Ford has taken a lot of punches to the gut in his lifetime, and a lot of punches to the rest of his body as well, but nothing winds him quite like seeing that. There have been three words playing on repeat in the back of his mind for the past thirty years and he almost writes them now, but what good would I'm sorry Fiddleford do? The only comfort he can take here is that he knows that Fiddleford has forgiven him -- will forgive him? -- but it feels small and hollow next to the niggling feeling that he shouldn't be forgiven. One doesn't carry guilt for thirty years and then drop it in a single hug and an afternoon of banjo music.
At least he knows the answer to this question definitively and he doesn't have to feel bad giving it.]
QXS
[That's something. That's something he can do, helping for a given value of helping. This isn't like what happened with Stanley where they caught it fast and had ample material to work with. He has no film reels, no scrapbooks -- he doesn't even have his journal and all the pages lovingly dedicated to talking about his best friend. All he has is guilt and the distinct desire to undo the harm he caused without any of the practical knowledge he'd need to do so. He doesn't even know everything that Fiddleford is missing, how deep it goes: if Fiddleford told him it extended even into the good times the had together he'd be... not surprised, really, but certainly alarmed.
He almost considers leaving it at the but it feels like not enough, so he tacks on a new bit a minute or so later:]
A PAAY HF KWEP LTI
[It's just that he doesn't know how, beyond letting Fiddleford come to him first. If he writes an essay about Fiddleford McGucket -- and he could -- it might make it worse by bringing too much back too fast. This isn't something you can do like ripping off a bandaid. Even Stan needed to be eased through it.]
no subject
Ford has taken a lot of punches to the gut in his lifetime, and a lot of punches to the rest of his body as well, but nothing winds him quite like seeing that. There have been three words playing on repeat in the back of his mind for the past thirty years and he almost writes them now, but what good would I'm sorry Fiddleford do? The only comfort he can take here is that he knows that Fiddleford has forgiven him -- will forgive him? -- but it feels small and hollow next to the niggling feeling that he shouldn't be forgiven. One doesn't carry guilt for thirty years and then drop it in a single hug and an afternoon of banjo music.
At least he knows the answer to this question definitively and he doesn't have to feel bad giving it.]
QXS
[That's something. That's something he can do, helping for a given value of helping. This isn't like what happened with Stanley where they caught it fast and had ample material to work with. He has no film reels, no scrapbooks -- he doesn't even have his journal and all the pages lovingly dedicated to talking about his best friend. All he has is guilt and the distinct desire to undo the harm he caused without any of the practical knowledge he'd need to do so. He doesn't even know everything that Fiddleford is missing, how deep it goes: if Fiddleford told him it extended even into the good times the had together he'd be... not surprised, really, but certainly alarmed.
He almost considers leaving it at the but it feels like not enough, so he tacks on a new bit a minute or so later:]
A PAAY HF KWEP LTI
[It's just that he doesn't know how, beyond letting Fiddleford come to him first. If he writes an essay about Fiddleford McGucket -- and he could -- it might make it worse by bringing too much back too fast. This isn't something you can do like ripping off a bandaid. Even Stan needed to be eased through it.]