Seasons Of Our Youth [Issac!]

so take these words and sing out loud:
’cause everyone is forgiven now.


x - x - x - x - x - x - x - x - x - x - x - x - x - x - x

Isaac Haumann was not married, nor was he sure he ever would be married…not this time around, anyway. Look how well it had gone the first time. He was honestly a little afraid of women, simply because he couldn’t understand them, and because that must have never really been rectified in his previous life. It was a shame that now he was far from the awkward, even homely-looking man he had been the; women seemed to find him quite attractive. But when they spoke to him they realized that he was not well-versed in flirting or dating or even conversation, really. He was only comfortable around women with whom he worked–and not even always them; there were certain faculty members who seemed to enjoy taking advantage of his…well, awkwardness–and those in his family. He adored his sister, though he could not help but wish she was in spirit the same sister he’d lost all those years ago…

But not being married really didn’t matter, not considering he had the best part about a marriage already: children. Isaac had loved his boys with a ferocity that had made losing even two of them almost unbearable. Willie. He still thought about Willie a lot–he thought of Tad, too, and Robert and even tiny little Eddie…he could never forget them. He didn’t want to, as badly as he wanted to see them again. That would never happen, though, so he tried to console himself by pouring heart and soul into his sister’s children. Little Sean here was staying with him for a few days until his parents returned from a vacation or concert or whatever it was that they were doing in Charlotte; his two-year-old sister Catherine was still back in Kentucky staying with Isaac’s parents.

As much as Jenny apologized, it brought Isaac nothing but pleasure to watch his nephew for a few days. The boy was a mischievous ball of energy and reminded his uncle quite fondly of Tad, that far-away child, the one who Isaac kept a picture of stuffed in his wallet where no one but him would see it–one of all four of his boys, for that matter. And if someone ever did see them, hopefully he could dismiss it as being for a project, a souvenir for something, the mementos of an overly-devoted history teacher…something. He couldn’t explain to anyone outside of RSOR or former RSOR members that they were his own flesh and blood. He couldn’t explain that he had remembered the day of Tad’s birthday as clearly as he remembered Jenny’s wedding, nor that the grief he’d felt then over losing his dear boy Willie sometimes still overwhelmed him now.

Being in Springfield for college had simply killed him inside. So many things had changed, but it did not stop him from fruitlessly hoping that each time he turned a corner he would spot an old friend, even Herndon–he sometimes forgot that he was not the well-known lawyer around town, but to most Springfield residents (and tourists come to gawk at the Lincoln sites around town, for that matter) he was just another college kid. They had no way of knowing that he could tell them more about what went on in that house than any of the tour guides. That house. He had visited it often at first, but it always left him feeling sick and empty. Who was this Isaac Haumann person? He had to become someone of his own, even if he had memories of another man called something that had become close to a divine name in America.

Now it was a lovely day and easy to push his memories away, if not to forget them. He had little Sean to focus on, after all. And Sean was certainly plenty to focus on. The boy was all energy. “Uncle Isaac! Can’t catch me, Uncle Isaac!” he called, laughing, going slower since he was glancing back over his shoulder. Isaac pretended to ready himself to chase after his nephew, but in truth he was simply giving him a head start, knowing that in the end he would let the child win anyway but that if he had cared to, he could have caught him fairly easily. But then he felt his heart nearly stop for just a moment.

“Sean!” he called, a bit alarmed. He should have been more careful–but then the rider’s voice distracted him. Isaac looked up at the young man and then smiled in recognition. “Hello, Oliver,” he said. “I’ve come to entertain this young monster.” Reaching out, Isaac clasped his nephew by the shoulder and pulled his small body close to him. Sean wriggled a bit, but grinned cheekily at the unknown boy on the bike as if to say That’s right, I am a monster! For a moment, Isaac was distracted again. He ruffled Sean’s short hair. “Oliver, this is my nephew Sean. Shawny-boy, this is Oliver, one of my political science victims. Er, I mean, students.” Showing a flash of that famous sense of humor, Isaac grinned, his eyes gleaming.

so take these words and sing out loud:
’cause everyone is forgiven now.


x - x - x - x - x - x - x - x - x - x - x - x - x - x - x

Isaac smiled, glad to see Oliver playing along. He was one of the unique ones in RSOR–the majority, or at least many of, reincarnates it seemed to Isaac were from his own time or before. That only made sense, of course. But Oliver’s first self, his first life, was one of those whom Isaac in his first life had not read about or heard about in some context. He had only learned–and briefly–about the Wright brothers and their innovations in this lifetime, and he felt it gave an interesting dynamic to things. One may feel differently working for Queen Elizabeth I than teaching an American inventor, and he did, quite understandably. But it was impossible–and unwise–to dwell all the time on the fact that he had a handful of students like himself, students who had a host of skills and knowledge that none of their classmates did or ever would, in his classes. Oliver may have been one member of the team that invented the airplane, but he was also just Oliver sometimes, just a kid.

This was one of the times he could–and would–dwell on it, however, for it was somewhat obvious by the way Oliver spoke to Sean about the “kid” he had once known that young Bus was not part of Oliver’s life now, but had once been part of Orville’s. The little boy didn’t look terribly interested, though he tilted his head and asked “Really? What’s he like?” but it was different for Isaac. As ever, he thought of his own boys, so long gone. He knew some close families had been reunited–at least members of them–via RSOR; two of the Romanov children were together again, and something about Richard the Lionheart and his mother, if he had heard properly. But he knew, a dreadful sort of knowing, that he would not find Tad or Willie or even Robert, and it was horrible to think, but he almost did not care to be reunited with his wife.

At that moment, his nephew’s eye was caught by a group of children passing with their mothers on their way to the nearby playground equipment. He looked up expectantly, hopefully, at Isaac. “Can I go play with them, Uncle Isaac? Can I, can I?” he asked, his tone confident–he knew his uncle well enough to know that the answer would, of course, be yes. And sure enough, Isaac smiled and inclined his head. “Stay close.”

Almost before it had been said, Sean was off, running to meet the others. Isaac watched the child for a moment, the smile slowly fading from his face. There was a horrible sadness in his eyes when he turned back to Oliver. This was why he had had to come back and teach her, at least for a while. He could not bear the thought of going off into the world and forever being Isaac Haumann, able to share memories he should not have with someone who would not understand. But perhaps Oliver would understand. He spoke of this “Bus,” didn’t he? Once everyone seemed to be out of earshot, he ventured into the conversation that he needed–but didn’t entirely want–to have.

“This boy, Bus–was he yours?” His words were laden with both sympathy and sorrow were. He loved the memories he had of his sons–it was simply that they could not become real; he would never recover them. His marriage may have been, at times, a disaster; his presidency, hell. But the boys had made up for it tenfold.