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Title: The Harmful Past Author: Ali Cherry Spoilers: Every single episode I've seen. I'm trying to piece together a childhood never really mentioned. Summary: Disclaimer: Don't own never will. AU: I'm assuming Harm doesn't know his own birthday, for me he was born in 64, so that he would be 5 when his father crashed. This is all the work of my overactive imagination. And my poor overworked fingers. <G> The Harmful Past"Harm, promise me that you'll behave." Trish looked at her six year old son, sitting beside her in the car. "No one's here yet." Harm looked out at the empty school, the locked gates and the quiet school grounds. "I know, darling, but I have to be at work soon. Give me a kiss and I'll see you when I get home tonight. Do you have your key?" Trish smiled sadly at her son. He pulled the key on a metal chain from under his shirt. Trish didn't say anything about the banged and battered dog tags that clanked against the key. "I love you, honey." She hugged her son over the console of the car and he grabbed his bag and walked towards the desert school grounds. Trish entered the house, her feet screaming about the high heels she wore to the gallery. The television blared incessant noise and Harm's schoolbooks littered the living room coffee table. "Harm! Please come clean up your mess." Her seven year old poked his head out from the kitchen. "I need help with my math, mom." "After dinner okay?" She said wearily. Mornings at the coffee house and afternoons in the gallery were killing her. "Alright." Harm came in and put his books slowly back into his bag. "Honey, I really don't want you watching TV all afternoon. Listen to music or something okay?" "Alright, mom." Harm leaned up to kiss her cheek. She sighed. He smiled at her softly. "I love you, honey. I'm just gonna rest my eyes for a few minutes okay?" "Okay." Harm left the room, stopping to turn off the TV. Trish sighed at the blissful silence after the gangling sounds at the gallery and clink of dishes at the diner. "Harm?" She called suddenly. His soft chubby face appeared again. "Did you talk to Mrs. Howard about the field trip?" She asked. "Yeah. She said No." "I'm sorry honey. I know how much you wanted to go to the air museum. We just don't have the money right now, okay." "It's alright, mom. There will be other trips." Harm smiled at her. Trish smiled again. He looked so much like his dad when he smiled. She frowned at his clothes. They were covered in dirt and there was a small rip on the knee, and they fell to above his ankles. He needed new pants again. And now that she noticed it, his shirt was a little tight around his arms and stomach. "Mom?" He asked uncertainly. "Yeah, darling?" She asked, trying to find money in the budget for his new clothes. "Mr. Nelson across the street asked if I'd help him with fixing his porch. He said he'd pay me." Harm said cautiously. "I'll have to talk to him about it, honey." "Okay." He disappeared into the kitchen and she rubbed her forehead. She missed her little boy. He hardly ever smiled any more, and when he did it never reached his eyes. He couldn't play with the other boys, not when she wasn't home and she never seemed to be home anymore. She sighed again as she realized Harm wouldn't get to see his Grandma this summer. There was no way life was suppose to be this tight. "So what do you want for Christmas?" Trish asked her eight-year-old son as he loaded the dishwasher. She sat at the kitchen table watching his efficient movements. "I need a new pair of tennis shoes." He said. "I know that." Actually she didn't, but now that she looked down she saw his toes, where they poked out of the holes in the top. "What do you want?" He stopped his movements as he looked up to her. "We don't have that kind of money. Besides I don't really want anything." He smiled at her as he walked out of the kitchen to go to his room. Trish frowned. That wasn't exactly the answer that would help. Several of Harm's flying buddies wanted to know what Harm Jr. wanted for Christmas and Grandma Sarah wanted to know what size he was so she could buy him some clothes. Trish put her head in her hands as she realized she had no idea what to get her son for Christmas. She knew what he wanted, but that wasn't going to happen. His dad was gone and they all had to face that reality. There was a knock on the front door and Trish realized Harm was in the bath already. She never had to ask him to do anything more. He just did it. She opened the door to the face of Harm's wingman, Tom Boone. "Tom! What are you doing here?" Trish asked carefully. "I came to check on you. See how everything is." He said carefully. Trish led him outside, leaving the door open so she could hear if there was trouble. "We're doing good." She said finally sitting down on the porch steps of the house. She realized the step didn't creak like it used to. She saw the not so neatly hammered nails and remembered Harm had said something about Mr. Nelson lending him the wood after Harm had accidentally broke it. Harm should be playing baseball, or soccer or whatever sport is in season. He shouldn't be spending all his time working with that old lawyer turned carpenter. "So how's the gallery?" Tom asked as he settled on the step with her. "Good. The owner is making a fortune." And paying me nothing, she thought to herself. "And how are Harm's grades?" "Straight A's." She remembered the fleeting praise in the car as she had skimmed over the letters, signing the back to acknowledge she got the grades. "Did he enjoy the field trip to the air and space museum, last year?" Tom asked. "How did you know about that?" Trish asked. "One of the pilots on base was telling us about it. I realized that Harm and his son were in the same class." "Oh." She didn't want to tell him that Harm didn't get to go. Trish decided to lie to her husband's oldest friend, like she had to grandma Sarah. "He was really excited." He had been until I told him we couldn't afford it. Then he had shrugged and smiled and went back to the back yard to finish something he was working on. Tom nodded. They talked a bit more and then he stood up. "I should get going." Trish nodded. Tom started down the walk. "Tom." She called. He looked back. "Don't be a stranger." He smiled. "I won't." And then he disappeared. Trish sat on the steps enjoying the peace and quiet. "Mom?" Harm asked quietly from the doorway. Trish looked back to see him ready for bed, ensconced in one of his dad's go navy shirts and some sweats that had long ago lost the battle to not ride up his legs. "Yeah?" "Do you work on Saturday?" "Why? What do you need, darling?" "I need to go to the library. But I can go another time if you work." "What's up?" She asked him. "It's nothing important, just a science fair project. Mrs. Ferguson said they have books and stuff at the library. But it can wait." "I work on Saturday, but I have Sunday off." She tried to say brightly. "Oh. They're closed on Sunday." "I'll see what I can work out for next weekend, okay?" She stood up and consigned peace and quiet til later. "Lets get you in bed." Later as she turned out the light on his desk, long after he was asleep, she glanced at the paper on the desk. Written in the now familiar perfect lettering of her son, Trish read his letter to Santa.
"Kip, Kip! We're here!" Harm called out to the barn as he jumped out of the truck. Grandma Sarah smiled at his eight year old enthusiasm. He was like a rocket full of fuel. Just ready to burn through the atmosphere. Her smile faded though as old Kip limped out of the barn towards Harm's figure. Harm stopped his movements as he saw the gray speckled fur and cloudy eyes of his best friend, a Jack Russell Terrier. Harm Sr. had bought Kip for Sarah before he left on his first tour in Nam. Every summer, Harm Jr would run along the fields the dog happily trotting on his heels. Harm hadn't been out last summer, something about finances, so the old dog's appearance must have been a shock. The little boy bent down with tenderness, and stroked the matted fur. "He's been so animated since I told him you were coming." She tried to tell him. Harm looked up at her, his eyes saddened. "He's dying isn't he? He won't come back." "Dr. McNeil says sometime this summer. But that was after he lasted through the spring. Me, I think he'll perk right up now you're here. He was probably just lonely." As she said the words, Kip laid down on the ground with a whimper. He closed his eyes. Harm sat next to him and continued to stroke him. Talking to him about school and his friends and the nice old Mr. Nelson who kinda took care of him after school. Sarah took Harm's bags to the house and came back to pick up the dog. She moved him to his bed on the porch, the one patch of sun giving his old bones some relief. Harm sat down next to the dog, and started stroking him, telling him how much he missed him. How he wished his mom would let Kip come stay with him. And as Sarah watched the sun reached the tip of the trees, Kip exhaled his last breath. Harm never shed a tear, just watched as the sunlight faded from around him. With a last pat he went to sit on his grandma's lap. She cried for the dog that had been her last gift from her son, a companion whose fur had soaked her tears. She cried and her young grandson, who had lost so much, held her. "Grandma?" He asked gently when her tears had stopped raining on his hair. "Yeah baby?" "When are you going to leave and not come back?" "Oh baby." Sarah sighed, gently rocking him. "I mean I know that momma's aren't allowed to leave even if they want to. I just wasn't sure about grandmas." "I don't understand mom." Harm cried. Trish glared at her nine-year-old son. "I don't want you using a knife when I'm not home. Is that understood?" "But Mr. Nelson let's me use the saw at his house. What's so wrong with me making a salad? I only used the knife on the tomatoes. I thought you'd be happy." He looked at her sadly. "Why would I be happy that my son is trying to slice off a finger with a knife, cause he couldn't wait for me to get home. Now go to your room." He looked at her accusingly. Sadness drawn onto his green gray eyes. "I was making you dinner, for your birthday." He turned and ran out of the room, slamming the door shut to his room. Trish sat at the table where her son had been putting the newly slice tomatoes in the bowl with the other salad ingredients when she walked in. It was her birthday and she had forgotten. She looked at the hand made card and the little board he must have made at Mr. Nelson. The words "Home is where mom is" were burned into the surface and the little piece had been stained to match her bedroom furniture. She'd really have to thank Mr. Nelson for helping them out recently. It probably wasn't easy for the old divorcee to deal with a boy like Harm, but he did weekend after weekend. She stood up, steadying herself on the table. She had some mending to do. She opened the door to Harm's room and saw him as he finished putting on his shirt. She could see his ribs clearly, and she worried that maybe he hadn't been eating enough. He got into bed and clicked out the light beside his bed, not even bothering to say anything to her. The early evening light filtered through the bedroom. A little earlier than his bedtime usually. She was late, thinking he would have made a TV dinner, or maybe made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. "I'm sorry, Harm. I just worry about something happening when I'm not here." His voice was soft but there was anger and sadness in the tone. "It's fine. I understand. I won't do it again." Trish made her way into the room and sat down beside her son. Sometimes he was just a handful. Harm used to call him all boy. He was at that. "I love you, honey." She looked into his eyes and saw the faint betrayal that presided there. "I love you, too." He said, but he didn't offer his arms for a hug, instead he rolled over and pulled the sheets up to his chin. Case closed, discussion over. She sighed and got up, she turned not seeing the shaking of her son's shoulders as he let loose the tears he held onto, and Trish let a tear fall as she saw another permission slip for a field trip in her son's trash can. He hadn't even asked this time. She picked it up and headed for the door, closing it softly, not hearing the quiet sobs of her son. The permission slip said, "The San Diego Air and Space Museum." Maybe she could find the money this time. Trish hurried into the office at Harm's elementary school. They had called her at the Gallery and asked if she would come down to speak with his teacher. She could hear the lecture she was going to give her ten-year-old son. They couldn't afford for her to take off to come down to his school every time he misbehaved. "Can I help you?" The office clerk asked gently. "I was wondering if you could help me, I'm looking for Mrs. Manning?" "That's Room 23, it's out the door and to the left. Just follow the numbers." "Thank you." Trish went to the left and hurried down the hall. She took a breath and smoothed her blonde hair. She opened the door. Inside she found a nice elderly lady wiping down a chalkboard. "Mrs. Manning?" "Mrs. Rabb." "Please call me Trish." "Trish. You're probably wondering what I called you down for." "Yes, What did Harm do now?" The woman looked taken aback. "He hasn't done anything, Mrs. Rabb. Your son is a delight to teach. Quiet, respectful and he's very intelligent." She motioned for the two adult size chairs in the room. "That's why I called you down here. Harm put together a wonderful science fair project this year. On the aerodynamics of F-4's." Trish sighed. She hadn't seen this year's project. Harm had used the money Mr. Nelson gave him for the supplies and he was old enough to walk to the library on his own now. "To make a long story short, he won the school contest and the district science fair contest. The problem is to go to state he has to go with his project." "We don't have that kind of money." Trish stated sadly. "The problem isn't money. Food and board are paid by the district as well as transportation, but he needs a parent chaperone. I was wondering if maybe you or your husband could take a few days and go with him and the other children." "My husband was shot down in Vietnam when Harm was five. And I work to pay the bills I can't take a few days off. I'm sorry." "I'm sorry for your loss, Mrs. Rabb. I was just hoping you could go. He seemed so proud of the project, and you obviously help a lot. It must have been hard to come up with the money for the model." "Harm bought that with the money he earns helping the neighborhood handy man." "Do you mind if I ask around, maybe one of the other parents wouldn't mind taking responsibility for him." "Thank you." Trish stood up and shook the woman's hand. She started to leave. "Mrs. Rabb?" Trish turned around. "In my twenty years of teaching, I have never seen such a grown up little boy." Trish closed the door to her son's old room. Looking back almost thirty years she could appreciate all that Harm had tried to do in that seven-year period to save her sanity. At the time it had seemed insignificant. He -had- been a very grown up boy, and she was too busy seeing the problems of life that she hadn't seen the little joys. By the time she and Frank had married and their money troubles had disappeared, Harm was distantly loving to her. She was taken care of, so now he could concentrate on his dad. He had never asked Frank for money, had save religiously all the money Frank gave him. He had spent weekends mowing lawns around the neighborhood. By the time he was sixteen he had enough to pay for a plane ticket to Laos. Letters they had found in his room had showed that he had been setting up a meeting with a Colonel Stryker for three years. He had disappeared into the jungle and when he had re-emerged, he had a scar from a flesh wound and a manly look in his eyes. For a year after that summer she would wake up to him screaming "Gyn!" and muttering in Vietnamese. He lost all traces of youth and as he planed for the Academy, he had turned all his intensity on doing whatever it took to make the ghost of his father proud. By the time he left for the Academy, her son, the one who kissed her cheek and smiled at her with innocent eyes was no more. He wrote letters. Not long ones, not especially personal ones, but ones she saved with motherly pride and love. He hadn't come to her when he had his ramp strike; he had gone to Grandma Sarah's. Sarah had called weekly to give a progress report. But they were short. He wasn't really talking to Sarah either. Trish had learned from Captain Boone the tragedy that weighed on Harm's conscious, and the way in which his time in the air was cut short. Frank thought he was the problem, that Harm resented him. He didn't understand the distance was her own doing, something that she had cultivated in unmanageable times. She knew Harm forgave her the distance, forgave her for allowing him to grow up, for making him, in a way, grow up too soon. But he couldn't teach his heart new tricks. He was going to loose Mac. He hadn't said the words, but they hung in the air. "She accepted Brumby's proposal today. They moved the ring to the other finger." "Oh Harm. I'm sorry." "Why are you sorry, mom? I'm happy for Mac. She deserves all the happiness in the world. Her background, her dad and mom. She deserves all the happiness in the world. I'm ." His voice had cracked a little. "I'm glad Brumby realized how special she was." Trish had started to cry, sob actually over the phone. Harm had tried to calm her, but it was like he was a five year old trying to make his mom feel better while his world crashed around his feet. What could he say, when his mom's crying for no apparent reason? She had disconnected with him and continued to cry. Frank found her a few minutes later. "Trish, Darling what's wrong?" "I did this." She blubbered at him. "Did what, honey?" "Mac's marrying Brumby." "Oh." Frank's face immediately slackened. "Frank, I . . ." "Everyone makes their own choices, Trish." "He doesn't know how to love her." "He's a grown up man. He's had several girlfriends he was serious about. Maybe he just doesn't like Mac that way." "No he does, he just. He's afraid." "Afraid of what? He's not commitment shy. He's given his heart to the Navy, to his CO, that Admiral fellow. To Bud." "He's afraid she'll tell him no, that he can't have that. He can't do that. She'll yell at him for slicing tomatoes, for getting her called out of work because he won the science fair, for making him worry about money when he's just a little boy." "Honey-" "I made him grow up at five years old. He stayed by himself at home at six. What I did to him would be called abuse now. Neglect. How can he trust someone he really loves when he can't trust his own mother? How can he expect someone to love him and stay with him and to be close to him, when his own mother couldn't? I did this. Not you, not his grandma, not that damn dog that died when he was eight. I did. He's 36 and the second woman he has loved is marrying someone else." Trish took a deep breath. "I'm not going to stand for it. Harm is going to get to go to the Damn Air and Space Museum if I have to sell my soul to get him there." "Trish, slow down. You lost me at the tomato part." Frank put his hand on her shoulder. "When he was nine, I guess. I came home from work and found him using a knife to cut a tomato for a salad. I yelled at him for it. I was so worried and stressed and I took it out on him. It turns out he was making it for me cause it was my birthday. He had a present he had made. You know that Home is where the mom is, in my closet. When he was ten he won the district science fair and they asked him to go to state. Harm hadn't told me cause he knew we couldn't afford it. I was mad cause they called me down to the school to talk about it." "Air and Space Museum?" "I was too proud to ask someone else for the five bucks to pay for the ticket for him to go. The school didn't have the money to pay for him so he didn't get to go. He never told Sarah or anyone what a mean mom I was. And he never asked me to sign another permission slip for a field trip although I know they went ever other year. He knew we didn't have the money. "He's not going to ask, cause he thinks she won't stay. Because he thinks she's out of his reach. Everything is out of his reach. His dad was out of his reach; flying was out of his reach, Kip the dog was out of his reach. So now he thinks love is out of his reach and he isn't going to push the issue." Trish picked up the phone and flipped open the phone book. "I'm going to get her out here and pour out his pitiful sob story and confess to her and she better be willing to take him back and dump that stupid Australian or she will know the reason why a marine doesn't go against a Mother scorned." Frank stood up and patted her shoulder. He smiled to himself as he left the room. He'd get the maid to make up the guest bedroom. And get ready to give them some privacy. Tissues too. I'll have Florence put tissues on the grocery list. |