Your Favorite Word

Joseph is a gentleman. He never engages in common talk or longs to lead a boisterous life. In fact he never leaves the comfort of his mansion, for that is the job of his trustworthy butler, Hives. Though he is younger than his master, Joseph, his constant worrying and occasional anxiety attacks make him appear much older than he truly is: narrow frame, long face, and a hooked nose.

Hives seldom casually speaks to his master, for Joseph is like a stone wall, physically and mentally. His lean face rarely smiles, and his large eyes, transfixing as they are, rarely seem pleased. He is stern, collected, dignified, and respected: he is a gentleman.

The office is quiet as it has always been. Dark curtains are drawn, sunlight blaring in through the tall windows and brilliantly shining off of Joseph's glass of whiskey. It illuminates his loneliness as he sits motionless in his chair, and he frowns. Upright and still, he waits in his seat, a hefty stack of papers atop his desk. He hasn't looked over them since the guest has arrived. In fact he hasn't done anything since she arrived, Hives' niece, Mae.

Joseph thinks she's odd, and maybe she is. She's short and loud; the equivalent to having a newborn babe in the home. And she's wild and un-kept, unruly hair and big, blue eyes which often pester Joseph as they always seem to be plastered upon him.

At sunrise she draws the curtains in every room, allowing the stuffy mansion to be lit up as if it's being inspected by the sun itself. In the afternoon, during her exploration of the house, she marches through the empty hallways, stomping her feet upon the floor like a soldier marching to war, and in the evening she plays Joseph's trumpet-horn turntable in the front parlor, teaching Musky, Joseph's St. Bernard, how to dance. And Joseph hates it. He nearly collapsed the first time he saw her showing Musky how to twirl on her hind legs. It was atrocious.

However, when night falls, Joseph finds that his home is quiet as it once was before Mae arrived, for her loud footsteps, irritable dancing lessons, and curtain-drawing-habit are not to be found. It's on these nights that he feels at peace.

Still situated in his chair, Joseph's attention is stolen by a small chirp from outside his window. A blue jay, perched atop a branch, sings into the morning. He's never seen a blue jay before, much less the world outside his window. He had never appreciated the drawn curtains or blinding sunlight, and though he had, on more than one occasion, chased after Mae, pulling the curtains back over the windows as a means of concealing his home from the intruding hot orb in the sky, he found that she was much faster and smarter than he was, for she began nailing the curtains to the wall.

He shuts his eyes, remembering how Hives had stumbled over his words as he attempted to explain Mae's innocence over her curtain habits. Joseph had wanted to strangle the little brat for damaging the walls, but thought better of it since Hives appeared to be more overwhelmed than usual, stray hairs falling before his long, flustered face.

Joseph sighs. He had never spoken to Mae, and as he sits in his office, stationary and reserved, he wonders if it's a good idea to start. After all, the child is without discipline and he scoffs proudly, somewhat mounting up to the opportunity to set the girl straight.

Stiffly rising from his chair, he dusts off his frock coat, pulls on his gloves, and delicately hangs the curved end of his walking cane upon his wrist. Presentation is everything. He decides to take a stroll through his home, casually peering out of the windows, secretly wishing to spot another blue jay. And as he wanders about aimlessly, he finds that the carpet in the hallways is strangely brighter than usual.

"Odd," he mutters, "I don't recall having red carpet." He had grown so used to the darkness of his home that he had forgotten how brilliant the carpet was, and it perplexes him.

As a means of clearing his mind, he slips into the library and searches for a good book, one that can take his mind off of the unusual poppy-red carpet. He finds one, retires to a chair, and stiffly sits down, back straight, head high, and feet crossed. If he's to speak to Mae, then he must wait for nightfall when she's exhausted herself over her own irritable actions. Joseph scoffs at the thought.

He peers down at the book in his lap, and attempts to brush away the tiny black specs that cover the parched pages. They're words that he's attempting to brush off, and he sighs at the realization. His vision has worsened over the years. Instantly, he thinks of calling for Hives, for the old butler is a swell reader and Joseph is feeling rather exhausted. In fact, he's feeling so exhausted that he doesn't even bother retrieving his specs from his pocket.

"Good morning, Mr. Keaton," a bright, bubbly voice says. And he cringes. Mae, in all her splendor and childishness, stands in the doorway. Her hands are put away behind her back, and her feet are drawn together like a soldier in line-up. Gently, she sways back and forth, her weight shifting from the tip of her toes to the ball of her heel. Joseph stares at her for a long time and says nothing. He's shocked that the girl spoke to him.

"I didn't know you like to read too, Mr. Keaton," Mae says, a sappy smile consuming her face as she hops towards him. Plopping down onto the chair next to him, she leans upon the armrest and glares at him like a two-year old. He flinches and dares not to acknowledge her existence, thinking that if he pretends not to see her then she will go away. She doesn't.

"Yes, well—of course I do. This is my library, after all," he drawls. Mae beams at him, hoping that she can have some affect on his emotionless face.

"You don't like the sunlight, do you?" she asks, eyes boring into him. He gulps audibly and refuses to respond by voice, but rather shuts his eyes in annoyance and shakes his head. Mae exaggerates a sigh and begins kicking her feet back and forth as they dangle over the edge of the chair. Though she is of average height for her age of seventeen, she finds that the chair is like a high throne in which she is the Queen.

Joseph watches her with a frown, and before she can ask another question, he clears his throat, "Is there something I can assist you with?"

She smiles, "What's your favorite word?"

He's silent for a moment and he begins to adjust his gloves, for his hands have grown sweaty under the pressure of casually conversing with the young girl.

"Silence," he says flatly, "Silence is my favorite word." He almost smiles, proud that he gave the right answer, but Mae scowls in disgust and denounces him, for she is anything but silent.

"Well," she begins, folding her arms across her chest, "My favorite word is, together." She juts out her chin and softly scoffs as if proving a point to the stone faced man. However, he doesn't probe her with the obvious question, why, and instead returns to the black specs in the book. But she will not have his rejection.

"Together is. . ." she trails off, forgetting her own reasoning. She focuses on a set of books in the distance and furrows her brow. "Together makes you strong and brave. Because when you're with another person, nothing matters anymore. The first day of grade school isn't so scary, people's opinions about you mean nothing, and getting into trouble is meaningless as long as you have another soul at your side. Life just isn't so scary anymore when you're together." She sighs, and when she returns to her senses, losing focus over the books in the distance, she finds Joseph's large eyes transfixed upon her.

"We're together," he says.

A/N: If you liked it, tell me what you think! :) Reviews are appreciated.