The Porch
2004 ASC Awards, 2nd Place
TOS Challenge Category
Summary: a response to Stephen Ratliff's Call of Duty challenge on ASCEM.
The Porch
The old woman watched from the porch as the boy worked on her yard. It was
hot out, there was no shade in the yard, and he was sweaty. He was doing a
good job, taking care to get the corners and edges, not rushing through it
like a lot of 14-year-olds would.
She had a bot, of course; but the bots were not perfect, and once hers had
trimmed when it should have skirted. She had banished it to the fields
despite the boy's protests. Lose a few ears of corn in the interest of
efficiency and automation? Fine. Lose one of her beloved meadow rose
shrubs? Never.
He was a good looking boy, would doubtless grow into a fine-looking man, but
for now he was still much too skinny.
That thought gave her pause. "Jimmy!" she shouted. When she had his
attention, she said, "Come over here and sit on the porch for a few minutes.
Keep me company."
The boy put down the cutter with a smile, and headed for the porch. When
she was sure he was on his way, the woman pushed herself out of her chair
with some effort, and went into the house to get refreshments. She came out
a few minutes later to find him sitting on the steps, apparently concerned
that he would mess the porch furniture with his sweat.
She set down her tray on the floor and carefully took a seat next to him.
She had brought iced lemonade with lots of sugar, and dense, homemade bread
with cold butter. As high-calorie a snack as she could make without risking
having the boy throw up when he went back to work.
The boy and his brother had been doing chores on her farm since her Henry
had passed away several years ago. It was a trade, of sorts.
Their mother had died eight years ago, and their father had resigned from
Starfleet to come home and raise the boys. After a while, he had become
concerned about the lack of a maternal influence in the boys lives. He had
asked Joan to come visit, and she had. Over time, she had taught the boys
how to cook, keep their clothes presentable, clean house, and other domestic
arts. She had shushed them when they tried bad language, and answered their
questions about girls as honestly as she could.
She did not replace their mother. She called them by their given names and
the boys called her Mrs. McCarthy.
They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, enjoying the cold drink
and fresh bread.
"I've been thinking about Starfleet," he said suddenly, looking down at his
feet.
"What would you do in Starfleet?" she asked.
"Well, I was thinking maybe Security. They always get to go to planets and
see things. I wouldn't want to always be stuck on the ship. And," he said,
with just a trace of shyness, "Dad says I can fight pretty well for my age.
I think I'd make a good security officer."
"Your father was a security officer, wasn't he?"
"Um hmm."
"What does he say?"
"He says I should find my own path, something I'm good at."
"You ever think maybe you could run one of those ships some day?"
"No," he replied with certainty. "No way. I don't want to do that."
"Why not? That captain, the one who picked you and the rest of the kids
up..."
"Captain Nogura," Jimmy said.
"Didn't he ask you to think about trying for it?"
He replied slowly, and had obviously given the topic some thought
beforehand. "He gets to make all the decisions, but...he never just has a
normal conversation. It's always, Captain this or Sir that. So and So
reporting for duty. Nobody ever talks with him like you and me are doing
right now," Jimmy said. "I don't think he has any friends."
After a few seconds, he continued. "And," he said, pushing his hands out
for emphasis, "he never, EVER, gets to talk to any girls."
Aha, Joan thought. The real issue.
"And I just don't think I'd be very good at that."
They sat in silence for a while longer. Then the boy pushed himself up,
saying he'd better finish. He went back to work, while the woman returned
the tray to her kitchen and then went back to her chair on the porch.
It took him about a half hour to finish up. He swept the clipped grass off
the walk back onto the lawn, and carefully re-edged the border of her flower
bed. Finally, he gathered up the tools, cleaned them off, and put them back
in the equipment shed.
"Thanks for the food, Mrs. McCarthy," he said. "See you later."
"Thank you for your help, Jimmy," she said. She did not pay him for the
work. His father would not allow him to accept it.
FINIS