out to be true.

Arnold choked back a sob as he sat down in the desk's chair, burying his face in his hands.

Did he truly not care?

–

Not sure what this is either. I randomly listened to Apocalyptica's I Don't Care, and bam, idea.

I feel like Arnold is ooc, but really, he's probably mid-forties here, and had a lot of time to think about his parents and such, time to grow bitter, not be such an optimist, etc., etc., etc..

I am not unemployed! Yay! I really don't like the job though. I have to be cheerful all the time. But the job was hard to get, so I can't just up and quit either. Boo being an adult and needing money to live.