...this is a story that I've been trying to sort out for a while. I see it often in my mind, but today I decided to put the thoughts and images to words. This is a story about Boomer, Malki and their family and coping with life's hardships. There are no chapters to this story, it's all in this one submission. It gives a more personal glimpse into Boomer's life...that life that he doesn't speak of, much and you also meet his mother. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it.




Legacy

The sound of crickets was the song of the night. Their chirping chorus playing their usual evening melody was familiar and yet different, each time. Boomer welcomed their song and the cool the night air that caressed his bare chest as he stretched his weary body across the soft contours of his sleeping palette. It had been a long day, unproductive day down at the docks.

A storm had moved in and the fish could sense it. They avoided the shores and had moved to deeper water to ride out the impending tempest. Even so, the fishermen had a job to do and that meant that they had to at least try to bring in whatever they could catch before the rains began to fall. Unfortunately, by the time the rain started to come down, not a single fish had been pulled in.

Tired and wet, Boomer had made sure to hurry by Malki’s school to see him home, safely. Sweetheart was there along with Plum. Both girls were scurrying to collect their siblings as well. Plum spared a moment to greet him before ushering her younger siblings into the then pouring rain and hurrying off toward home. Sweetheart’s house was on the way to Boomer’s, so the four dashed home together. He saw her and Amber to their door then continued on to his own with his brother.

Several hours and a hot bath later, the rain had finally silenced itself, as it always did. Keemeome prepared a dinner of hot milk and fish soup with warm sardine bread. Their modest dinner would have to do for a while. With the fish on the run, a good day’s catch was far off in coming. At least it was just the three of them he had to make sure to feed. As he tasted his mother’s soup, he idly wondered how his father had managed to consistently keep an abundance of food on the table. At that time there were eight of them, yet there was always plenty to eat. …his father certainly never allowed his family to have soup and bread for dinner. Such a meager meal was surely a disappointment to his father’s resting spirit.

In an instant, Boomer had lost his appetite. Keemeome inquired about his health, but he assured her that he was fine and retired to his room…a room he once shared with three other brothers. Now, there was only him. Wordlessly, he shed his clothes and fell into bed, though sleep itself resisted coming to comfort his weary body. And so, Boomer instead listened to the melodic chants of the crickets as he mulled over the day’s events in silent contemplation.

Evening drifted to night and night continued endlessly. In the small hours of the darkness, sleep still eluded the cinnamon cat. Once in a while, Boomer would have nights like this, nights where the image of his father’s face would not leave his thoughts, where the sound of his voice was like a booming, thunderous calamity in his mind. He tried to live up to his father’s expectations, but sometimes he feared that he fell short. He could never be certain if he was fulfilling his father’s hopes and desires for him, though he always tried his best. Yet, it was the unknowing that gnawed at him, the uncertainty of it all that made his insides ache and his heart heavy. As he lay upon his cold mattress, that weight slowly began to wear him down.

“Hmm?” he murmured as he heard a sound near his door. With much effort, he rolled onto his side to peer at the doorway. For a moment, he saw nothing, but as keen feline eyes focused in the din of the room, he noticed a small brown tail peeking into the entryway.

“Malki?” he mused, but when he heard only the sound of what he realized was painful sniffling, he leapt out of bed and hurried over to where his younger brother was huddled at his door, curled into a tiny ball, sobbing pitifully into the night.

“Malki, what happened?” Boomer asked, urgently pulling the child into his embrace. “What’s wrong?” he asked, holding the kitten close.

“I…I miss Daddy.” the youth cried, miserably. “I miss Daddy.” he sobbed, clinging to his brother with mournful tenacity.

The weight in his heart doubled at the sound of his brother’s anguish and nearly crushed him when he realized why he grieved so. Gently, he surrounded Malki with the warmth of his strong arms and held him close, gently rubbing his long hair, soothingly. “I miss Papa, too.” Boomer admitted, his voice an uneasy whisper. “Days like today, I miss him more than I could ever say with words. I wish he were here, but, I know that he can’t be. Still, as much as I miss him, I know that he’s still with us, even now.”

Bright green eyes looked up at him through a tangle of brown hair and tears. “Daddy’s with us?” he choked.

“Sure he is.” he said, managing to summon a smile to his face. Quietly, he climbed to his feet, his tiny brother still nestled in his arms and stepped into his room. He touched the light switch to turn the bedroom light on. In a heartbeat, the room was filled with a warm, comforting light that helped to dispel the dismay, if only a little. Gently, he placed Malki on his bed then glided over to his bookshelf and withdrew a photo album from its keep. Silently, he opened the book as he made his way back to the bed. In one fluid movement, he settled down and positioned Malki so that he was sitting atop his lap while the book sat upon his sibling’s lap.

“Look there.” he instructed, pointing to a picture in the album. “You see?”

Obediently, Malki looked down at the photo, his heart wrenched at the sight of his beloved father, Takoda, staring back at him. Fresh tears streamed from his eyes as he attempted to speak. “But, that’s…that’s just a picture.” he managed to say.

“Yeah, but look.” Boomer insisted. “Look at Papa’s face. Look at his eyes. Who else has eyes like that?” he asked.

Warily, Malki took another look and examined his father’s visage more carefully. “I don’t know.” he whispered, dabbing at wayward tear that escaped from his eye.

“Here, let me help you.” Boomer said, extending his hand to a nearby night table. His fingers fumbled across the surface of the desk for a moment before withdrawing with a small mirror in tow. He held it next to the photo and bid his sibling to take one more look.

With a heavy sigh, Malki drew his gaze once more to the photo. He leaned in and studied his father’s face with great care and was about to give up when he noticed that within the mirror, a pair of eyes that greatly resembled his father’s was looking back at him. “I…I have eyes like Daddy?” he asked in awe, as though seeing his own eyes for the first time.

“Yes, you do.” Boomer said. “You got your eyes from Papa and I got mine from Mama. Remember?”

Deftly, Malki nodded his head. “Oh, Daddy had a lot of hair like me, too.” he noticed, pointing to Takoda’s ample head of hair.

“That’s right.” Boomer said. “You remember that story, right? About how Papa was unable to complete his manhood trials?”

The child thought for a moment before shaking his head, remorsefully.

“Do you want me to tell you?” Boomer asked.

Eagerly, Malki nodded his head.

“Well, it happened a long time ago, before you or even I were born.” Boomer began, adjusting himself so that he was able to recline his lengthy form across his bed, while at the same time being able to utilize the photo album to better illustrate his story. Malki made himself comfortable, content to use his brother’s warm torso for his bed as he listened to him speak. “You know we have two different grandfathers and grandmothers.” he said, turning the pages in the photo album and gesturing to one of the photos tucked inside. “This is Papa’s father and beside him is Papa’s mother.”

“Yeah.” Malki exclaimed. “Grandfather is chief of the Red Hawks, right?”

“That’s right.” he said, rubbing the kitten’s head, approvingly. “Now, many years ago, Papa was preparing to take his trials and he was almost ready to set out to prove himself to the tribe…” Boomer went on to say, spinning the tale of his father’s test with reverence and woe. Throughout the night, a tale of hardship was passed from one son to another about a father’s pain. Boomer realized Malki had heard the story once before but time had taken its words away from him, just as it had taken the recollection that he and Takoda shared many of the same outward characteristics. For one who’s family had been broken at such an early age, Boomer understood that it was important not to let his only surviving sibling forget the memory of those who had gone on to the valley of the beyond. If he let him forgot who they were, he would never understand who he is or who he was meant to be. It was then that Boomer realized that although he could never be certain that he was living up to his father’s standards, if he could do this one thing, he would be doing more than living up to Takoda’s approval, he would be ensuring that his father lived on. More than living up to an uncertain expectation, preserving the legacy is the best way to honor his loved ones. And ensuring that that legacy would live on would be even greater still. But, to do that, he would have to let go of the past and live for the present so that he could have a future.

When morning finally came and tales of days gone by had been shared, the sun’s morning light slipped into Boomer’s bedroom to kiss the faces of the two sleeping soundly therein. The heaviness of the night had lifted and together, the brothers chased the shadows of sorrow from the recesses of their hearts and filled those places with good memories and fondness. The buoyancy of those thoughts ushered in the spirit of slumber and urged weary bodies to rest and restore what had been lost.

Keemeome awoke to find a quiet house when usually the sounds of her two children shuffling about made for a more raucous greeting to a new day. The hush that arrived with the morning troubled her. With a mother’s haste, she checked her youngest son’s room and found him absent, but when she found him in his brother’s room snuggled safely against him, she felt relief, but only for a moment as she sensed something was awry. With feline stealth, she moved over to the bed where her children slept and noticed the photo album that was sprawled across them both. She looked down at the opened book and saw the face of her dead husband smiling at her. A lump welled in her throat as she quietly settled down on the bed. Gently she lifted the book onto her lap and wistfully turned the pages.

She saw the faces of her children, the two that were among her and the four that were not and the images of herself and the life she once had. …but, that life was gone now. That home was broken and only a fraction of it remained. And yet, as the thought entered her mind, she quickly dismissed it. It was true that she was a widow and that only a third of her children now lived, but a family is still a family even when it is broken. And yet though her family was broken, it was still somehow whole. Not because all who were once a part of her home were still within it, but because the love that made their house a home would never leave it. She would never let it go and she would remember.

Silently, she placed the album on a nearby table and started to rise, but thought the better of it and instead gently pulled back the blanket on her son’s bed and curled up upon the warmth of the mattress beside her children. She touched her smallest child’s brow as he rested comfortably between mother and brother, then reached out to touch her eldest son’s cheek, marveling at how much he had grown over the years. Finally, she folded her hands under her head and shut her eyes.

A soft murmur escaped her as she felt a warm arm fall across her waist. She opened her eyes to see her firstborn’s strong arm draped across her. He mumbled something that she thought was, “Mama” and a pained look spread across his visage. He was dreaming, she realized.

Gently, she framed his head in her palms and kissed his furrowed brow. “I’m here, Darling.” she whispered. “I’ll always be with you.” she promised.

Satisfied by her vow, Boomer’s face became more relaxed and a pleasant sigh left his chest as he continued to sleep. She touched his cheek once more and allowed her hand to rest at his ear before she, too, fell under sleep’s lulling spell.