Younger Siblings And Repossession

The First Time

It had started when Noah was five years old and Ian was eleven. Tinsel decorated the house in varying shades of green and red and fairy lights blinked across the ceiling. The lively touch of Christmas morning was strong enough to touch even the Collins' household.

The boys were taking turns opening gifts, ripping open wrapping paper and delighting in their presents. (For once, the beeping of Noah's collar was easy to ignore - the yellow glow was nothing in the face of the new astrology book he had clasped in his tiny hands.)

Finally down to his last present, Noah peeled open a leather-bound journal and sat back to watch Ian open the rest of his own gifts.

Ian was picky. He had a pile close to him that were of presents he liked and would most definitely hit Noah for even looking at and another pile further away; made up of all the gifts he would absolutely never touch (destined for a life stowed away in the attic).

Ian's hands had ripped apart the bright red tissue paper of his last present and his face lights up at the sight of a steel case, no doubt expecting money or something of equal value.

With a grin splitting his face, he had opened the case, only for his smile to fall. With a frown beginning to knot his eyebrows together, Ian asks:

"A pen? You got me a pen and ink? Dad, what time period do you think we're in?"

Seth Collins had looked down from his place at the living room table. "It's a fountain pen," he said. "You are getting older now, so it is time for you to learn to appreciate the finer things in life. A fountain pen is reliable, reusable and consistent; great for signing documents and handwriting letters. Since you have gotten to an age where you can sign most of your own permission slips, I thought it was a perfect gift."

Ian looked up from his place cross-legged on the floor and mumbled, "You have got to be kidding me." He took the pen out and held it up to the light.

It was a shining silver with matt black accents across the body. Its nib was also silver, sharp to a fine point (Noah wondered how it would look while used- wet black ink being drawn across a page in a flourishing script). The pen was beautiful and a near exact replica of the pens the boys' father used for anything important.

"Do you like it?" Seth asked.

"Obviously not! What kid wants a pen? Let alone one that looks like it belongs alongside an old geezer in a tomb somewhere!" Ian grabbed his pile of approved presents and left.

His other stack of presents was left on the floor alongside the steel case and its loose pen.

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Noah had watched the maids take up the unwanted gifts under the guise of reading one of his books whilst wandering the house - his usual past-time.

The maids carried them upstairs, where they would unfold the attic's stairs and climb up. Noah could only imagine the steel case being left up there to rot, pristine but untouched.

When the maids had finished, they left to go about their other duties.

Nobody noticed when Noah sneaked upstairs and into the attic. And since he put almost everything back afterwards, it was almost as if he hadn't been there.

After all, the only thing moved was a slim case. Who could blame the maids for not noticing such a small thing?

___________________________________________

From that point on, the fountain pen and its several refills were Noah's. He used them often. For letters, for permission slips, just for day to day writing even.

Until three months later, Noah ran out of refills. He had been upset, he had adored that pen and didn't know anywhere he could get more ink. Resigned to not using the pen again, he had put it away carefully in his bedside drawer.

For a week, he had gone back to using regular ballpoint pen. Hating how linear the lines looked, all the same width and consistency; utterly boring in comparison to the unique and expressive lines of the fountain pen.

Surprisingly, at the end of that week, he found a set of refills in his bedside drawer. Having no clue where they came from at the time, he wrote it off as a miracle.

And if Seth smiled a little widerwhen seeing the next thing his son had written, nobody had to know.