My New York apartment has seen many things, but the acorns of my nephew are something new. They lie over the soft leather the same way they once did on a woodland floor, the rustic browns complimenting it just as well as my fashionable vases and rugs. Perhaps a simple touch like this was all that was missing, a piece of nature in this metropolis. They can't stay there of course, but in the right hand crafted bowl they will be stunning. Already I'm planning our trip next fall, more acorns, more memories. Perhaps I'll be a decent uncle after all.
Uncle Tommy has become a caricature of himself, but he didn't used to be that way. Once his emotions were as variable as the rest of the family, sometimes gregarious, other times moody. Now he's stuck in his negative range and always extreme. Once his face was soft with the beginnings of laughter lines, not creased in that angry way that has become his only face to the world. He was in hospital a few years back, no-one will say what for, but when he came out his personality was altered - rigid I suppose. One by one his long time friends dropped out of the scene, worn down by his new found aggression and negativity. Every Sunday Dad goes to visit him with some wine and black vinyl records, always hopeful that one of these days the old Tommy will resurface. I don't want to tell him I gave up a long time ago, but I did. It's a waste of good wine, good music and a Sunday afternoon...
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