Like Father, Like Son | Phantom of the Opera

iv. Old Friends and Even Older Stories

SEPTEMBER 1909

ERIK

Two unbelievably quick years had gone by and my life was unparalleled to the one I had led before. My architectural firm was fully up and running and providing the necessary income for me and my boy. His homeschooling was a learning process for us both, as I was not used to teaching and he was not used to the material. However, a new change was coming that both of us seemed to dread.

His first day of school.

He practically begged me not to go, asking if I could continue homeschooling him. Of course, parental authority had won me that argument. He required a proper education, and to socialize and make friends with children his age would do wonders for him. Though part of me wanted to keep him home with me, I knew that his attendance was in his best interest.

The day arrived, but it didn't seem to register with either of us. I rolled over in bed and glanced at the small clock on my bedside table, only for my eyes to go wide as I realized how late I had woken up.

"Damn!" I exclaimed as I practically leapt out of bed and knocked hard on the wall that I shared with Gustave, knowing it would wake him up.

"Gustave, get up! I overslept, which means you overslept, which means you're going to be late for school!" I yelled as I pulled on my shirtsleeves and trousers. I had never been gladder that I stuck to black suits than I was at that moment, as no thought was required to coordinate colours. I slipped on my waistcoat and jacket, then rushed out of my bedroom, but as I passed Gustave's room, I doubled back when I found him still in bed. "What are you doing? You'll be late, Gustave! Get out of bed."

The only reply was a groan, so I formulated a small plan in my head. I walked into the room, grabbed the end of his sheets and yanked the covers off of him.

"No, Papa, please. I don't want to go," he mumbled. He didn't even bother opening his eyes; he just clawed at the sheets and tried to pull them back up to his chin.

"I know you don't, but I am fresh out of sympathy for you." A wicked smirk formed across my face as I put the finishing touches on my plan. I grabbed him by the ankle and said, "If you don't get up on your own, I'm going to have to drag you to school."

"You wouldn't."

"Would you care to find out?" I asked before I gave him a hard tug that pulled him off the bed to the point where only his top half remained on the mattress. The action warranted a small shriek from him that was quickly followed by laughter.

"Let go, let go! That tickles!" he exclaimed in between laughs as he thrashed his foot back and forth in an effort to break free from my grasp. "I'm awake, I promise!"

"Good. Now get ready while I go prepare breakfast."

"Yes, Papa."

Satisfied with my accomplishment for the morning, I made my way downstairs to get breakfast ready. It was almost done when I heard Gustave trot down the stairs and into the kitchen. I turned around and was, in all honesty, quite shocked. His clothes were proper—he looked like quite the young gentleman—but his hair looked like he hadn't even touched it.

"What is that?" I stuttered, no other words presenting themselves to me.

"What do you mean?" Gustave asked with a slight frown.

"Your hair! Did you even brush it?"

"Oh, I thought I'd try a new style. Do you like it?" He kept looking to the left of me as he spoke, and I was quick to recognize the nervous gesture that completely gave away that he wasn't telling the truth.