Erin Ptah (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ptahrrific) wrote2007-07-15 12:06 am
ptahrrific) wrote2007-07-15 12:06 am
Entry tags:
Fake News: Expecting, Chapter 5
Title: Expecting, Chapter 5: Do You Hear What I Hear?
Series: The Colbert Report
Rating: G for this part
Words: ~1700
Disclaimer: Two.
For the Report characters: They and their universe are property of Stephen Colbert, the other Report writers, and of course Viacom. Not mine. Sue me not, please.
And for the real people, the poem:
Please, make no mistake:
these people aren't fake,
but what's said here is no more than fiction.
It only was writ
because we like their wit
and wisecracks, and pull-squints, and diction.
We don't mean to quibble,
but this can't be libel;
it's never implied to be real.
No disrespect's meant;
if you disapprove, then,
the back button's right up there. Deal.
Notes: Hold on to that premature Christmas spirit, because it's the big day itself. (The Star Wars holiday special has not officially been released on DVD, and with good reason.)
For the full table of contents to this story, click here.
Chapter 5
Do You Hear What I Hear?
December 25, 2006
11 Weeks
There was nothing on TV but stop-action Christmas specials. Oh, the suite was the best, on the top floor of a very ritzy hotel — maybe it was the Ritz; he hadn't paid that much attention — so it wasn't like he couldn't have browsed the Pay-Per-View offerings. He just didn't want to.
He had carefully explained to every person he knew that he had been invited to lots of parties by other people he knew. Had to keep up appearances, after all. Couldn't go letting people think that he, Stephen Colbert, pundit extraordinaire, would let such trivial things as an impending divorce, four kids who were scared of him, a fifth who was screwing with hormones he didn't know he had, or being alone on Christmas, get him down!
Which they would think if he burst into tears, which he had done twice already today, in the middle of a party. It was all hormones, of course, but that some people wouldn't understand that. Better to play it safe and stay in.
On the television, Rudolph's parents had just noticed their new son's nose. "Now how can you overlook that? His beak blinks like a blinkin' beacon!" cried his father.
Stephen gently prodded his bare stomach. "You aren't going to have a red nose, are you?"
He'd made an appointment with his personal tailor to have some new suits fitted; by the time the show came back, he was going to need them. In the meantime, he had resorted to his favorite flag boxers and a loose matching robe, which was the most comfortable thing he'd worn in weeks.
"This is an important life lesson," he announced, as Donner hid the glowing nose. "Conformity is good. Can you hear that?"
When would the baby be able to hear things? He didn't have the faintest idea.
Stephen glanced through the door into the next room, where his things were piled high. Lorraine had filled two more bags, which Jon had picked up because Stephen was temporarily (only temporarily!) banned from getting within a hundred feet of her. It would all be worked out, he was sure, so he hadn't bothered to unpack anything. But he knew the growing pile of pregnancy information (Dr. Moreau seemed to give him more at every checkup) was on top.
He hadn't looked at all of it, or even most of it. Reading, after all, was something liberals did. On the other hand, there was bound to be something in the pile about when babies developed ears.
Curiosity won out. He got up, retrieved the armful of folders and pamphlets, and dumped them out on the floor in front of the TV.
"Jingle, jingle, jingle; you will hear my sleigh bells ring!" sang Santa on the screen.
"But maybe he won't!" snapped Stephen irritably. "That's the whole question!"
♦ ⋅ ◊ ⋅ ♦ ⋅ ◊ ⋅ ♦
Half an hour and a lot of unintended learning later, Stephen had gathered that babies could definitely hear after six months, though he still wasn't sure when it started; Rudolph was sneaking away from his friends to keep his difference from putting them in danger; and someone was knocking on the door.
He got up, pulled his robe closed, checked the peephole, and then flung open the door. "Come in!" he exclaimed — a bit too enthusiastically. "You can't stay long," he added hastily. "I just got back from this great party, but I've got to be at the next one in a few minutes...."
Jon, bless him, fell for it without a moment of doubt.
"You could be fashionably late," he suggested as he shrugged off his coat. "Or blow it off completely. Tell them you're too cool for them after all."
And here he was giving Stephen a perfectly plausible excuse to keep him around without admitting to lying about the parties! It was almost as if he'd planned it. "Great idea! I'll do it. Come in, throw your coat somewhere, sit down. Hey, what did you bring?"
It was warm in the room, so Jon pulled off his dark grey V-neck shirt and hung it with the jacket, leaving him in his usual khakis and grey T-shirt. The only difference was the dark red Santa hat on his head, which matched the bag that had been slung over his shoulder.
"Not much," he said with a wink as he kicked off his boots and padded in socks over to the chairs by the TV. "I wasn't sure they'd have enough to drink for you at the parties, so I grabbed one of these." He pulled out a bottle of sparkling grape juice and two plastic glasses, and with a flash of sleight-of-hand had them filled. If he hadn't known that Jon had been a bartender, Stephen would have suspected the man of being a magician.
"A toast," proposed Jon, raising his glass. "To you, my friend."
Stephen could think of nothing better to drink to. "To me," he agreed, and they clicked the glasses together.
♦ ⋅ ◊ ⋅ ♦ ⋅ ◊ ⋅ ♦
When they'd emptied the bottle, Stephen went off to the phone and ordered a round of drinks from the hotel, and some food to go with it. He returned to find Santa's elves on the TV decorating a tree, and Jon producing decorations of his own: a package of tinsel, branches of fake greenery, a foot-tall tree decorated with ribbons and pea-sized silver stars and miniature eagles.
"Jon, this is awesome!" exclaimed Stephen, picking up the tree and spinning it around. "You have really good taste in Christmas decorations for a Jew."
"Er, thanks." (Geez, sometimes the man did not know how to take a compliment.)
"And it's good that they're cheap, too, because I'm not going to be here much longer. So we can just put them up and leave them when I go."
"They weren't that cheap," sulked Jon.
Stephen frowned. "But you're Jewish."
"Forget it," said Jon, and Stephen was happy to oblige.
Between Jon's height and Stephen's newfound reluctance (gleaned from his recent spurt of incidental learning) to stand on chairs, their decorating was skewed to the lower parts of the rooms. Still, Stephen declared himself quite pleased with the result by the time the food had arrived. Rudolph's story had long since finished, and that of the Grinch was wrapping up; they dragged an end table over to the television, to place the tray on it while they watched.
"Oh, one more thing!" said Jon suddenly. "I thought, if you were sick of seeing all the same specials, we could watch this." From the very bottom of the bag he pulled a DVD, home-burned if the cheap case and low-resolution cover were any indication.
Stephen read the cover, then stared at his friend, aghast. "You bought that?" he choked.
Jon looked worried, though he clearly did not appreciate the magnitude of his error. "I thought...I know you like Star Wars, and this had 'Star Wars' and 'holiday special' on it...."
"It is a travesty, Jon. We do not speak of it. George Lucas is a great guy, friend of the show, but if there is a special Hell reserved for him solely on the basis of that special, I will understand. Now put it away, before my son is exposed for too long."
"All right, all right," said Jon, obeying. "We'll just watch Frosty the Snowman, then, I guess."
He sat down, picked up a stuffed avocado from one of the plates, bit down, and nearly choked.
"Is this mustard?"
"Darn right it is!" Stephen took the next chair and picked up a strip of chicken. Yum.
"Did you get mustard on everything?"
"Have you ever had mustard on everything, Jon? It's great! I don't know why I never thought of it before!"
"Stephen," said Jon slowly, "when did you first notice this newfound love of mustard?"
Stephen thought about it. He remembered swiping some of the kids' Halloween candy to see how it tasted with mustard, so it had been some time in November; but early November, because he had still been close enough to his kids to swipe things from them. "Six or eight weeks ago, I guess."
"That explains it. It's a pregnancy craving."
"I thought those were for pickles and ice cream."
"That's the cliché, yeah, but every pregnancy is different. With Maggie, there was a while when Tracey couldn't get enough bananas. What was Lorraine like with your kids?"
Stephen realized he didn't remember, and this irritated him. "How should I know?" he demanded. "I wasn't the one who did the shopping."
Jon gave him an odd look. Stephen wasn't sure what it meant, but it made him feel very uncomfortable without understanding why. It wasn't as if he had done anything wrong.
"The movie's starting," he said by way of ending the discussion, even though it had been playing for a good five minutes. "Shh."
♦ ⋅ ◊ ⋅ ♦ ⋅ ◊ ⋅ ♦
As Jon paused in the doorway to put on his coat, Stephen came up behind his friend, spun him around, and kissed him soundly. He hadn't meant to go very far with it, but the other man's mouth tasted like mustard, so he ran his tongue thoroughly around before pulling away.
"Mistletoe," he explained, pointing to the bit of fake greenery taped above the frame.
"That's holly, Stephen."
"Is it? Are you sure?"
"I'm sure. It's the only thing I bought."
"Oh." Stephen shrugged. "Well, I thought it was mistletoe. So that wasn't a gay kiss or anything. It was a perfectly natural, wholesome, traditional mistletoe kiss."
"I understand," replied Jon, smiling in a way that showed he was okay with it. "Good night, Stephen. And Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas, Jon."
Once the door was closed between them, Stephen smirked. Dear gullible Jon.
It hadn't been a gay kiss; that much was true. Because Stephen Colbert was definitely, emphatically, completely, undoubtedly, no bones about it, not gay.
But he knew perfectly well what mistletoe looked like.
Series: The Colbert Report
Rating: G for this part
Words: ~1700
Disclaimer: Two.
For the Report characters: They and their universe are property of Stephen Colbert, the other Report writers, and of course Viacom. Not mine. Sue me not, please.
And for the real people, the poem:
Please, make no mistake:
these people aren't fake,
but what's said here is no more than fiction.
It only was writ
because we like their wit
and wisecracks, and pull-squints, and diction.
We don't mean to quibble,
but this can't be libel;
it's never implied to be real.
No disrespect's meant;
if you disapprove, then,
the back button's right up there. Deal.
Notes: Hold on to that premature Christmas spirit, because it's the big day itself. (The Star Wars holiday special has not officially been released on DVD, and with good reason.)
For the full table of contents to this story, click here.
Chapter 5
Do You Hear What I Hear?
December 25, 2006
11 Weeks
There was nothing on TV but stop-action Christmas specials. Oh, the suite was the best, on the top floor of a very ritzy hotel — maybe it was the Ritz; he hadn't paid that much attention — so it wasn't like he couldn't have browsed the Pay-Per-View offerings. He just didn't want to.
He had carefully explained to every person he knew that he had been invited to lots of parties by other people he knew. Had to keep up appearances, after all. Couldn't go letting people think that he, Stephen Colbert, pundit extraordinaire, would let such trivial things as an impending divorce, four kids who were scared of him, a fifth who was screwing with hormones he didn't know he had, or being alone on Christmas, get him down!
Which they would think if he burst into tears, which he had done twice already today, in the middle of a party. It was all hormones, of course, but that some people wouldn't understand that. Better to play it safe and stay in.
On the television, Rudolph's parents had just noticed their new son's nose. "Now how can you overlook that? His beak blinks like a blinkin' beacon!" cried his father.
Stephen gently prodded his bare stomach. "You aren't going to have a red nose, are you?"
He'd made an appointment with his personal tailor to have some new suits fitted; by the time the show came back, he was going to need them. In the meantime, he had resorted to his favorite flag boxers and a loose matching robe, which was the most comfortable thing he'd worn in weeks.
"This is an important life lesson," he announced, as Donner hid the glowing nose. "Conformity is good. Can you hear that?"
When would the baby be able to hear things? He didn't have the faintest idea.
Stephen glanced through the door into the next room, where his things were piled high. Lorraine had filled two more bags, which Jon had picked up because Stephen was temporarily (only temporarily!) banned from getting within a hundred feet of her. It would all be worked out, he was sure, so he hadn't bothered to unpack anything. But he knew the growing pile of pregnancy information (Dr. Moreau seemed to give him more at every checkup) was on top.
He hadn't looked at all of it, or even most of it. Reading, after all, was something liberals did. On the other hand, there was bound to be something in the pile about when babies developed ears.
Curiosity won out. He got up, retrieved the armful of folders and pamphlets, and dumped them out on the floor in front of the TV.
"Jingle, jingle, jingle; you will hear my sleigh bells ring!" sang Santa on the screen.
"But maybe he won't!" snapped Stephen irritably. "That's the whole question!"
Half an hour and a lot of unintended learning later, Stephen had gathered that babies could definitely hear after six months, though he still wasn't sure when it started; Rudolph was sneaking away from his friends to keep his difference from putting them in danger; and someone was knocking on the door.
He got up, pulled his robe closed, checked the peephole, and then flung open the door. "Come in!" he exclaimed — a bit too enthusiastically. "You can't stay long," he added hastily. "I just got back from this great party, but I've got to be at the next one in a few minutes...."
Jon, bless him, fell for it without a moment of doubt.
"You could be fashionably late," he suggested as he shrugged off his coat. "Or blow it off completely. Tell them you're too cool for them after all."
And here he was giving Stephen a perfectly plausible excuse to keep him around without admitting to lying about the parties! It was almost as if he'd planned it. "Great idea! I'll do it. Come in, throw your coat somewhere, sit down. Hey, what did you bring?"
It was warm in the room, so Jon pulled off his dark grey V-neck shirt and hung it with the jacket, leaving him in his usual khakis and grey T-shirt. The only difference was the dark red Santa hat on his head, which matched the bag that had been slung over his shoulder.
"Not much," he said with a wink as he kicked off his boots and padded in socks over to the chairs by the TV. "I wasn't sure they'd have enough to drink for you at the parties, so I grabbed one of these." He pulled out a bottle of sparkling grape juice and two plastic glasses, and with a flash of sleight-of-hand had them filled. If he hadn't known that Jon had been a bartender, Stephen would have suspected the man of being a magician.
"A toast," proposed Jon, raising his glass. "To you, my friend."
Stephen could think of nothing better to drink to. "To me," he agreed, and they clicked the glasses together.
When they'd emptied the bottle, Stephen went off to the phone and ordered a round of drinks from the hotel, and some food to go with it. He returned to find Santa's elves on the TV decorating a tree, and Jon producing decorations of his own: a package of tinsel, branches of fake greenery, a foot-tall tree decorated with ribbons and pea-sized silver stars and miniature eagles.
"Jon, this is awesome!" exclaimed Stephen, picking up the tree and spinning it around. "You have really good taste in Christmas decorations for a Jew."
"Er, thanks." (Geez, sometimes the man did not know how to take a compliment.)
"And it's good that they're cheap, too, because I'm not going to be here much longer. So we can just put them up and leave them when I go."
"They weren't that cheap," sulked Jon.
Stephen frowned. "But you're Jewish."
"Forget it," said Jon, and Stephen was happy to oblige.
Between Jon's height and Stephen's newfound reluctance (gleaned from his recent spurt of incidental learning) to stand on chairs, their decorating was skewed to the lower parts of the rooms. Still, Stephen declared himself quite pleased with the result by the time the food had arrived. Rudolph's story had long since finished, and that of the Grinch was wrapping up; they dragged an end table over to the television, to place the tray on it while they watched.
"Oh, one more thing!" said Jon suddenly. "I thought, if you were sick of seeing all the same specials, we could watch this." From the very bottom of the bag he pulled a DVD, home-burned if the cheap case and low-resolution cover were any indication.
Stephen read the cover, then stared at his friend, aghast. "You bought that?" he choked.
Jon looked worried, though he clearly did not appreciate the magnitude of his error. "I thought...I know you like Star Wars, and this had 'Star Wars' and 'holiday special' on it...."
"It is a travesty, Jon. We do not speak of it. George Lucas is a great guy, friend of the show, but if there is a special Hell reserved for him solely on the basis of that special, I will understand. Now put it away, before my son is exposed for too long."
"All right, all right," said Jon, obeying. "We'll just watch Frosty the Snowman, then, I guess."
He sat down, picked up a stuffed avocado from one of the plates, bit down, and nearly choked.
"Is this mustard?"
"Darn right it is!" Stephen took the next chair and picked up a strip of chicken. Yum.
"Did you get mustard on everything?"
"Have you ever had mustard on everything, Jon? It's great! I don't know why I never thought of it before!"
"Stephen," said Jon slowly, "when did you first notice this newfound love of mustard?"
Stephen thought about it. He remembered swiping some of the kids' Halloween candy to see how it tasted with mustard, so it had been some time in November; but early November, because he had still been close enough to his kids to swipe things from them. "Six or eight weeks ago, I guess."
"That explains it. It's a pregnancy craving."
"I thought those were for pickles and ice cream."
"That's the cliché, yeah, but every pregnancy is different. With Maggie, there was a while when Tracey couldn't get enough bananas. What was Lorraine like with your kids?"
Stephen realized he didn't remember, and this irritated him. "How should I know?" he demanded. "I wasn't the one who did the shopping."
Jon gave him an odd look. Stephen wasn't sure what it meant, but it made him feel very uncomfortable without understanding why. It wasn't as if he had done anything wrong.
"The movie's starting," he said by way of ending the discussion, even though it had been playing for a good five minutes. "Shh."
As Jon paused in the doorway to put on his coat, Stephen came up behind his friend, spun him around, and kissed him soundly. He hadn't meant to go very far with it, but the other man's mouth tasted like mustard, so he ran his tongue thoroughly around before pulling away.
"Mistletoe," he explained, pointing to the bit of fake greenery taped above the frame.
"That's holly, Stephen."
"Is it? Are you sure?"
"I'm sure. It's the only thing I bought."
"Oh." Stephen shrugged. "Well, I thought it was mistletoe. So that wasn't a gay kiss or anything. It was a perfectly natural, wholesome, traditional mistletoe kiss."
"I understand," replied Jon, smiling in a way that showed he was okay with it. "Good night, Stephen. And Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas, Jon."
Once the door was closed between them, Stephen smirked. Dear gullible Jon.
It hadn't been a gay kiss; that much was true. Because Stephen Colbert was definitely, emphatically, completely, undoubtedly, no bones about it, not gay.
But he knew perfectly well what mistletoe looked like.
no subject
Maybe it's because being in love humanizes "Stephen". Or because it's part of the lovable side of him that he hides. Jon sees some of it (which is why "Stephen" is endearing from his perspective), but not this deep (yet).
no subject
It's like viewing "Stephen" through a filter, at first. When I say my affection for him is two-fold, I mean I have my affection for the character, that I filter through reality/knowledge of satire/appreciation of good writing/sense of humour. And then I view "Stephen" through Jon's eyes, which is where we get this sense that he can be - needy isn't quite the word I'm looking for, nor is helpless. Needful, maybe. He needs other people, relies on them, enmeshes himself in the web of humanity - humanises himself. The affection I have for him is not the same as Jon's affection, but it springs from it - and it's much on the same level that I get when petting a kitten, or the reaction most people have to babies (I can't stand them, btw); it's a dependency thing. It's not quite the same - like I said, I can't see "Stephen" as helpless - it's the compassion you have for someone who's fallen down and can't get up.
Viewing Jon through "Stephen"'s eyes we get to see that he needs people, and not just in the sense that he needs Bobby or Tad or any of the crew - it's - oh, it's not that he needs so much as he wants people. Not in a sexual way. (We'll get to that later.) I used the word enmesh up in the previous paragraph; here we get a "Stephen" who wants to enmesh himself in this web of society, of humanity. It's not so much that being in love humanises him - Jon's view of him does that, for me - but that seeing humanity from his perspective shows us he is capable of the best in humanity: compassion.
Yes. I think that's it. For all his faults, and they are many, "Stephen" is capable of compassion. And you set it up here against flashes of him being hopelessly inconsiderate - poor Jon - but because the wounded party doesn't seem all that wounded (and thank you for that; I have the feeling your follow-up is going to hurt in ways this one doesn't), the overwhelming piece of knowledge I take from this, that I didn't have before, is that Stephen is capable of compassion.
Jon, bless him, fell for it without a moment of doubt.
It's the little 'bless him' which seals the deal. Shows genuine affection instead of just gratitude, which is also present in the 'perfect excuse' bit which follows; Stephen's smirk over the kiss is both hilarious in his thinking that Jon doesn't get it (and how much do I love that he actually doesn't? YAY for Lewis, but that is for another chapter, far from here) and that it was a smart thing to do. He feels great that he got to kiss Jon but also that he outwitted Jon - "Dear, gullible Jon" makes that pretty clear - and whilst the affection comes through clearly here, there's also that sense of having outwitted someone quite literally bracketing the sentiment:
Stephen smirked. Dear gullible Jon.
'smirked' and 'gullible' bookend the endearment he uses. In the line, Jon, bless him, fell for it without a moment of doubt, the 'bless him' is brought out as a minor clause - the commas act almost as parentheses and sets the tone of underlying affection for the rest of the chapter. It's what makes "Stephen" so easily 'bearable' - his affection, his compassion - and I'm left with the suspicion that Jon knew about it before I did.
no subject
no subject
I love how you're breaking this down word-by-word and clause-by-clause. I didn't consciously plan it on that level, but I put myself in my writing-"Stephen" mindset, and apparently that affects everything down to where I put my commas.
I use "needy" and "helpless" to describe "Stephen" all the time, so I think they work. He needs people; specifically, he needs love and approval, most notably from father figures (Papa Bear, God, the President) but also in general. And he can't get these on his own. (Have you read his book yet? If you don't mind spoilers, there's a line I want to quote at you.) He is constantly reaching out, often to the Nation in general -- pleading for our sympathy, our applause, our votes -- and at the same time he's doing things for us (as he sees it); he says "I've got your back" and he means it -- but all of this, everything he does, all the love he elicits, it's never enough. That's where the helplessness comes in. He's trying so hard, but he's not succeeding.
The problem is the walls he builds around himself. His anger and his pity plays -- the real Stephen has literally called these "walls" and "defenses", and that shows very clearly in "Stephen". He built these walls to keep himself safe, but they're keeping him from actually connecting with people.
His ignorance (which Stephen has called "willful" -- he's not just lazy, he is actively fostering a lack of knowledge) is another wall. What you see as "him being hopelessly inconsiderate" is a direct result of that. His compassion, and he has a deeply compassionate streak, is inhibited by his willful ignorance.
He is a tragic, tragic character, is our "Stephen".
You better believe the follow-up's gonna hurt. It takes place between chapter 20 and the epilogue, so you know there's a happy ending in the future, but there's a lot of pain along the way. Stephen desperately wants to connect with Jon, and for the first time the other person wants to connect with him just as desperately; but it can't happen until his walls are torn down, and there's no easy way to do that.
Come to think of it, I hadn't intellectualized this, but we get glimpses of that in later chapters here too. Stephen's ignorance starts to come down (most notably in chapter 16 and the end of 17), and it hurts every time.
You're exactly right: Jon knew. Jon's reaction to Stephen is a curious combination of blind spots and the ability to see parts of him that most people don't.
no subject
My fingers are itching. Putting the Mactop away because this is a comment I want to get into.
And if you're enjoying the longer comments - I ended up maxing out LJ's character limit in my comment on Chapter...8? I think. Whichever one I got up to tonight. Thought I confess I went off on a tangent about The Thing With Feathers and stylistics as opposed to lexis *colours* (sorry about that).
no subject
no subject
"A father has to be a provider, a teacher, a role model, but most importantly, a distant authority figure who can never be pleased. Otherwise, how will children ever understand the concept of God?"
Which clarifies that not only is my notion of sticking God on his list of father figures correct, but that, even in-character, he's aware of it.
(And, oh, it breaks my heart.)
no subject
I agree with you wholeheartedly that the problem is, as you put it, 'the walls he builds around himself'; I don't necessarily agree that they keep him from connecting with people. He makes a connection with his audience, and it's a connection he certainly needs; he's aware of the connections between people even if he's not all that perceptive; and he is capable of making that connection with individuals. The walls aren't fully solid. They're just not. He makes that connection with the baby - and yes, early on, even before the vast majority of his growth occurs - the fact that he is panicking on the way to the hospital, I think, shows that. Even before then - the moment where he decides, at Christmas, to brave the facts in all the hospital leaflets/info Moreau gave him. And he loves Jon, even if - like I said, not all that perceptive - he does not recognise that. To me, hopeless would mean 'incapable'. It's an extreme that "Stephen" hasn't yet reached. His compassion is, as you said yourself, 'inhibited' by his ignorance - it's not ground out. I think there's a difference, and that it's a subtle one, and I think our disagreement is probably just precipitated on grounds of semantics - but that's what I mean. "Stephen" is capable of growth - hell, that's what this whole story is driven by - Stephen's growth, powered by that within him.
And when I say, 'hopelessly inconsiderate' elsewhere - I mean that I have no hope of him being considerate. Our view changes, much like Stephen's, as we go along - and I think that's a real credit to the story, and to your writing; but here we don't yet expect that much of him; we don't dare to hope.
no subject
It really is rather heart-breaking.
no subject
During the Wørd "Back Off, Old Man", Stephen addresses him in present tense.
And there are references in his book to the man having been alive when Stephen was as old as twelve. If he did die, it was at least more recently.
no subject
He does get affection and approval -- a lot of it from the Nation, which I think goes far to sustaining him -- but my point is that it's never enough.
"Desperate" is also a word I use a lot.
He's definitely making a connection with the baby, and that's going to be important. And he loves Jon, and is constantly reaching out to Jon. These emotions aren't destroyed by the walls, but as long as the walls are in place they can never be fully realized. (The Jon connection gets the most work during State of Grace, so you'll see what I mean in practice.)