For the Love of Super Soldiers

Solid Recollections

"Another crash landing, Commander! What shall we do?"

His words didn't register much with me; I knew we had crash landed, and I was distraught, banging my fists against the grass as though it had been the reason for the fall.

I eyed the blades. They were always around when this happened...

I felt hands at my sides. In my grief, I had missed my father creeping toward me and felt his fingers attacking with an effort that was certainly going to result in my demise.

"What if the aliens catch us?" He poked me once. "Or eat us..." he growled in my ear as the vigor of his tickling increased. "Or," he paused with a quirked brow. "What if our journey ends in a SQUIRMING AND GIGGLE-FILLED DEATH?!" His usually deep voice had made a pathetic attempt at a higher pitched set of vocal cords, faking anxiety and fear.

My shrilly laugh rang loud in the air. I expected that, soon enough, the whole neighborhood would meet their doom at the hands of this alien monster before me. I continued to wriggle about, uselessly trying to avoid his hands. "No, no!" I made feeble swats at his arms, trying to protect myself.

He falsettoed once more, pausing in his attack to cup his hands around his mouth and amplify his cries. "Leave us alone, you alien beast! The Blakes shall not falter in our quest! We will save the earth!"

"Daddy! Come on, stop it!" I couldn't tell if the laughing and screeching was mine or the newly arrived tickle-monster's. "Stop, st–"

"Abraham!"

Though we had spoken at the same time, my mother's voice immediately overpowered mine. She hadn't shouted; oh no, Vivienne Blake never did that. But her voice carried in it a natural projection that didn't need to fight another to be heard, much less mine. A projection that had her dismay crossing the yard swifter than any vicious alien specimen could have.

The two of us sat as still as stone as she stepped out onto the wraparound porch of our home.

The picture of presentability, my mother's hair was coiffed and elegantly styled into a mix of up and down. There wasn't a coily strand out of place. Her two piece suit was in vibrant contrast with her dark brown skin, a warm cream color with pearl adornments along the hems. She wore a baby blue turtleneck underneath, a pop of color against the monochrome of the suit. Each piece was tailored to perfection and fitted precisely to her proportions. She was beautiful.

The very opposite of how I looked in that moment, I was sure.

She stared at us, her chin angled upward as she crossed the yard.

Yup...I was a mess.

I held my breath as she stopped before us and looked down her nose. "Look at her dress, Abraham! It's all caked up with dirt and grass!" Her hands moved about the air in what could only be the purest mix of irritation and annoyance. "Oh my...and look at her hair!" She exclaimed.

My hands automatically went up to feel the top of my head. My mother had meticulously braided and twisted my hair into an updo for my array of events that weekend. I didn't need to see anymore of her expression to know that they were now little more than disheveled puffs. Why did it hurt so much while she was doing said meticulous braids and twists and, yet, I didn't feel a thing as they all unraveled? The pain could have saved me from what was sure to be a proper tongue-lashing.