Title: Place Where You Are
Mar. 13th, 2011 05:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cosmic_tuesdaysTitle: Place Where You Are
Author: Hannah Orlove
Fandom: House, MD
Rating: G
Pairing: None.
Warnings: None.
Notes: Title comes from the song “Stand” by the band R.E.M.
He hadn’t had a lot of stuff when he’d been growing up. There wasn’t much chance for him to – the House family lived like snails, carrying its home around wherever it went. That was what he first thought of when he’d tried comparing his family to some kind of animal; snails and turtles. There was something to be said for being a snail, which was that no matter how far he traveled he’d never felt homesick. It was easy to avoid that feeling when you didn’t have a home to leave in the first place. Later, Greg decided that an odd sort of hermit crab would be a better comparison. His family moved from place to place without ever settling down, but unlike the crabs, which grew and then had to find new homes, his family shrank before it got to a new place, grew while it was there, and shrank again before leaving.
It didn’t take him long to learn that trying to carry him home with him was one of the most tiring things in the world. He could mash and cram and stow all he liked, but even if he did, then the boxes would be heavy, and there wasn’t a way for him to take literally everything with him. There was one house somewhere in the flatlands of the Midwest where his bedroom had a West-facing window and for three months he’d gotten to see the most wonderful early sunlight sliding across the walls. He woke up and it was there, showing that the day was ready for him to get out of bed and into the world. Right after that, his dad got stationed in the Pacific Northwest, and there was always more rain than actual sky. It wasn’t as though his family could pack up a window. It was hard to carry your home in things, but it kept you from missing specific places. Anyplace could be home if you brought the right things.
They didn’t take toasters, or stoves, or rugs. No pieces of furniture that would be at the next shell-house or base, and even if they didn’t have, say, a clothes dryer, they could do without or request one. The stuff they took with them was smaller and more personal. Usually. There wasn’t too much personal value – to Greg, at least – in many of the things his parents made him keep. He’d tried ‘forgetting’ the clothes he didn’t want up in almost every move his family had made. He hated how arbitrary the decision-making process was in what he could and couldn’t keep. Red-orange sedimentary pebbles he’d found he couldn’t keep because ‘there were rocks everywhere,’ but his dad was adamant that a baseball his son didn’t much care about came along. Greg wondered, sometimes, why he’d bothered.
He also wondered, every so often, what had happened to some of the stuff he was sure he’d packed. It was usually during the unpacking process, when the shell began to get filled by the House family for a little while. Something wouldn’t turn up, and he’d sulk for a few days, and then do his best to get over the loss. He’d never cried over discovering he didn’t have something anymore; he was oddly proud of that.
Still, it never stopped him from trying to find some of the stuff that had vanished along the way. He knew it wouldn’t actually turn up, not when something had gotten mislaid in Japan and the unpacking took place in Michigan, for example, but there was the possibility he might find a substitute or a replacement. As time went on and he got older, he stopped actively looking and allowed himself to be happily surprised when he found jam for fruits that he never learned the English names for, or delighted at some reprinted fantasy books that had first been read decades ago because they had been the only things in English in that bookstore which had also been reasonably appropriate for someone under twelve.
Or, perhaps, a stuffed teddy bear that looked just like the one he’d had when he was eight.
House had been in the toy store with the intent of finding some rubber reptiles for a Halloween prank when he saw the shelf of plush toys. Interest piqued, he went over to investigate, and immediately fixated on the bear sitting on the second shelf from the top and third from the right. He got it along with six snakes and a handful of glow-in-the-dark bugs, rushing the purchase so he could get back home to inspect his new toy.
The bear wasn’t exactly the same one as the one he remembered. This one was tan, not brown, and the snout wasn’t quite as round. It didn’t smell like a pillow, either – he wondered when the company had stopped using feathers to stuff its toys. But the body was the same, complete with the tiny tail, as was the soft mohair fur, and the black eyes with a tiny ring of red around the edges. It was smaller in his hands, but that was to be expected.
He’d slept with that bear for every night for close to two years. He’d named it Companionable because it gave him companionship. He had taken what he could get, and found that a teddy bear was a good replacement for most of the kids he interacted with. Well, had been, for a while at least.
Companionable – no reason to break tradition, after all – took its place at the head of his bed along with the pillows. He wasn’t going to fall asleep while holding it like he’d used to, but he couldn’t think of a more appropriate place for it to go. He knew that as an adult he had a better chance of finding the sort of companionship he wanted, but in case he didn’t get any, if he did want some companionship then it would be right here at home, waiting for him.
Author: Hannah Orlove
Fandom: House, MD
Rating: G
Pairing: None.
Warnings: None.
Notes: Title comes from the song “Stand” by the band R.E.M.
He hadn’t had a lot of stuff when he’d been growing up. There wasn’t much chance for him to – the House family lived like snails, carrying its home around wherever it went. That was what he first thought of when he’d tried comparing his family to some kind of animal; snails and turtles. There was something to be said for being a snail, which was that no matter how far he traveled he’d never felt homesick. It was easy to avoid that feeling when you didn’t have a home to leave in the first place. Later, Greg decided that an odd sort of hermit crab would be a better comparison. His family moved from place to place without ever settling down, but unlike the crabs, which grew and then had to find new homes, his family shrank before it got to a new place, grew while it was there, and shrank again before leaving.
It didn’t take him long to learn that trying to carry him home with him was one of the most tiring things in the world. He could mash and cram and stow all he liked, but even if he did, then the boxes would be heavy, and there wasn’t a way for him to take literally everything with him. There was one house somewhere in the flatlands of the Midwest where his bedroom had a West-facing window and for three months he’d gotten to see the most wonderful early sunlight sliding across the walls. He woke up and it was there, showing that the day was ready for him to get out of bed and into the world. Right after that, his dad got stationed in the Pacific Northwest, and there was always more rain than actual sky. It wasn’t as though his family could pack up a window. It was hard to carry your home in things, but it kept you from missing specific places. Anyplace could be home if you brought the right things.
They didn’t take toasters, or stoves, or rugs. No pieces of furniture that would be at the next shell-house or base, and even if they didn’t have, say, a clothes dryer, they could do without or request one. The stuff they took with them was smaller and more personal. Usually. There wasn’t too much personal value – to Greg, at least – in many of the things his parents made him keep. He’d tried ‘forgetting’ the clothes he didn’t want up in almost every move his family had made. He hated how arbitrary the decision-making process was in what he could and couldn’t keep. Red-orange sedimentary pebbles he’d found he couldn’t keep because ‘there were rocks everywhere,’ but his dad was adamant that a baseball his son didn’t much care about came along. Greg wondered, sometimes, why he’d bothered.
He also wondered, every so often, what had happened to some of the stuff he was sure he’d packed. It was usually during the unpacking process, when the shell began to get filled by the House family for a little while. Something wouldn’t turn up, and he’d sulk for a few days, and then do his best to get over the loss. He’d never cried over discovering he didn’t have something anymore; he was oddly proud of that.
Still, it never stopped him from trying to find some of the stuff that had vanished along the way. He knew it wouldn’t actually turn up, not when something had gotten mislaid in Japan and the unpacking took place in Michigan, for example, but there was the possibility he might find a substitute or a replacement. As time went on and he got older, he stopped actively looking and allowed himself to be happily surprised when he found jam for fruits that he never learned the English names for, or delighted at some reprinted fantasy books that had first been read decades ago because they had been the only things in English in that bookstore which had also been reasonably appropriate for someone under twelve.
Or, perhaps, a stuffed teddy bear that looked just like the one he’d had when he was eight.
House had been in the toy store with the intent of finding some rubber reptiles for a Halloween prank when he saw the shelf of plush toys. Interest piqued, he went over to investigate, and immediately fixated on the bear sitting on the second shelf from the top and third from the right. He got it along with six snakes and a handful of glow-in-the-dark bugs, rushing the purchase so he could get back home to inspect his new toy.
The bear wasn’t exactly the same one as the one he remembered. This one was tan, not brown, and the snout wasn’t quite as round. It didn’t smell like a pillow, either – he wondered when the company had stopped using feathers to stuff its toys. But the body was the same, complete with the tiny tail, as was the soft mohair fur, and the black eyes with a tiny ring of red around the edges. It was smaller in his hands, but that was to be expected.
He’d slept with that bear for every night for close to two years. He’d named it Companionable because it gave him companionship. He had taken what he could get, and found that a teddy bear was a good replacement for most of the kids he interacted with. Well, had been, for a while at least.
Companionable – no reason to break tradition, after all – took its place at the head of his bed along with the pillows. He wasn’t going to fall asleep while holding it like he’d used to, but he couldn’t think of a more appropriate place for it to go. He knew that as an adult he had a better chance of finding the sort of companionship he wanted, but in case he didn’t get any, if he did want some companionship then it would be right here at home, waiting for him.
