You know its hard trying to come up with historical inaccuracies from a country you don't really know the history of...
Well he's a start on Frank finding a Mel in the wild.
Fort Pitt Wild?
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Some days just fucking sucked. Post a bad therapy session with Abby. The outcome of which had both spouses storming off in opposite directions. His mother in law was going to love this. Frank wandered idly around just trying to find some peace. A rare commodity these days. Yes he lived for chaos and thinking on his feet. He always had. But there was always that need for just a flash of quiet.
To simply be.
Of course he found himself outside Fort Pitt. Memories of his childhood immediately flooding back. Joy in it’s purest form. Abby hated the museum. She hated nearly all museums. Unless they were modern art. Which did not speak to him at all. The Pittsburgh Glass Centre was pretty bad ass. The injuries: intense.
Well Abby was already mad at him. And she wanted the house to herself so he was adhering to he wants. In the way that would annoy her the most.
She never really got into history. At best tolerating it. But she didn’t have that curiousity about the past like he did. Only looking forward. But Frank was taught that looking back was just as important.
Wasn’t that the point of fucking therapy???
But that seemed to just be escalating hostilities.
Well it wasn’t helping. Some of the peace and quiet he was looking for settled over him as he entered the museum. Snap judgments about people. Since college he’d felt the confusion and disbelief at his real nerd leanings. Unfortunately he had taken those judgement on board and adopted a rather particular personality.
Bit by bit he was letting that shit go. A largish crowd walked past. One of the tours. He’d seen it enough to be able to recite in his sleep. Apparently during his intern year: with all the stress he did. So he always wandered. Sometimes for hours. Kids were too young for this yet. He prayed at least one of them would love history half as much as he did.
A flash of blonde grabbed his attention.
Mel? Nah not every blonde was her. He turned back to one of the diorama’s. But his brain wasn’t focused. Something niggling at him.
Oh god he had to double check who this person was. Proof it wasn’t Mel. Seemingly the one person who always saw the best in him. And made him maybe believe it too.
Person on the tail end of the group. Hair in loose waves. Blonde was almost the right shade. But then again he rarely saw Mel outside of fluorescent lighting. This woman was on the outside of the group. Families and couples. Not many individuals in this batch.
He had no intent on gatecrashing the group. Especially as the tour guide got the year of Patrick Henry’s letter wrong. 1877? What the fuck. 1777. The blonde woman huffed a little at that proclamation. Turning and leaving the group. If he wasn’t a happily married man he’d have fallen in love.
Her eyes didn’t land on him as she walked away from the group. ‘1877? Is she mad or just stupid?’
It was Mel.
Oh god.
