P Is For Perfectly Fine
by Jules

"See? I'm perfectly fine, I didn't fall off the ladder, I didn't collapse."

In retrospect, Alan Eppes almost wanted to wince at his own words. He hadn't lied, not outright at least. But he hadn't told the complete truth either. Because, if he were pressed to provide the definition of 'perfectly fine' according to his book of life, this definitely wasn't it.

For Alan, perfectly fine equaled not having to worry. And he was far away from not worrying and probably always would be.

He'd learned to arrange himself with Don's career choice, which had been somewhat of a bumpy ride, but surprisingly not too different from the whole parenting experience. No, not all. Through the years, he always had to let go at some point, had to watch Don, and later Charlie as well, stumble and sometimes fall and had to hold himself back so his sons could gain confidence by getting back on their feet on their own. Every parent had to go through that and it became easier with every challenge.

It even reached a point where the worry faded almost completely into the background, superseded by the strong waves of paternal pride. It had been a joy to see Don carve his niche in sports, finally concentrating on baseball. He'd often stood at the sidelines watching him play and he felt incessantly happy just standing there. He was unbelievable proud and ultimately, he knew he'd always be there to support his son, no matter where he would decide to go.

With Charlie, it was similar and yet so different. Alan had hoped that with his second child, experience would help him. But Charlie had pretty much overtaken him the moment he was able to form sentences and ask questions and after almost 30 years, Alan still felt sometimes as if he was trying to catch up. But Charlie always seemed that step ahead of him. One step ahead at least of most people. A genius.

Alan was proud, of both of his sons. And he could be, they turned out better than he'd ever dared to expect. Good people. They would probably be his death, sooner or later, but they were good people.

Don had told him about Charlie and the gun range. That in itself really wasn't that bad, he could arrange himself around it. It made sense, Charlie needed to see all possible angles to understand the problem, even if it meant delving into yet unchartered waters. His youngest was a scientist at heart, always ready and willing to dig deeper to solve a puzzle. From that angle, Alan's little world really could have been perfectly fine.

But he'd also seen the conspiring looks his sons had exchanged. And Don fingering his left ear, which always was a very sure clue that whatever he was saying wasn't the complete truth or maybe a slight embellishment. Like when Sam Titchell had that black eye and allegedly fell in the schoolyard. He never believed that one, but nobody had witnessed the incident and no one, not even Sam, pointed an accusing finger on anyone. When he'd asked Don about it, already suspecting what had happened, he'd fingered his ear, just like earlier, and told him that story. And Charlie had stood by and nodded solemnly.

Alan had a brother himself and he knew and understood the dynamics. There were always certain things you didn't tell your parents. And while he never encouraged violence and always instilled into his children that revenge wasn't a solution, he'd let it slide. That Titchell boy had always bullied other children, Charlie hadn't been his first victim and probably also not his last. And Don, being the protective older brother that he'd always been, certainly had felt some amount of guilt about not having been there when Sam finally caught Charlie.

Alan tried to pull himself out of his deep thoughts. "What was that about painting houses blue?"

But when he turned around, the yard behind him was empty bar his work equipment and the door leading inside just fell back into its lock. Dimmed through brick and wood, he could hear animated chatter wafting out of the house.

"Well," Alan muttered to himself and shouldered the ladder.

He wasn't perfectly fine right now, definitely not. But maybe he would be. Maybe, in a year or so, he could look back and smile. Maybe, by then he would have gotten used to Charlie following his older brother's footsteps for part of the way.

Maybe his definition of perfectly fine would have changed by then.

With that thought in mind, Alan stepped back into the house to see what the fridge offered for dinner.

-The End-