*First Person Introspection*
I am now Robert Dresden.
My old life, my old name, they are gone to me. I know that for a fact. And, to this day, it still breaks my heart. It breaks my heart every time I try to dredge up one of my old memories. The intimate moments, the moments of anger, any of them. And the worst part about it, is that I was born back in the some time I grew up in. I am in the same world that I had previously lived.
While I do not remember, or know, about the early 80's, there is entirely too many similarities to dissuade me from that notion. Ronald Reagan is president. WHAM has their most popular song. Madonna is still the same, scandalous.
And I am too far away from all the people that I once knew.
If it were not for Mom, mother, mommy, Beth, or whatever I call her, I am not sure where I would be. She has been my rock. And I, for her. I am not sure if I can say I love her. Though for all that I have been through, I have never understood my own feelings of love. She is more than a friend to me. Truthfully, all I can say about our relationship, is that we are family. At the end of the day, that is all that matters.
Mom knows more than I wanted about my intelligence. At first, I tried to play it off as any normal kid. There is a problem though, I got bored way too quickly. Seriously, I had lived a good life, previously, and with the internet around, I was always able to find something to do. This is the 80's. Most people, including Mom, do not have cable. Computers, they are outside of a normal price range for casual use. So I could not even while away my time that. I can not comprehend how people fill their time in this time period.
I am five years old, and I have no use for the toys of my childhood.
So instead, I started to read. If there was any fiction book in front of me, I greedily started to devour it. Works that interested me, but I never got around to reading, done. I would have started to read educational books, if it were not for the fact that I did not want to show that I was smarter than I should be. I may be smart, but I am no genius. I know for a fact that I could not stand up to the scrutiny of being a child prodigy. And even if Mom suspected that I was hiding my intelligence, I purposely never showed it. I will not show it, and she will not ask about.
One thing that is good, that I never truly had a chance for, is that I was finally able to learn a second language, almost fully. Mom was bilingual, and as soon as she could, she started talking to me in both English and French. Maybe it was because of my age, or maybe just my boredom, but I was able to pick up French fairly easy.
Beth, she is a great mother. Even for one such as me.
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After five years of this life, and all of the years of my past life, I am finally going to Europe. I am both excited about it, and scared. Other than Mom, I never grew close to anyone else around here, where I am growing up. It would be a truly new start to my life, away from a lot of things that reminded me of the past. But, close enough that I would not be too wanting.
Mom never spoke much of her growing up. I have always wondered if it was because it was a troubled situation, or if it was just because that I am too young for her to delve into her youth. It could be either or it could be both, or something else that I have not considered.
The only thing I could intuit from her, is that she came from some type of money. Not wealthy, as she did not carry any type of pompousness. Probably some type of high middle class, or low high class. The only reason I could tell, is that the little parts of day to day life were not smooth. While competent, she seemed as if normal tasks were not a common thing.
But you know what, she tried. And that is all that truly matters to me.
She moved from one country to another, with only her husband, it is still impossible for me to call him my father, with no one else that she knew. It was a new society, and way of life for her. And after my namesake passed away, she did the best that she could. I am not sure if I could have done that. That is such a scary proposition, in my opinion.
But back to Britain. The only thing I know, is that we are moving in with her parents, in London. I have never talked to them. Not on the phone, or through letters. God, I miss email, for situations like this, near instant communication from anywhere in the world, to somewhere else in the world. I know, essentially nothing about them.
My Mom is in her late 20's, maybe early 30's at the oldest. So with that little bit of information, I presume they are somewhere in their 50's, or so. And as for what they do, I have not the slightest clue. The only thing I know, is their last name is Wickham.
To be truthful, I am a bit afraid of meeting, and then living, with them.
There is no timetable on how long Mom and I will be at their place, and I do not know if I can act a child for an extended period of time, around them. My creature comfort of reading books not meant for children would definitely be a red flag in showing that I am not a "normal" child. And yes, I have the energy to run around all day, with barely being worn out, but I do not find that fun. To kill my excessive energy, I basically work out. I do not know a single child that works out.
Yes, I will watch some television. There are some shows that I heard about in my previous life, that sound interesting, such as Faulty Towers and Red Dwarf. I think they are broadcasting in this time. But, still, I hope we move out of their house fairly quickly.
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*Back to third person*
After the long flight into London, and finally vacating the airport, the family of two were in a cab were on their way into an affluent area of London. From the point of view of an American, a lot of the houses were on the small side, with little to no yard, to speak of, at least until heading into the end of their journey. In fact, the acreage of the lots of lands that the houses were sitting on, were huge. That is, if you could see through the fences, no walls, outlining the properties.
Three or four story households, that were more than would could be considered large, was common in this area. The area was truly for the well-off members of society. And this is where the journey ended for Robert and his mother.
The cab came to a halt in front of a walled of plot of land, surrounded by red bricks, nearly six feet high, topped with white slabs slightly extending over said wall. The entrance of the house was blocked of by and intricate cast iron gate, wide enough for a pair of cars to drive next the each other. The path into the yard was made of more bricks, completely level, laid in geometric patterns.
And the house, it was huge, to say the least. From the outside, based on windows, it was three stories tall, with at least some type of attic. It was, at least by Robert's estimation, 100 yards wide, and who knew how deep. While demur in its facade, it was definitely, a house of a wealthy person. Ostentatious in its size, but not in its visible decor. This was the house of someone that did not just come into money, but of someone that had a history of having money.
Having stared, no, gawked at the house, Robert, with some trepidation walked towards the front door of his new domicile. He was more nervous, now, then at any time previously, when he was thinking about his change of life. And with his mother, Beth, he was led into this house. For once, Robert way acting as a child.
Just the entryway of this house screamed history. It was an open room with multiple landscapes all along the walls. Antiques were on display throughout the whole room. Not a single modern convenience was in view. The closest thing to a modern device, were tastefully ornate light fixtures giving off bluish light.
Yep, it was surely a wealthy house in which Beth grew up in.
Having taken in the sights of this new abode, Robert finally heard a door open. In walked an older woman dressed in simple and functional clothing, being a simple unadorned skirt, and a pragmatic top. Nothing that would impede normal day-to-day movements. Her movements, though, belied that she was a servant. She moved into the room as if the room was her domain.
"Oh, Eliza, how I missed you. How are you doing?" The woman said in a slightly husky voice. Walking further she attempted to embrace Beth in a hug.
With joy in her face, Beth welcomed said hug. She fully embraced the other woman in her own hug. It was a comforting scene that could only be shown between two people that are truly close.
"Mmmm, how I missed you. I missed you more than you can imagine. And don't call me Eliza, Mother. It's to stodgy. It's Beth."
"Whatever you say, ELIZA."
"Sure just ignore me, just like you always do."
"I have no idea what you are talking about. When have I ever ignored something from you?" This coming from the woman, that Robert could only rightly assume was his grandmother. And she said it in a completely sarcastic way, that he could only assume was someone truly missing her daughter.
"I'll never win with you, will I?"
"I'm your mother."
With and exasperated sigh, ending what surely had been an ever continuous argument. "Let me go so I can introduce my son to you."
Finally, the long hug between mother and daughter was released. While still remaining close to each other, Beth turned on one of her heals, opening up the sight of Robert, grasping him on his shoulder. She drew him closer her, with a single arm hug. "Mother, this is my son, Robert. Robert, this is your grandmother, my mother."
"Umm…" Robert said in a shy voice. He was not hiding his nervousness, in any way. "Hello Grandmother."
"Don't call me Grandmother. Use Gran, Nana, anything but Grandmother. I might not be as young as I once was, but I don't feel old enough for use such a formal word." The levity in his grandmother's voice decried that she was not in the least bit perturbed about being called his grandmother. She was welcoming to him.
"Okay, Granny." It was like an instinct for Robert to hit her back with a term that was mainly used for women older than his grandmother portrayed.
"Fine, I guess you won that one."
After the introduction was out of the way, the family was led further into the house, into a lounging area, the only thing that Robert could conceivably call said room. Much of the conversation was Robert's grandmother questioning Beth about her life in America, and what it was like. They were as if they were birds, just chattering about whatever popped in their heads, as quickly as it entered. The two rarely interacting with Robert, not that they were ignoring him, they were just in joy being brought back together.
For the most part, Robert sat silently listening to the two women chatter on endlessly. It was difficult for him to keep track of the conversation as they kept on entering and leaving topics. Many a man would be lost and bored of their rattlings.
When finally a small break in their conversation happened, Beth asked her mother, "Mother, where is Father? Working on his toys like always?"
"You know how your dear Father gets when his playing with magic…"
'Magic? Did I just hear right? Grandfather is playing with magic?'
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Okay, I was going to use italics to denote internal monologue, but this sight doesn't appear to allow that. So apostrophes denote internal monologue. If anyone has a better way to show that, I'm all ears.