Unspoken - 15. Arrival in Williamsburg

Some may call it coincidence, but I’d like to think that my parents were fated. Having lived in the same region in Scotland, their families immigrated to the US the same year, and to the same area. I’d like to think that Nicolo and I were fated, the way we slot together so easily, despite our disagreements and differences. If Nicolo and I were fated, I’d have to believe that Bryce being ours was fated as well. It was funny, I’ve always thought, just how many non-American accents we had in our family.

Accents are a strange thing, to me. Having never been able to speak, it’s been interesting hearing all the different accents from all over the world, and I’ve often wondered how they developed. Not that I’ve ever been truly motivated enough to do any sort of research into their evolution, considering there are hundreds across the world. Some, obviously, were easier than others to decipher. A thick Indian accent, for instance, is hard for me to follow at a distance, but if the speaker is directly in front of me it’s easier. Nicolo’s thick Tuscany accent did things to me, I’d admit to anyone who asked outright, despite it being edged off a bit over the years we’ve been together. A nice thick Scots accent though, was difficult for Nicolo to get used to, in contrast to myself having grown up hearing it. Both my parents had thick accents. My brothers’ were not quite as thick. Bryce’s accent was, I think, from southern California, if I had to guess. An odd hodgepodge.

Bryce was currently sat on my father’s hip, being carried, as we walked from the arrival gate to the baggage carousel at Newport News International. Norfolk was a larger airport, but we as a family staunchly avoided the HRBT whenever possible, during daylight hours anyway. Nicolo and I trailed behind as Bryce chattered with dad. Poor Bryce was slow to respond as he chewed over dad’s accent, but interestingly enough was picking it up faster than Nicolo did. Amazing kid.

“Well, lad, Williamsburg is home to a grand history, and we’ve got time to teach ye all about it. But remember!” he tapped Bryce’s nose, making him go temporarily crosseyed, “ye must never forget ye’r roots. Do ye know why tha’s important?”

Bryce twitched his nose. “Ummm because if we forget where we came from we forget who we are?”

I beamed at them, just as dad turned his head just enough to see a bit of pride shine in his eyes.

“Aye lad. Ye can learn new, and ye can heal from hurt, but never forget. Just like ye want to remember yer abuse, so you can be better from it, and ye want to remember what it was like when tha’ pervert tried to kidnap ye, so ye can protect yourself and others, ye must understand history, so ye can learn from it. If ye understand that, then little Aklen has taught ye well.” Nicolo smiled down at me, and dropped a hand to the top of my head, sharing my pride.

“Grampa Archie?”

“Aye?”

“Why do you call dad ‘Aklen?’ That’s his middle name, right?

“Well lad, have ye ever been up against a stressed and crying Scotswoman?”

Bryce shook his head, wide-eyed. My own eyes rolled, and I poked Nicolo in the side after hearing him snigger under his breath.

We arrived at the luggage carousel, and Nicolo and I stepped forward to keep an eye out for and retrieve our checked bags.

“Well, ye see, we knew Aklen was to be born small, we knew he was to fight. We knew it would be hard, and as his birth approached and we decided on names, we had planned to call him Aklen Alexander, Aklen meaning ‘little rock’ and Alexander as ‘defender of man.’ It was hard, and it was rough, but it brought all of us closer together. When he was finally born he was so tiny, so frail, tha’ we thought we’d lose him.”

I stepped forward to pull Bryce’s neon orange suitcase from the carousel.

“When Aftyn held him for the first time, she looked at me and said he would be Alexander Aklen instead. Said that she felt it. I wasn’t about to tell her no. She still lets me call him Aklen though. It fits, Alexander as his first name. Protector.”

Nicolo stepped forward to pull his own large black suitcase with gold trim off the carousel. That effing thing was bigger than I was. He’d long joked that we could save money by packing me in it instead of getting me a ticket. I always kicked at his shins for it. Nicolo had Bryce’s carryon backpack over his shoulder, which just left my obnoxious rainbow suitcase.

“Can I tell you a secret?” I heard Bryce whisper to dad. Nicolo dropped his free hand on my shoulder in a silent indication he’d heard Bryce as well. He still hasn’t realized just how sensitive our hearing can be at times. Dad must have nodded, because we didn’t hear him speak.

“I feel safer with dad than I do with papà.”

My eyes watered from the admission, and Nicolo’s hand tightened on my shoulder. I managed to blink away my tears, though, just in time to see my suitcase come around the corner. I grabbed it off the belt, hoping my eyes were clear enough of my embarrassment that Bryce wouldn’t notice, and we started making our way to the parking lots. I already knew that dad would have brought his work truck, a massive Silverado 6500HD diesel. It was either that or Nicolo would stick out of the sunroof of his Cadillac. I hid a snicker at the thought. With his truck we could both sit in the back with Bryce in the front. We knew this would happen because dad could absolutely never miss an opportunity to show off his adopted city. My brothers would definitely be dragging us off to College Creek, but we were destined to spend at least a day in Colonial Williamsburg. It was to be a good long weekend. I just hope my brother’s didn’t hit Bryce too hard with their sense of humor. I wasn’t too worried though, because Nicolo would just prank them right back.