#and then ''the bicycle is not a table'' became an inside joke. we had so fucking many inside jokes because of French omg

[musicrunsthroughmysoul]

French class in high school with my best friend was so fun/funny...why did we ever think anything that our teacher was saying in French sounded even remotely like, translated to English, "The bicycle is not a table"?

[tchallasbabymama]

All For Us Chapter 6

Here it is, enjoy 😘

Check out my masterlist to catch up on this story or read my other ones, and let me know if you want to be tagged.

Word count: 5686

“Daddy’s here!” Imani yelled in excitement before hopping down off the kitchen stool and running to the door as soon as she heard it open. 

Erik had only been back with them for about a week, but in that short amount of time, he and his Cupcake had become attached at the hip. He read her bedtime stories every night, and he took her to school in the mornings so the two of them could have daddy-daughter bonding time. Erik and Mira would pick her up together at the end of the day, and it had become such a habit over the few short days they stayed in the palace that when Mira showed up to pick Imani up from school by herself, the little girl was crushed. She instantly became worried that Erik was gone again and burst into tears, but Mira was able to calm her down and remind her of their conversation the night before about his new job.

“Baby girl, we have to talk to you about something,” Mira said as she and Erik entered their daughter’s room.

“What is it?” Imani put her crayons down and looked up at her parents as they came and sat on the floor across from her. 

“The three of us are going on an adventure around Wakanda!” exclaimed Mira.

“Really?!” Imani perked up. “What kind of adventure?” 

“Well, we can’t really get to know Wakanda well without exploring it, right?” Erik chimed in.

“Right!”

“So we’re gonna spend the next couple months living in the different provinces. You’ll still get to go to your same school with your friends, but you’ll get to make even more friends all over Wakanda.”

“I know how much you like being here with Auntie, and Lala, and Shuri-” Mira began before her child corrected her.

“And Okoye, and A’Kidi, and Ayo,” Imani said with a smile.

“Yes, them too,” Mira chuckled. “You’ll still get to come visit, and the adventure is only for a few months. We’ll be right back here in no time. What do you think?”

“II like it! Where are we going?”

“Well, you know how it snowed back home a few months ago, and you got to play outside in it?”

“Mhm.” Imani nodded furiously.

“First, we’re going someplace where it’s like that every day! It’s called Jabariland,” Mira said with a flourish.

“Jabariland?”

“Mhm, and then we’ll be out in the countryside for a while. We’ll be close to Shuri’s lab, and she said you could come visit her whenever.”

“After that, we’ll be out near the rhinos. Mommy told me how much you love feeding them,” Erik smiled down at her.

“Their tongues tickle,” Imani giggled.

“Then, we’re gonna go live on the river, and then we’ll be back here.”

“I still get to see my friends at school?”

“Absolutely,” Erik answered.

“And our family?”

“At least once a week for Sunday dinner, but knowing them, we’ll see them more than that,” Mira smirked and started tickling Imani. “I don’t think Lala can go more than a couple of days without spoiling his favorite girl.”

Imani’s giggles filled the room and brought a smile to Erik’s face. Mira let her go, and as Imani came down from her giggle fit, she could see that her daughter had more to say.

“What are you gonna do on our adventure when I’m at school?”

“We’ll be going to work and making friends of our own.”

Imani nodded as she took in the information and processed it. Her newly-snaggletoothed smile slowly took over her face and pushed her dimples deep into her cheeks. “When can we go?”

“We start tomorrow,” Mira said with a smile on her face, pleased with how the conversation went. She should have known Imani would be excited about their little “adventure,” but hearing the words quelled her anxieties. She had been worried about how Imani would adjust to the changes, but the little girl seemed down for the ride.

When they got back to their new home in Jabariland, Imani was amazed by the soft blanket of white that covered their corner of Wakanda. Mira wrapped her up in her furs before sliding into her own, both provided by the king, of course, and they spent some time outdoors playing in the snow. Mira knew she had a couple more hours until Erik got home, so once the cold had seeped into their bones enough, they went inside, and she started a yam stew on the stove.

When Erik walked in he was dog tired. His body had been worn down by his day of firefighter training. Despite having the heart-shaped herb in his system, he was in much worse shape than he thought after having laid dormant for two years. He wanted nothing more than to soak in the tub and climb into bed, but when he heard Imani’s voice, he forgot all about his exhaustion.

He kicked off his boots and scooped her up into his arms, leaving smooches all over her face. “How was school today?”

“Good! We started learning addition and subtraction. Mommy was just helping me with it.”

“Addition and subtraction already?” Erik asked Mira as he moseyed into the kitchen. “She’s four.”

“And a half,” Imani corrected.

“Excuse me, she’s four and a half, and they already have them doing that?”

“Mhm, and doing it well. Look at her homework,” Mira gestured to the projection coming from the holopad on the counter. Sure enough, he saw her work going all the way up to 10+10.

“Wow, good job, Cupcake!” He high-fived her and set her back down on the same stool she hopped off of moments earlier. 

“So, how was work today?” Mira asked as she stirred the simmering stew, and Erik fought the urge to stare at her bubble butt in those red bicycle shorts. Her cropped adinkra symbol t-shirt dusted right above her navel, and he could see she was wearing her favorite strand of waistbeads. 

He tore his eyes away from her and double-checked Imani’s homework for errors as he sighed, “I’m out of shape. They’re probably gonna put me on communications, and I can’t say I’m mad at it.”

“You were asleep for two years. I’m sure that affected your body in some way.”

“Yeah, but I’m supposed to be faster and stronger...I need to talk to T’Challa about it,” he mumbled with a crease in his brow.

“I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“Yeah...what you cooking over there?” Erik hopped up and joined Mira by the stove, breathing in whatever delicious concoction she had whipped up.

“A nice, hearty stew. I wanted to play around with some flavors, so I hope you like it.”

“Girl, every time you experiment in the kitchen, that shit comes out tasting like heaven. I trust you.”

“Thank you,” Mira hid her face so he couldn’t see the slight deepening of her skin tone at his words, but he noticed. She quickly changed the subject to distract him, waving the wooden spoon in his face, “And don’t curse around Imani.”

Erik put his hands up in surrender as he backed away, “Yes, ma’am.”

He kissed the top of Imani’s head before going down the hall to his room to change out of his heavy clothing. 

It was the first time just the three of them had sat down together for dinner in years, and Mira’s appetite almost left her entirely as her emotions started to take over. She pushed them down deep and forced some stew into her system before getting up to clean the kitchen. Erik could tell something was wrong, so when Imani went to her room to play with her dolls, he took the opportunity to investigate.

He brought the empty bowls over to the sink and scooted her out of the way.

“You cooked, so I’ll handle the dishes,” he said, and she nodded, leaning against the counter. “So, did you talk to M’Baku about your job?”

“Yeah, a few wardogs are teaching different language classes across the provinces now, and the ones here need some afterschool help. So...you’re looking at Jabariland’s newest English tutor!” she announced as she struck a pose. 

“Alright, I see you, Mira. Getting your educator on,” he joked as he scrubbed the dishes, making her smile as she went to wipe down the table. He turned around to say something, but he was met with the sight of her bending over to reach across the kitchen table. He had missed seeing her from that angle and loudly cleared his throat. He turned around quicker than she did and knew he had to come up with a quick answer in three, two, one…

“What’s up? You only do that when there’s something big on your mind.” 

“Do what?”

“Clear your throat like that.”

“I do not,” he said incredulously.

“Nigga, I’ve known you for almost a decade. I know when something’s on your mind, so talk.”

The way she spoke to him warmed his heart. He had missed her attitude, and it reminded him of their past. He fought a smile from creeping up his cheeks as he spoke, “T told you about the Golden Jaguar, right?”

“Yeah, he said you’re like another Black Panther.”

“I’m supposed to be, but nothing seems to be working.”

“What do you mean?”

“When I was king for a day, my vision was sharper, and my hearing and sense of smell were stronger...I felt like I could run a mile a minute, but right now, I can’t even walk up ten flights of stairs-”

“That’s a lot of stairs, Erik.”

“Not for me,” he sighed. 

“Maybe you need another dosage?”

“Nah, they got to me before my heart stopped, so it should still be in there.”

Mira leaned up against the back of the couch and crossed her arms over her chest as she watched his shoulders move while he scrubbed the bottom of the stew pot. It was difficult for her to imagine Erik with superhuman powers, but the idea intrigued her.

“You and T’Challa both describe it as a spiritual experience, so maybe it’s a spiritual blockage or something?”

Erik finished rinsing the pot out and placed it on the rack to drip dry before turning around and crossing his arms over his chest.

“I tried praying to Bast, but nothing happens. I don't hear her the way I did when I first took the herb.”

“You could hear her?”

He nodded, “Clear as day.”

They stood there in silence until Erik let out a sigh, “Well, I, uh, need to go soak these old bones in some Epsom salt-”

“You’re not even thirty,” Mira laughed, making him crack a tiny smile that barely reached his dimples as he lumbered down the hall to his bedroom.

--------

Over the next month, Erik and Mira settled into a nice groove. Mira handled breakfast and getting Imani to school in the mornings. She spent the rest of the day running errands, brushing up on her language skills, or pouring over her curriculum. She went to work around the time Imani got out of school, so Erik picked her up on his way home from work. Erik got placed on communications at the station, so he wasn’t as worn out by the end of the day, which left him time to get dinner ready before Mira got home from her tutoring job. The three of them would clean the kitchen after dinner, dancing around and making it fun to keep Imani engaged. Then they’d spend some time together as a family, either playing with Imani’s toys or with her curled up on the couch between them as they watched whatever movie they had agreed on for the night.

Erik liked the routine, but things had to change a little when they moved to live with the Mining tribe. Erik switched to taking Imani to school in the mornings since he was too worn out by the end of the day to pick her up. The shifts in the mines were short to prevent burnout, but even after just a couple of hours of mining Erik’s body wanted to crash.  Mira, however, was loving the changes. She spent her days in Shuri’s lab learning Wakandan coding languages. They weren't too different from what she used to do for work, but she was a little rusty. She had started to miss her days as a software engineer, even though she wouldn’t trade her current life for the world. 

That is until one day, while she was cooking dinner, Imani moseyed into the kitchen when it was almost done and started asking her questions that she wished she could avoid. 

“Mommy, why don’t you and daddy have the same room? A’Kidi said when his parents were together, they only had one room, and that’s how it is on tv, too.”

Mira stilled, and her eyes widened. She took a second to fix her face before turning to look at her inquisitive child.

“Well, baby, some people just do things a little differently.”

“But Kofi and Sanaa said that when their parents slept in two rooms, they got dehorsed,” Imani said with the saddest look on her face.

“Divorced, sweetie,” Mira corrected her as she heard the door unlock, thankful for the distraction. “Yay, daddy’s home.”

“Daddy!” Imani ran to him and jumped in his arms, completely unaware of how sore they were. He’d never say anything because he cared more about having his baby girl close than the pain that was rippling through his upper body. 

“Hey, Cupcake!” He peppered kisses all over her face like he did every day, but this time her giggles seemed a little uninspired. He pulled back to look at her questioningly as he carried her into the kitchen and set her on her favorite stool. “What’s up with you today?”

Mira shot him a look, but it was too late. He had opened the floodgates.

“Are you and mommy getting dehorsed?”

“Divorced,” Mira said with a deep sigh. 

“Divorced?!” Erik panicked.

“I’m just correcting her,” she reassured him as she turned off the stove. “And the answer is no, sweetie.”

“Where’s this coming from?” His voice had gone up an octave and refused to come down.

“Kofi and Sanaa’s parents just got divorced, and it has her a little spooked.”

“They said their mama and baba slept in two rooms like you, but everyone else with two parents said theirs have one room.”

The tension that had started growing in Erik’s jaw and shoulders when he heard the word divorce slowly slipped away, and he released a deep breath he hadn’t even realized he had been holding. Mira’s eyes traveled over his form, watching his body language change as the conversation progressed, and her stomach lightly turned at the thought of ever divorcing him.

“Baby girl, you don’t have to worry about that, ok?” Mira said, trying her best to ignore the way Erik’s soft eyes zeroed in on her. She gave in, and they locked eyes across the kitchen island. She couldn’t hold his gaze for long, but it was enough to make his heart skip a beat. 

“Yeah, you’re stuck with us. Both of us,” Erik tickled her, but her giggles still weren’t as full as they could be. “Aight, what is it?”

“You and mommy always say you love me, but you don’t say it to each other.”

Their gazes met again, each one recognizing the emotion in the other’s deep brown eyes. 

“Listen to me, Cupcake,” Erik turned her stool so that she was fully facing him. “I love you and your mommy more than anything else in this world.”

Mira quickly turned back around to hide the tears she was so desperately fighting and busied herself with stirring the spaghetti sauce.

“Mommy?”

“Yeah, baby?” Mira’s voice cracked, and she cleared her throat. Erik smirked at her attempt to hide her emotions.

“Do you love daddy?”

Mira froze and closed her eyes. 

“Of course I do,” she breathed out before changing the subject, “Now go wash your hands for dinner.”

Imani hopped down off the stool at her mother’s request and made her way to the bathroom to wash her hands. 

“Stop staring at me,” Mira grumbled with her back still turned.

“I wasn’t even looking at you,” Erik lied, making her chuckle. “You still love me?”

Mira turned off the stovetop and turned around.

“Yeah. I do.”

“Sounds like a ‘but’ coming…”

“I do still love you, but-”

“There it is.”

“Erik!”

“Sorry, go ahead.”

“I love you, but that doesn’t change anything.”

“You don’t want to divorce me?”

“No, but-”

“Then that’s all that matters. We’ll figure the rest out,” he winked as he got up to change out of his work clothes.

--------

A key part of Erik’s recovery involved him making good memories for himself. Every moment with his family formed a new good memory, and everyone could see the bliss on his face when they all came together. He smiled more, and not just with Imani and Mira, but with the Udakus as well. He and T’Challa had grown close over the last couple of months, and Shuri had started to come around, too. During their time in Jabariland, Erik and M’Baku became friends and regularly hung out on playdates with their kids. M’Baku’s two daughters, A’Sami and Ade, were a year older and younger than Imani, respectively. The girls got along great, and Erik made his first genuine friend he had in years. Mira was so proud of him.

He was building a support system, and he wanted to keep up the good momentum. So early one beautiful Saturday morning, Erik woke up with an idea, and a few hours later, found himself sweating over a grill while his family and friends congregated in his backyard. He was all smiles every time Mira looked up at him from her conversation with Okoye and Ayo. The three of them sat on blankets in the grass, watching the kids play tag in the large grassy area, and the happy couple noticed Mira’s fleeting glances towards her husband.

“How are things with Erik?” Ayo inquired.

“They’re ok. Nothing has changed, really. Except-” Mira cut herself off with a sigh.

“Except?” Okoye prodded.

She looked around and lowered her voice, “The other day, Imani was asking questions about our relationship, and we both said we love each other.”

“That is it?”

“That and I know I don’t want to divorce him,” Mira shrugged.

Ayo and Okoye smirked at each other, making Mira roll her eyes and take a sip of her cocktail.

Meanwhile, over by the grill, M’Baku and Erik were discussing last night’s televised dambe fight when Erik looked up and almost dropped the tongs in the hot coals. M’Baku turned around and saw the Udaku clan, fashionably late, as usual, joined by a gorgeous woman he had never seen before.

“Holy shit.”

“Umtshana!”

“Sorry Auntie, but...how do you know her?”

T’Challa chuckled and pulled her close to him by her waist.

“We go way back,” he smiled down at her. “Ororo, meet my cousin, Erik.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Erik. You have a lovely home.”

“Thanks, it’s a rental,” he said in awe before calling out to Mira. When she turned around, her drink fell out of her hand, and she could barely move. Was this how Imani felt when she saw T’Challa in his suit? Because she was absolutely starstruck. There was Storm, her all-time favorite superhero and literal goddess, in her backyard of all places. Okoye and Ayo jumped up on alert but calmed back down when they saw what the fuss was about.

“I am glad she is back,” Okoye smiled.

“He looks so happy.”

“Wait, she’s been here before?”

“Yes, Ororo is his ex. Go say hi; she is a lovely woman,” Ayo shooed her off. 

Mira made her way up the slight incline of their backyard, and the closer she got to Ororo, the more her legs felt like jelly.

“H-hi,” she barely breathed out, making Shuri cackle as she and Ramonda passed them to go mingle. 

“Hi,” Ororo chuckled. “You must be Mira. I was just telling Erik here how much I love your home.”

“Thanks, it’s a rental.” The other three laughed, confusing Mira. “So, um, can I get you anything?”

“I’ll take whatever you just dropped. Actually, let’s make it two. You need a refill,” Ororo said as she linked her arm in Mira’s and walked her towards the drinks table. 

“That went well,” T’Challa commented as he popped open a beer. 

“Oh, she loooooves Storm. You just made her day. Her entire life,” Erik chuckled as he flipped the chicken quarters over. “So, how’d that happen?”

“I am sorry, is she supposed to be a big deal?” M’Baku cut in, making the other two stare at him with their mouths open.

“Bruh, that’s Storm...of the X-Men...controls the weather...nothing’s ringing a bell?”

“No. Is she one of the Gifted?”

“Oh, she’s like the most gifted. This nigga bagged a goddess.”

M’Baku raised his cup to cheers T’Challa for his choice of a partner when the sound of his daughters arguing caught his attention.

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” he excused himself to go break up the fight before it got out of hand. His little warriors could get vicious with each other when they wanted to. Erik shook his head and smiled at the thought of Imani having a younger sibling. The thought didn’t last long before another, much more important one entered his mind.

“Hey, so, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.”

“What is it, umzala?”

He lowered his voice, knowing his cousin could still hear him over the music.

“I’ve been having this...problem-”

“Ah. It’s ok. It happens to the best of us. Or so I’ve heard,” T’Challa winked. 

“No, I wish that was the problem, but you gotta get some for that to happen, so…”

“Understood. So what is it?” 

“The heart-shaped herb...are you sure it’s still in my system?”

“Shuri did bloodwork on you to check after she stabilized you. It’s still in there. Why?”

“I don’t feel it anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“When I first took it, my senses were sharper, and I was stronger and faster...and I could hear Bast. Now all I get is dreams of the garden burning.”

“Do you have those often?”

“Almost every night now.”

“It seems like she is trying to tell you something.”

“I wish she’d just tell me instead of doing all this,” Erik grumbled.

T’Challa laughed and put his hand on his cousin’s shoulder, “That is not how goddesses work.”

“So, what should I do?”

“Try talking to her in your dreams. She is sending them for a reason.”

Erik nodded and started pulling the first batch of food off the grill.

That night, as he climbed into bed and reflected on his day, he was all smiles until he remembered what he had to do. He closed his eyes tentatively as he waited for sleep to take him.

When Erik opened his eyes, he was in the garden of the heart-shaped herb. The beautiful purple flowers glowed in the cavernous temple, but when he took a step forward, his bare feet charred the ground beneath him. He stepped back in shock, but everywhere his feet landed, he scorched the earth. He tried to stomp out the fire, but the flames grew with every movement, and pretty soon, he was surrounded by them. He watched with horror as the heart-shaped herbs were burned to a crisp, but instead of waking up at that moment the way he usually did, he walked towards the statue of Bast at the center of the temple and knelt at her feet as the flames surrounded him. He closed his eyes and prayed to her as the fire inched closer, and when it reached him, he was surprised to find himself unscathed.

“Did you really think you would die in a fire in a dream?” a strong, soothing voice bounced off the walls as the flames subsided, leaving the scorched land in its wake.

Erik’s gaze traveled up the panther statue and landed on Bast’s surprisingly soft eyes.

“Is this real?” 

Bast rolled her eyes and stepped down from the platform she had been standing on and walked closer to Erik so that he could feel her breath on his skin.

“What do you think?”

Erik fell to his knees and stared up at her, in awe of the actual deity before him.

“My goddess, I-”

“Save it,” she grumbled, making Erik’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “I allowed you to become the Golden Jaguar, and you spat in my face in return. Your child is the only reason I allow you to still walk the earthly plane.”

Erik hung his head in shame, and she growled down at him, “Look at me when I am speaking to you.”

His eyes darted back upwards, and she could see the tears he was willing not to fall.

“Now, I understand why you did what you did, but that does not make up for the fact that you forced my priestesses to burn their life’s work. I gave your people the heart-shaped herb once, and now I have to do it again...because of you. And now you come to me crying about your lack of powers? Tell me, why do you deserve them?” She sat down, and her tail twitched left and right as she awaited his answer. Just as she was beginning to grow impatient, he spoke up.

“I don’t,” his voice cracked. 

“That’s right, you don’t,” said, making Erik nod his head as he took in her words. They stung, but he knew they weren’t without truth. “But...I have been watching you over the last few months, and I will make you a deal.”

“I’ll do anything.”

“I know you will.”

--------

When Erik first started working at the Border tribe, he was on patrol duty. They had placed him at the Nigandan border, but he was quickly reassigned when he confided in T’Challa that it gave him flashbacks to his time in the military. Instead, he was placed on air traffic control. Erik took to it like white on rice and enjoyed messing with T’Challa on his frequent departures and arrivals.

One day, right when Erik started his lunch break, he looked up to see his wife and child heading in his direction. He lit up at seeing their beautiful faces, but his smile promptly fell flat when he noticed their expressions. 

“Well, hello, ladies,” Omari, Erik’s boss, greeted Mira and Imani as they entered the building. His eyes lingered on Mira a little too long, and Erik’s anger flared in his chest. 

“Hey baby,” Erik stood and kissed Mira on the cheek before pulling Imani into his arms. Mira was stunned by his actions, but she didn’t want to say anything in front of Erik’s coworkers.

“H-hey,” she stuttered back.

“It’s just noon. Why isn’t she in school?”

Mira jerked her head towards a less crowded area of the break room, and they relocated away from prying ears. Imani got settled on Erik’s lap and tried to avoid her mother’s gaze.

“Tell daddy what happened,” Mira said softly.

Imani nodded and looked up at Erik with sad puppy dog eyes and a quivering lip.

“I got in a fight at school.”

“A fight?” Erik said a little too loudly, making Omari and his other coworkers look up at the family. He lowered his voice and continued, “What happened Cupcake?”

“Danika said that her mommy said that you’re evil and she’s going to a new school to get away from me because you killed her auntie. Then she pushed me, and I pushed her back, then Mr. Omi came over and stopped it.”

Erik and Mira were both too shocked by the first part of her statement to focus on some rugrat putting her hands on their baby girl. They had hoped to avoid having to talk about Killmonger until she was much older. They knew they wouldn’t be able to hide it from her, especially if they stayed in Wakanda. They were shaken from their stupors by Imani asking the worst question possible.

“Why does she think you’re evil, daddy?” The innocent look on Imani’s face broke her parents, and Mira cleared her throat to change the subject but couldn’t get the words to come out.

Erik wasn’t any better. He didn’t think he’d have to lay his sins out for his daughter so soon. He knew if the kids at school were talking about him, then they had to tell her. She’d probably learn about it in school one day, anyway. Erik tried to speak, but his voice caught in his throat. He looked to Mira for help and cleared his throat, making her look up at him. 

“Um, baby girl, it’s time for daddy to get back to work-”

“Hold up, let me talk to Omari real quick.”

Mira nodded while Erik moved Imani from his lap and went to see if his boss would let him off early for the day. Imani wandered over to her mom, and Mira could see the furrow in her brow as she thought about the conversation or lack thereof. Erik came jogging back and ushered the two of them out of the building. 

The ride home was eerily silent. Mira kept trying to catch Erik’s eye, but he seemed to be in a daze. He was mentally preparing for the conversation ahead. He knew they wouldn’t be able to hide much from their inquisitive child since vague answers just made her dig deeper. He had to figure out how to sanitize the story to make it appropriate for children. And not just any children, his child. The child of a man who used to be a monster. He knew he’d have to look her in the eye and tell her what he did one day, but so soon? He wasn’t ready; neither of them was.

Not a word was spoken until they entered the house.

“Imani, go play in your room for a little while. We’ll be in there in a little bit.”

“Ok, mommy,” she said softly, already making her way down the hall. 

Her parents watched her every step, and the second she cracked the door behind her, their eyes met in a panic.

“What do we say to her? She’s four!” 

“You don’t have to say anything...I do,” Erik sighed. 

Mira nodded in understanding. This was something he needed to do on his own.

“I need to be there, though. For both of you,” Mira said, grabbing his hand in hers. Erik pulled her hand to his lips for a kiss and looked down into her big brown eyes. She could see the fear and sadness in his, so she kissed his cheek in return. “You can do this. I know you can.”

“What do I even say?”

“I don’t know,” Mira shrugged her shoulders and saw Imani peek out of her room, “but you’re gonna have to improv. She’s getting impatient.”

Erik turned around and saw Imani’s head duck back into her room with a quickness. He took in a deep breath that reached all the way down into his abdomen, just like Naomi had taught him, and released it through his mouth. He nodded to Mira, and they made their way down the hallway to Imani’s room. That walk had never felt so tedious.

“Hey, Cupcake.”

“What’s wrong?”

Erik sat on Imani’s bed and pulled her into his lap while Mira sat crosslegged on the floor in front of them. 

“I need to tell you a story.”

“Ok…” she said, already nervously playing with her dad’s bracelet as he spoke.

“It’s a sad one, ok?”

“Ok.”

“Once, there was this little boy named N’Jadaka. He and his mommy and daddy lived in this far off place called Oakland-”

“Oakland. Where’s that?”

“It’s in California, sweetie. Let daddy finish.”

Imani nodded and went back to playing with his beads.

“And they were happy as they could be. Until one day, bad people came and took his mommy away. Then another bad person took his daddy away. He had a hard life growing up, but one day he met an angel, and that angel gifted him with a tiny angel...but the whole time, he kept plotting about getting revenge. He did a lot of bad things and hurt a lot of people out of anger, but all he wanted was to get to the man who killed his baba. The mean man died one day, so N’Jadaka hurt his son instead. His son fought N’Jadaka and won, but he understood why he was angry and took him in. So now, N’Jadaka and his angels have a new family.”

“Ok...what does that have to do with you?”

Erik looked down at Mira and turned Imani around in his lap so she could face him.

“I’m N’Jadaka…”

Imani’s eyebrows scrunched together as she looked away and tried to understand what he had just told her. “So you hurt people because someone hurt you?”

“Yes.”

“But Danika said you killed her auntie…”

Erik shifted uncomfortably.

“Sometimes people do really bad things, but that doesn’t make them bad people,” Mira chimed in from the floor.

“Cupcake,” he said, softly turning her face towards him. “I need you to know I’ve changed. T’Challa believed in me, and-”

“What does Lala have to do with it?”

“He helped me get better.”

“So...you tried to hurt him?” They could see the wheels turning in her head, and she started squirming.

“Yes.”

“Like you hurt Danika’s auntie?” she looked up at her daddy with tears in her eyes as she slid off his lap and into Mira’s. 

“Cupcake-” Erik reached for her, and she shrunk away, breaking his heart into a million pieces.  Next Chapter

Taglist:  @ladymac82 , @kitesatforestp, @harleycativy​, @raysunshine78​, @maddeningmayhem​, @theblulife​, @motheroffae​, @love-mesome-me​, @toni9​, 

[im-the-king-of-the-ocean]

5 for Nuts and Dolts, because the hug in the trailer is still on continuous loop in my head and the only thing better than an angsty hug is an angsty hug AND KISS 8 for Data Farm, because I'm weak for the idea of Oscar being unexpectedly prince-like and making Penny feel like a princess (or the other way around) I can't remember the number, but the interrupted kiss for rosegarden No pressure to do all of these, I just couldn't decide on one ship because I love all of them

(as a brief refresher: Data Farms Fic Link, Rosegarden Fic Link)

...and here’s to finally being able to answer this ask and revealing the ridiculous (sort of) secret plan I’ve carried out over a month (or two maybe idk) and what’s now a six-chapter fic!

(no, I’m not joking, this (Rose Puppetry) was literally A Thing bc I’m Like That)

So, to explain, way back when I was doing requests for this kissing meme, it was around the same time that you introduced me to the Mechanisms music, and then the Magnus Archives after that.

Subsequently, I thought it would be really cool to make one of these three requests Steampunk-themed.  I decided on the Nuts and Dolts one bc, when I first listened to Once Upon A Time (In Space), I associated Ruby and Penny heavily with Rose and Cinders (I think it was bc the album was brought up in reference to Souls or something like that?  Also Rose Puppetry was my alternative solution to just derailing Souls completely into Being A Steampunk Fic).

Anyways, I started out with the intent to do a short oneshot where Penny breaks into a facility to save Ruby, which would be reminiscent of the final attack on Old King Cole that led to Cinders being reunited with Rose.

Except then I got carried away by world-building (bc it was so freaking fun) and Rose Puppetry became an entire multi-chapter fic all of its own.

For the record, I think I originally @ you when I posted the first chapter bc I was going to say that the fic was a response to this prompt and then quite literally forgot to actually say that anywhere.  I then realized that, if I kept quiet about it, I could turn it into a surprise, which seemed like a fun thing to do, so I went for it.

Anyways, I hope you enjoy the end of Rose Puppetry!

.

5. Throwing their arms around the other person’s neck, hugging them close before kissing them passionately on the lips.

...

Rose Puppetry Ch6: The Tale of Little Briar and the Huntress in the Cottage

Summary:

A century ago or so, Atlas set out to conquer the world.  Penny was built to be a spy, an infiltrator meant to find weaknesses in Vale’s defenses before the invasion.

She did.  Then she fell in love.  And rebelled against the kingdom that had created her.

Ch1.  Ch2.  Ch3.  Ch4.  Ch5.

Every child in Patch knows of the Huntress who lives in the cottage on the outskirts of town.  Their great protector, who keeps the dangers of the woods at bay so they can go about their lives safely.  No one knows, not really, where she came from.  The youngest kids among them generally want to ask, but their parents usually shush them before they can try.  It’s considered improper, prying into what should be left well enough alone.

Briar knows more about the Huntress than any of her peers, but you’d never catch her boasting about it in the school yard.  No sir.  She can keep a secret extremely well, she can.  Well that, and she doesn’t want the Huntress to be upset with her and ask her father to not allow her to make the weekly deliveries anymore.  Briar loves visiting the Huntress’s cottage, with its duck pond and its thick bramble of roses.  But, most importantly, she loves being let inside and allowed to watch the Huntress work for just a little while.

For, in addition to being their protector against the scary monsters that lurk in the woods, the Huntress is Patch’s one and only mechanic.  There used to be more, of course, but that was back before Briar was born and they all got called off to fight in the Great War against Atlas.

Briar once asked if the Huntress fought in the Great War, too.  She remembers how the Huntress fell silent, the gloomy expression that had seamlessly eclipsed the Huntress’s entire being, and quietly swore never to ask again.  It’s not important for her to know, Briar decided.  Not like learning how gears, cogs, and screws all fit into machinery and make things like the big clock in the tower in the center of town work.

It’s a sunny day.  A few wisps of clouds linger in the sky, but not many.  Briar skips home from school, humming a happy tune of her own creation as she goes.  She briefly pauses to scratch the noses of the cows who’ve wandered to the fence of their pasture bordering the road.  The cows moo at her and sniff Briar’s fingertips for treats.

“Sorry, I don’t have anything for you today.”  Briar giggles as their chin whiskers tickle her.  “If I have time after I visit Ms. Rose, I’ll try and bring you all back something, but I make no promises.”

She continues on her way, only stopping in the Mech Field to pick a collection of bright, cheerful wildflowers.  Briar pauses to consider the ruins of the old war machines, but Ms. Rose once warned her very sternly not to get too close to the fallen mechs without her supervision, so Briar doesn’t.  Instead, she takes a spare hair ribbon out of her school bag, ties it snugly around the stems of her wildflowers to keep them properly bunched together, and heads home.

Her mother has the weekly grocery basket for Ms. Rose waiting when Briar arrives.  She helps Briar securely fasten it to the deliveries bicycle and situate the flower bouquet on top so the bumpy ride won’t jostle them too much.

“Keep an eye on the time,” Briar’s mother gives her the usual warning.  “And, if it starts growing dark, have Ms. Rose walk you home.”

Briar rolls her eyes.  She’s big enough to come home all on her own, even after sunset, she thinks.  Still, she promises, “I will!” before taking off on the bicycle.

Smoke lazily drifts into the sky from Ms. Rose’s cottage’s chimney as Briar makes her approach.  The huntress’s dog, a great, big creature with a lumbering gait and a lolling tongue, appropriately named ‘Wolf’, runs to greet Briar as she approaches.  She slows her bicycle to a stop and dismounts.

“Hey, Wolfie.”  Briar scratches behind the dog’s ears, and gets licked enthusiastically for it.  She laughs.  Wolf dances excited circles around Briar as she walks over and leans her bicycle against the cottage.  “Stop that!”  Briar commands Wolf, only half serious.  “I have to get the groceries inside!”  She nudges the door open and walks into the cottage.

“Ms. Rose?  Are you here?”  Briar calls out.

“In the workshop, Briar!”  Ms. Rose yells back from somewhere deep inside.  Briar grins.  With some care, she shoves the groceries in the refrigerator.  Ms. Rose will organize them however she pleases later, after a few more hours of work, at least.

Briar goes to hurry through the kitchen, but remembers herself, and pauses at the sink to fill a pitcher with water for her wildflower bouquet.  She carefully lowers the flowers in and unties her hair ribbon from around their stems.  Then, after tidying the bouquet a little, Briar walks further into the cottage.  She doesn’t go immediately to the workshop, but to a room Ms. Rose only recently granted her permission to enter.

Briar pauses and takes a breath in the doorway of the bedroom.  It’s always a bit weird to do this.  She’s never actually met Ms. Penny.  Not back before, when she was awake.  Ms. Penny doesn’t know who she is.  Never had the chance to, really.

Regardless, flowers always make Briar feel better when she isn’t feeling well.  With Wolf padding loyally at her side, Briar approaches the bed where Ms. Penny serenely sleeps and situates the bouquet on the table beside it.

“Good day, Ms. Penny,” Briar speaks politely, for she’s never spoken to a mechanical person, or one who’s never woken up, before Penny.  Briar still feels kind of odd about that, but, since she first stumbled across Penny’s room, she’s been determined to try and make her feel better (if that’s at all possible).

“Spring’s here.  The first of Mr. Oobleck’s lambs were born the other day.”  Briar starts her usual, short, babbling update about life in Patch.  “They’re extremely cute.  I’ll draw you a picture, so, when you wake up, you won’t have missed seeing them.”

“She’d like that, I think.”

Briar jumps, and spins around.  Ms. Rose stands in the doorway, leaning against its frame.  She smiles softly at Briar, and joins her by Penny’s bedside.  “Penny never…I think she always lived in cities before we met.”  Ms. Rose takes a deep breath.  “I’m not sure she’s ever gotten the chance to see a newborn lamb.”

“Then this will be her first time,” Briar says confidently.

“Yes.”  Ms. Rose smiles sadly down at Briar.  “Run along to the workshop now.  I left today’s assignment out on the table for you.  Try to see if you can get started on your own.  I’ll be along in a moment.”

Briar does as she’s told, but not before stopping just outside the bedroom and sneakily poking her head back in to watch Ms. Rose gently smooth Penny’s long, soft copper curls and place a kiss on her forehead.

“Don’t wait too much longer to wake up, my love, alright?”  Ms. Rose whispers.

Briar slips away, feeling a little guilty about spying on such a private moment.  She doesn’t know why Ms. Penny sleeps, what caused her to fall into her lasting slumber in the first place, but Briar does know that Ms. Rose came to Patch to have a quiet, safe place to repair her.

The assignment Ms. Rose set out for Briar that day is a small music box.  One that had, in all likeliness, played a lovely melody at some point, but has long since worn out.  Repairing it shouldn’t be the hardest of tasks.  Not now that Briar is a handful of months out of transitioning from ‘kid who gets to watch the Huntress work’ to ‘unofficial mechanic’s apprentice’.

Ever so carefully, Briar removes a tiny, rusty gear from the music box with her tweezers and sets it aside.  She looks to Ms. Rose, who smiles reassuringly back at her.  Briar finds the replacement gear, plucks it up with the tweezers, and goes to insert it right where it needs to—

“Hello?!  Huntress are you here?”  A voice shouts into the cottage.  Wolf scrambles up from lying under where Briar’s feet dangle off her stool and barks loudly.  Briar jumps.  Her tweezers fall out of her hand.  The replacement gear goes flying.

“Just a moment!”  Ms. Rose calls back.  She helps Briar retrieve the gear from where it’s fallen to the floor.  “Think you can work on your own for a bit?”  Ms. Rose asks.  When Briar nods, the huntress wipes grease and oil smudges off her fingertips onto her leather apron and goes to see who has come asking after her aid.

Briar half listens to the ensuing conversation about a broken down car on the road as it drifts through the cottage to her.  Ms. Rose briefly returns to the workshop for her portable tool kit, and then leaves to go repair the automobile in question.  She promises she’ll check Briar’s handiwork upon her return.  Wolf ambles back over to Briar.  The dog circles a couple times to settle, and then returns to napping.

For the next couple of hours while Briar works, things are quiet and peaceful.  She finishes repairing the music box.  With bated breath, Briar winds it up and sets it down on the worktable.  A soft tune fills the air.  Briar can’t help but smile.

Too excited to wait until Ms. Rose gets back to show off her success, Briar carefully scoops the music box up in her hands and carries it to Penny’s room.  She puts it down by the wildflowers she brought earlier, and lets it play its song a second time.

So caught up on listening to the music box’s melody is Briar, she doesn’t catch when it’s joined by the sounds of other mechanisms whirling and clicking.  Ones that have long remained at rest, but, at the sound of a comforting song, rouse again.

Movement catches Briar’s attention.  Before she realizes what’s happened, a pair of bright, dazzling green eyes meet her own.  They almost seem to glow, as if they’re lightbulbs that have spent a long, long time charging up and want to celebrate the chance to finally illuminate.

“H-hello?”  The voice is hoarse, creaky with disuse.  It’s nothing like Briar imagined it would be.  “Briar?”

Briar blinks rapidly.  “You know me?” slips from her lips before she can stop the question.

“Of course.”  Tentatively, Penny moves to push herself up in a sitting position.  One of her hands slips before she can put weight down on it.  Briar rushes forward to help support her.  “Thank you.”  Penny smiles gratefully at Briar.  “To answer your question, I heard you.  The days you came and talked to me and brought me flowers.”  She pauses.  “I’d very much like to see Mr. Oobleck’s lambs.”

“Oh.”  Briar takes a minute to process this.  “I didn’t think…” she’s not sure what to say.  She’s imagined this moment hundreds of times, but, now that it’s happening, Briar’s mind is frustratingly blank.

“It’s alright.”  Penny gives her a small, soft smile.  “It’s not everyday someone you’ve only known as a ‘sleeping lady’ wakes up.”

“I-err-yeah…” Briar pauses.  “If you don’t mind me asking, how could you hear me all those times?  Since you were asleep?”

Penny inhales deeply and exhales, the clockwork of her body moving with the motion.  “It’s a bit complicated.  A short explanation would be that, even without enough power to function normally, I could still record audio.” Penny shoots a knowing smirk in Briar’s direction.  “I would love to give you the fully detailed explanation.  Later.  If you don’t mind, there’s someone who’s long overdue for a hug, I think.”

Briar’s eyes widen.  “Oh!  Ms. Rose!  Of course!”  She scrambles up to fetch Penny a walking stick to lean upon as she gets up.  “She went out to repair someone’s car.  I think it’s just down the road!”  Briar hovers, ready to support Penny if she needs help with walking.  When Penny makes it to the doorway on her own, Briar relaxes a little.

Together, with Wolf keeping pace with them (and Briar would swear the dog is keeping as much a careful eye on Penny as she herself is), they make their way outside.

Penny pauses, and looks up at the blue, blue sky.  She blinks.  If she were capable of crying, she probably would have.  “I never dreamed I’d see it again.”  Penny whispers.  She turns to look ahead, down the road she and Briar intend to walk, and sees someone coming toward them on it.  Penny gasps.

There is one sight that Penny dreamed of, longed for, during her oh so very long slumber.  One sight, her vague, ethereal thoughts could never quite capture, but tried to constantly.  The person she sees on the road doesn’t quite fit the picture Penny remembers.  The person is no longer a youthful maiden, but a full grown woman.  Her black-red hair is longer, kept in an untidy braid over one shoulder.  She’s wearing the garb of a mechanic, and not combat dress.  Branching scars, leftover from a (Grimm) time Penny would very much like to leave in the past, dance across her skin.

“Ruby.”

Penny breathes the name out at the same time Ruby sees her, stops, and stares.

A moment passes where no one moves, where the world is held frozen in shock.  Anxiety ripples over Ruby’s face.  Worry that needs no verbal words to describe it.  That Penny won’t love this older version of her.  That this person she had to grow into while she patiently waited for Penny to wake up isn’t someone Penny will be able to bring herself to love.

Penny takes a step forward, and then another.  Her walking stick is cast aside as she recalls how to push her legs into motion as fast as she can.  She runs, reaching Ruby in the blink of an eye.  Eager to vanquish all the anxieties she sees in her beloved, Penny takes Ruby up in her arms and spins her around and around.  She laughs, causing Ruby to laugh with relief too.

They’re together.  Nothing, no war or conflict or spiders who want to control them, can get in the way of that any longer.  They may have once been puppets in a grand scheme, but they’re free now.  Free to do whatever they wish, as long as they wish.

Penny stops spinning Ruby around.  She holds her close, drinking in the sight of Ruby’s sparkling, silver eyes.  Without thinking about it, they press their foreheads together and simply gaze at each other.

Later, they’ll let Briar commit a condensed version of their story down on paper.  A fairytale, it will be.  One only a handful will actually believe there’s truth to, but that’s just as well to them.  Right now, this moment?  This moment is just for them.

Ruby wraps her arms around Penny.  Penny leans in.  Their lips find each other.  Tentative, unsure, aware they have a lot to adjust to again with each other (but eager to get started).  The kiss is soft and sweet.  A promise of many, many more to come.

They don’t live happily ever after.  For Penny and Ruby’s story doesn’t end here.  It goes on, with many days full of love, and equally as many filled with struggle as they learn each other’s embrace again.  There are moments when the scars of the past threaten to consume them, and moments filled with nothing but laughter and joy.

Overall, though?

Penny and Ruby live together for a very, very long time, and that time together is largely marked by their shared happiness.

[kohanayaki]

Caught in the Middle (Steve Harrington x Reader x Billy Hargrove) Ch 4

Links: Ch 1   Ch 2   Ch 3  Ch 4  Ch 5  Ch 6  Ch 7

_____________________________________________________

Ch 4 .:A Date?:.

Sunlight streamed in through your window, ribbons of light cascading across your bed sheets. You could hear the faint sound of birds chirping as the morning greeted you.

And you felt like complete and utter shit. 

You groaned, your head pounding, as you tried to block out some of the light with your pillow. You'd gotten home last night at 2:00 on the dot, feeling fine. In fact, you even caught up on some homework before you went to sleep. Now you just felt like you'd been hit by a truck.

You looked over at the time, reluctantly getting out of bed when you saw how late in the morning it was. The kids were biking over in half an hour to go to the mall and you looked like hell.

You padded down the hallway, mustering up a weak laugh when you saw your brother passed out in his room, knowing he'd probably wake up to the same fate as you. 

As you made your way downstairs the smell of breakfast food made your stomach rumble on instinct. You were 'hydrated' plenty last night, but there wasn't much actual food. Your eyes lit up as you rounded the corner and saw your dad plating up some eggs, bacon, and pancakes. He grinned as he saw you, setting the plate down on the table in front of you. 

“And how is my daughter doing this fine morning?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“Swell,” you said sarcastically.

He laughed, walking over to the cabinet to get you some Tylenol and a glass of water. 

“Trust me, I know the feeling,” he said, “I can't really say anything on this one, I'd be lying if I said I haven't done worse when I was your age. That hangover is punishment enough. Just drink water throughout the day, and go on and eat something greasy while you're at the mall too. But get your blood sugar up right now, I don't want you back in that car until your head's clear, you understand?”

“Will do,” you said, already stuffing your face, “Thanks, dad.”

“You're welcome,” he smiled, “Love you, drive safe.”

“Love you too,” you said through a mouthful of bacon. 

As he retreated back into his office you savored the taste of the feast he made for you. You smiled fondly as you did. Your dad didn't really cook until he became a single parent. When he took on the full responsibility of raising you and your brother, he tried his best to fill your mom's role, following the old recipe books she'd left behind. His first attempts were a general health hazard, but as time went on he actually turned out to be a great cook.

The sudden ringing of bicycle bells outside your house made you scarf down the rest of your plate, snatching your car keys off the table. 

You opened the front door to see the whole gang waiting for you.

“I swear, the only time you guys are on time for anything is when you're leeching off of me,” you said, unlocking the car and leaving them to figure out the seating.

“You know us so well,” Dustin said, hopping into the shotgun seat before anyone else could take it. 

“I forgot to ask earlier, but how was that summer camp you went to, Dustin?” you asked, turning on the engine.

“It was so cool,” he beamed, “Our counselor taught us how to make all kinds of inventions. I made a self-nailing hammer, a wind powered clock, and a radio tower so I can talk to my girlfriend whenever I want since her parents monitor her phone calls.”

“Girlfriend?” you turned to look at him. He smiled back at you, bright as anything.

“Yeah, we were surprised too,” Max said from the back.

“Although we're not sure she actually exists,” Mike chimed in, “Apparently she's as hot as Phoebe Cates.”

“Hotter than Phoebe Cates,” Dustin corrected, “And she's a genius too.”

“Riiight,” Lucas said. 

“Well I think she sounds great, Dusty,” you said, “It's pretty romantic you built that radio tower just to talk to her.”

“It's the strongest communications network in Hawkins across 150 channels,” he said proudly.

“Well, that's certainly impressive,” you grinned, ruffling his hair. 

Soon you pulled up to one of the many entrances to the mall, stopping at the curb. 

“Well, this is your stop, guys,” you said, “What are you gonna see?”

“The Stuff,” Mike said excitedly. 

“Isn't that rated R?” you questioned, a brow raised. 

All of them looked at each other, slightly panicked.

“Well, we'll see you later, (Y/n)!” Lucas said, flinging open the back door and getting out as fast as he could. Everyone else quickly fled after him, running towards the theater. You shook your head. They got themselves into a lot of shenanigans, but admittedly you were the one instigating it most of the time when you were younger, even if you were the babysitter. 

However, as soon as the kids left for the movie you were painfully reminded of the throbbing headache you had. You groaned as one of the strobe lights around the movie theater glared in your face, not helping matters in the slightest. 

You knew eating a bunch of greasy food technically didn't do anything for a hangover, but it sure made you feel a hell of a lot better emotionally. With that in mind you decided to walk over to the Burger Chef located inside the mall for a little pick me up. 

Luckily for you there wasn't much of a line. Only a few people were scattered around the seating area at the food court. You were looking over the menu hanging on the wall when a familiar voice broke your train of thought.

“(Y/n)?”

You looked around at the sound of your name to see Steve looking back at you, just as surprised. 

“Hey,” you said. You took a moment to look over him. He looked just as awful as you did, if you were honest. The deep-set bags under his tired eyes aged him an eternity, and he looked a bit green as well. 

“You too, huh?” You bit back a grin as you gave him a short laugh through your nose.

“Yeah,” he admitted, “In hind sight I probably shouldn't have mixed liquors, but hey, there's nothing I can do about it now. Figured some fries might help.”

“They always do,” you said, “What are you doing here, anyways? Aren't you on your shift at Scoops?” You noticed he was still in his work uniform.

“Lunch break,” he explained, “I don't really have long, but we can grab a table if you want.”

“I'd like that,” you smiled.

Steve was a little surprised at his own forwardness. Apparently he was hungover enough to not overthink everything that came out of his mouth. However he was even even more surprised at you agreeing to sit down with him. He didn't know why his brain was making such a big deal out of this; you ate lunch with him every day and hung out together all the time, but then again that was also including a group of other people. You and Steve had never really spent time together when it was just the two of you, except for when you iced his busted face after the basketball stunt, which hardly counted as a first date. 

He felt uncharacteristically nervous as he slid into the booth next to you. A year ago he would have been pulling out all the stops to make you his, but now he just wasn't so sure anymore. He was never afraid of rejection before, but when he thought of you as the one rejecting him he figured it would be better to not say anything at all. 

'Get yourself together,' Steve thought to himself, 'It's just lunch with a friend. Friends do that!'

“Penny for your thoughts, Popeye?” you said, flicking the fabric of his sailor hat. 

“Huh?” Steve said, snapping out of it, “Oh, nothing, just, uh. . .” he quickly picked up a menu, hoping to cover the majority of his reddening face with it, “Looking at the XXL Supreme. 2Lb beef patty with bbq sauce, ranch, fried pickles, beer cheese and. . . yeah, that sounds pretty gross.”

“I'll probably stick to a regular burger,” you laughed, glancing at the menu over his shoulder. 

You were so close he could feel the heat coming off your body and smell the sweet scent of your perfume. He scolded himself for being so weak, forcing himself to concentrate only on the food. 

Right at that moment a waiter strolled up to you, writing pad in hand. 

“Hi. Welcome to Burger Chef,” he said, sounding just as dead inside as he looked, “How may I serve you today?”

“A double patty melt with cheddar,” Steve said, “And a coke, please.”

“I'm trying to decide between-” you stopped yourself as you looked up, staring at the waiter. You thought he looked familiar and it was then that you realized he was one of the guys that bullied your brother in middle school. Your eyes narrowed as you recalled how he and his friends cut the strings on Kyle's guitar when he brought it to school one day. 

You saw a flash of recognition in his eyes and your lips curved upwards.

“The classic burger, simple,” you said, the fakest smile you could muster on your face, “But on a sesame bun instead of the brioche, no mayo, extra mustard, add caramelized onions and extra cheese, and don't forget the pickles. If you could add shredded lettuce instead of the whole leaf that'd be great. Oh, and a Neapolitan shake with chocolate syrup and no whipped cream.”

“We don't have a Neapolitan shake,” he said irritably and slightly panicked, trying to write everything down. 

“Well I heard in your commercial if you just ask, an employee would be happy to mix any of the milkshake flavors together,” you said, your smirk widening. What could you say? Being a bitch was fun sometimes- especially when the person on the receiving end was a total dickhead. 

“Coming right up,” the waiter said through his teeth.

Steve looked between the two of you before the waiter stormed off to the kitchen window, slamming his hand down on the bell with more force than necessary.

“So, what'd he do?” Steve chuckled.

“Bullied my brother really bad in school,” you said, “What goes around comes around, though. In a few years Kyle will be off to LA to start touring with his band and this guy will still be here covered in fry grease wearing a burger shaped hat.”

“Well I hope that's not my fate,” Steve said, only half joking as he took his uniform hat off, twirling it in his hands. 

You could tell even though he tried to hide behind the humor it was something he really was concerned about. 

“Hey, don't worry about it,” you said, nudging his shoulder lightly, “You're not an asshole. . . anymore.”

You managed to get a laugh out of him at the end and you smiled, glad you were at least able to cheer him up some.

“Seriously, though, it's fine to not know what you want to do with your life yet,” you said, “Hell, I know grown ass men who still don't know what they're doing. You don't have to go to some fancy college to do something great.”

Steve looked at you, thinking over your words. He thought it was crazy how you were his age but you were so much more mature and optimistic than he was. The way you thought was unlike anyone he's met before in Hawkins, and it only further intensified his wanting to get to know you.

“Thanks, (Y/n),” he smiled.

Meanwhile, your little crew of gremlins had finished their film, now making their way to the food court for lunch.

“What do you think The Stuff tastes like?” Lucas asked to no one in particular.

“I bet it's like Betty Crocker frosting,” Dustin said dreamily.   

“Um can we not talk about how sentient parasitic goo tastes? Because we're literally about to go eat,” Max said.

Suddenly Dustin stopped in his tracks, making Will run into his back. 

“Dustin, what the hell?” Mike said, screeching to a halt before he could collide with Will. 

“No way,” Dustin said, staring far off some place the others couldn't see.

“What's wrong?” El asked, confused. 

Dustin pulled his friends behind the shrubbery next to the fountain, ducking in the cover as he peeked his head out slightly. 

“They're on a date!” Dustin said, a little too loudly. He ignored the stares he got from passersby as he continued to watch you and Steve laugh over your burgers in your shared booth.

“(Y/n) and Steve?” Mike said, “I thought he was still hung up over Nancy breaking up with him.”

“Well clearly the man's moved on,” Lucas said.

Max rolled her eyes, hitting him on the arm.

“Ow!” Lucas exclaimed, turning to her, “What was that for?”

“Just because a guy and a girl are hanging out doesn't mean it's a 'date',” she pointed out, “Maybe they're just good friends. I've seen them around each other a lot at school.”

“I think he finally worked up the courage to ask her out for real,” Dustin started theorizing, ignoring Max completely. 

“What do you mean for real?” Will asked.

“It's so obvious he's into her but he's scared of striking out,” Dustin said, “That whole Nancy situation really struck a blow to his self confidence.”

Mike tried to get a better look at what you two were doing, leaning over El's shoulder and squinting at the burger place. Suddenly his footing slipped from under him as he accidentally took a step on the wet tile near the fountain and fell on his ass into a bush. 

“Shit!”

You and Steve stopped eating your burgers and turned around at the sudden noise, but saw nothing but a ruffle in the plants nearby. 

“That was weird,” you said, looking around. 

“Yeah,” Steve said, “Well, it's bear season, you never know when they'll sneak up on you.”

You laughed at that, the sound making Steve's heart flutter. He loved your laugh, even more so when he knew he was the cause of it. 

Suddenly Steve remembered his shift was probably starting, his lunch break was less than an hour long.

“Shit, I should've been back ten minutes ago,” Steve said, looking down at his watch, “My shift already started.”

“Oh, sorry,” you said, “I didn't mean for this to go on for so long.”

Steve looked surprised, shaking his head vigorously. 

“No, no, I liked it,” he said, not fully registering how the sentence sounded out loud until your cheeks flushed.

“I-I mean-”

“I get it,” you laughed softly, “I liked it too.”

Steve felt like his heart was just shot through with cupid's arrow as you smiled up at him and offered to walk him back to Scoops. He hadn't felt this way since Nancy. After she broke his heart he was convinced he would never get over her, but now you were here, occupying all the free space in his mind despite only knowing you for a short while. What the hell was going on with him?

His mental debate came to an unceremonious stop when he realized you were already in front of the ice cream shop.

Steve turned to you and did his best to sound indifferent. He had a really good time, but he didn't know if you felt the same way.

“Well, I better get back to it,” he said, clearing his throat awkwardly, “You know, suit up, sling ice cream, appease the masses-”

“We should do this again sometime,” you said, effectively flipping the 'off' switch on his rambling. 

Steve seemed to freeze in this plane of existence, staring at you with wide eyes.

“Yeah! I mean, that's what I was gonna ask you, but I didn't know if you wanted to, and. . .” he trailed off, kicking himself again.   

'When you talk you just make it worse,' he mentally scolded himself.

You laughed a bit at his flushed face.

'Adorable,' you thought. For being the former king of Hawkins High, he was still a giant dork.

“Well I'll definitely see you around this time, then,” you smiled, reminded of your first day back. Things were different between you two now, but that wasn't a bad thing at all.

You walked out of Scoops Ahoy feeling lighter, a smile on your face and your headache long forgotten. With your disastrous dating history, maybe Steve Harrington was the kind of guy who could be good for you right now.

The very thought made you feel giddy inside, but as you said yourself before, life had a funny way of changing your plans completely.

Read Chapter 5 here!

Taglist: @in-my-dreams-2000 @ggclarissa @iris1697 @5sosxgrethan @ohnoniella @sarcasticalphaofthelooserspack @aspiring-fangirls-world @wow-im-so-tired @hopesxxhigh @justanothercrazyassfangirl @too-many-lanes @whimsylavender @bish-ima-clown @amarachoren @mosiacbrokenheartstf @mcuvlxgs @xapham @metuel18 @immirandaq @nellaphine @multi-madison @gingertalksshit @jojo-buttercup @kyberhearts @mvdelaine @minnie-marvel @caitlin-rose28 @zandaleekrz @r3inventedd @void-fire-rose @macymafia @wanna-be-idle @newtsshelbys @kimmydespell @weyheyokay @r4ttusr4ttus @cynthianokamaria

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Short Story: Gershom, part two of two

The conclusion of Gershom, a memorable day in the life of the most famous anti-hero in Barbados, one Winston Hall. Enjoy.

 Gershom part two (the night-duppies)

 by Christopher White

Robert mekking good stew now. He should be cutting them carrots in the pot now. Sometimes I want to go by a rum shop and just talk. Don't know wha I would talk to dem about. Maybe cricket. Maybe pussy. Maybe I'll tell them that when it all comes down to it pussy doesn't matter. I'll wait until the sun goes down a little more till I set out for Robert. Wait until the sky turns that fuck up looking orange. Until it looks lazy. Until the birds get dark against it.

 The invincibility or the infallible impression that people may or may not have had of the Prime Minister was of little thought to Winston. It was of little thought to Miriam as well. This was not a result of docility, but, perhaps cynicism. They both thought that businessmen ruled the country and the people in parliament were figure-heads. Such thoughts are ultimately too pat and are only useful in stopping you from going mad because the reality is that you have no idea how the country works, or, more horrifyingly, you have no idea how it should work. Miriam walked down the corridors of the hotel. The waves that dashed themselves against the outside mesmerised the tourists that were staying in the rooms far away from the things in their life, but to Miriam it was just noise on a radio: just something in the background, like when at the Holetown festival there is a man in the background playing conga drums, but you are too busy looking at the vendors and their twirlers and such, and not paying attention to the congas, but you know that it's still there. She thought about how her son would be when he grew up. He'd have strong legs from doing yardwork all the time. He would talk in a deep voice, no, a high pitched quick voice and talk about how fish prices went up and he can't stand it cuz he likes fish. Don't think about what you could have been Winston. Don't think about what you could have been. Don't think about what you could have been. Don't think about what you could have been. Stop thinking about what you could have been. Stop thinking about all of that. If you think about that one more time. Stop thinking about it, you went to rob a cunthole man with some johnnies that was older than you. Anyone would have looked up to them, or thought they knew what they were doing. Don't think about what could have been. It doesn't help. It never helps. You'll just keep pulling at it like when you took mummy's spool of thread and kept pulling it and pulling it until there was thin pink all over the bedroom and mummy beat you, like she should have. Do not think about what could have been. Just piss over there. Don't think about things while you are pissing. If you think about that mistake then you'll start thinking about the other mistakes. Then you'll start to cry again. You want to cry again like a buller? Then don't think about what could have been. Never do it. No one should do it.

The night was stark and everywhere, hiding the tufts of grass that came up everywhere in the village, and cooling the old roofs of the homes and dog houses. The night also turned things into other things by the theatre of its context. A cigarette lighter is paltry in the day-time, but during night, with all that black around, with all those things away from the eye, cigarette lighters become these magic, chain-less amulets, the clear plastic ones becoming savage, simple, flickering crystals of some sort. You hear more, and the hearing prompts your imagination. But ultimately, the night can only be arrogant, because it knows that regardless of all of our clawing advances in technology, of all of our theories for the explanation of things around us, no matter how much we know that eventually the sun will come around again, the night remains arrogant because it knows that you know that things will be hidden whether you like it or not, and who wouldn't be arrogant in that situation? Winston stomped his boots into the slope of the hill as he descended down to one of the paved roads in Suriname. He walked quickly and hid between houses when he saw someone on the road coming towards him. By the side of one house he looked into their window and saw the television, tall and looming. He forgot for a second that those things no longer had knobs to twist, or tabs to pull on. The show on was a garish display of Americana. The characters, a thin, lanky father and his precocious young daughter were talking. The father said "Well all I have to do is go to the video store and explain the whole mix-up to him. It should all straighten out." Then camera three showed the daughter taking a quick, meaningless sip from her brightly coloured cup while she said "Oh yeah, I'm real sure that'll work out smoothly," while the audience laughed. The couple in the house laughed as well, the woman saying "she too cute nuh." Winston didn't understand why that was a joke, and why the girl pronounced 'real' the way she did. Frankly, he thought the girl rude and in need of discipline. Winston darted his eyes around as he got on the road again. The houses were aglow as everyone sat to enjoy the night-time entertainment. One house had an action movie showing, the volume up to amazing levels, explosions rattling out of the surround sound speakers. Winston still had no idea where these people he grew up with were getting the money for this from. He walked up some cement steps to the side door of a house and tapped lightly. "Who it is?" went the voice inside. "De out-man." replied Winston. The door opened. Sergeant Douglass Sergeant stood up in the bathroom stall of the district police station squeezing the last bit of urine from his penis into the toilet with his finger-tips. He walked out the stall and looked at himself in the mirror. His face was round and a rich brown. His teeth had begun to yellow, from the coffee he had started drinking two years prior once he had signed on for this night-shift. He smiled just to see what he looked like when he smiled. He squinted his eyes at the mirror. He slapped his stomach that was becoming prominent now. "More sit-ups" he murmured. Then, he took out his night stick in the empty bathroom. He held it up to his face while still staring at the mirror. He walked left to right holding the stick to his mouth, and then danced, pivoting from one foot to the other, then sang-whispered some songs "Haiti I'm sorry, We misunderstood you, But one day we'll turn around, and look inside you." then "Jah ras-tafri parro-jammo creator of rhythm and tempo..." then he quickly stuffed his stick into his holster as Constable Henry Yarde pulled down the handle of the door to enter.

 Robert's house was a small board house in a side path that you had to walk through light grass to get to. It smelled of a damp smoke, and the curtains were not changed regularly. Still, the floor was cleaned and the kitchen table was clear, except for a scale sitting by the corner. A radio was on in the bedroom, with an ad telling people about preventing a mosquito problem. The wind picked up a little bit causing the window curtains to rise and fall like when you put on bed sheets and you raise it up and it comes down on the flat bed slowly and cautiously. The wind made Winston look around in his chair. "Don't worry Winston." "I cahn help but worry. I ain't expect de wind to rise like dat usually it wouln't be suh dramatic at this time o' de year." "True." Robert said. Then, "you hungry?" "Yeah man." "I got de food in de oven. It was off for a while, you want me to heat it up?" "Nah jus' bring it here." Winston replied. Robert came back with a plate with more rice than anything else, vegetables, onions browning in the gravy. Robert looked at Winston as he ate. He moved his mouth quickly, but scooped up the rice slowly. He looked straight ahead at the wall as he ate. His hands were hardened, fingernails down to the skin and smooth. But his eyes. The eyes Robert saw up close were the same eyes that everyone saw staring up at them from the newspaper whenever Winston escaped from prison, or when he almost got caught again. Some may tell you that Winston became a folk hero because people didn't believe he did it, and they might be right, but only partially so. Because when you see those eyes that pleaded simply by staring ahead it sent out a secondary emotion of pity along with interest. It made one believe that this guy running for his life in God knows where, hopping on boats and stowing away in the hinterland of some island could be your son, or brother, or somebody. No one felt sympathy for hard featured Peter Bradshaw. Even the two youngsters Barry Jack and Sylvian Clarke got no care because they looked like the type of boys that stole your bicycle while you were in the rum shop. No matter how tattered Winston looked in those snapshots of him being carted off by police, his flopping over-bearing locks and all, it could never stop those eyes from peering through at you. Winston would probably kill you at this point if it came down to it, would definitely steal your computer to pay for passage out the island if he could, but for most people, he was just a boy that got turned into a criminal. A hare forced to scrap through the forest while the wolves descended a-growl. None of this has to be true, very little of it even has to make sense. The resultant was that Winston Hall became our folk-hero, our Billy the Kid, our Robin Hood (provided he just stole from the rich plantation fellow), our real life, living, breathing, crazy, exhausted Br'er Rabbit. "Ya got any plans cook up Winston?" Robert asked as he cleaned up his plate. Winston looked up and blinked at him, maybe thinking, maybe just looking. "I got a idea or two is all but most differently I...just gine try to keep moving." he said.

 The two relaxed and talked about their day.  Winston had little to talk about, while Robert talked lightly about world events that might mean something to Winston, or maybe, might be funny to him. He laughed a slight laugh at some moments, and at others remained silent and motionless.  Sometimes he might make a random comment about wanting pussy, other moments he talked about his school days, stories Robert had heard already, but politely listened again.

"Sometimes I is envy you Winston."

"Why de hell you envy me?"

"Man people know bout you.  Nobody ain't know 'bout me.  You is de most famous man in Bim.  More famous then de Prime Minister."

"Maybe," Winston began, "but wha dah mean for me?  Is not like I could run fuh Prime Minister or, or open ah business down Swan Street wif my popularity.  I was reading a book on criminals when I was in Trinidad.  De term fuh criminals like me ain't 'famous', it is 'infamous' - I famous for being bad.  People would smile with me, but call de police in a heartbeat as well. People ain't care 'bout me really."

"You really 'tink so Winston?  People care 'bout you man.  People still believe you ain't deserve nuh death sentence man.  Most people woulda try to escape too.  Dem wid you."

"I doan’ agree.  People like rules too much.  Dey want to believe that everyting would work out right if dey follow de rules.  Until of course tings go bad and dey got to do tings to survive, then they realise.  I mean it is just like, like...Robert you know how prison is man, they got people that deserve to be there, and they got people who jus' catch a bad break.  A lot o' dem get sell out by they family and friends.  A lot of Barbados like to rely on other people - de government, dey foolish husband, policemen, or somebody.  I ain't nuh genius, but I feel that if a bunch o' people meet me, almost all o' dem would go and call de police cuz dey get tell so.  Won't even tink as to why dey doing it."

"That is you fear talkin Winston.  Barbadians care man.  That is you fear," Robert said, while getting up and fishing in the fridge to refresh their beers.  Winston stared ahead at the wall all that time, and when Robert returned to the table and opened the beers with his keychain he began again.

"Somebody is be talking in my head," Winston began, "I doan’ know who it is, it could be my fear telling me all these tings, or it could be my smarts.  Whoever it is, it telling me hide from everyone.  Last time I was comfortable was in Trinidad wid that woman."

"You did love that woman Winston?" Robert asked.

"Yeah, I did love she.  De love turn me different.  I guess love is do that. "

"If you hadn't get caught doin' foolishness..."

"It wasn't foolishness, it was my heart getting de best of me."

"Alright if you didn't get caught following you heart, you feel you woulda live there forever?" Robert asked.  Winston thought and then looked down at the table.

"Maybe. I love this island, but I was comfortable there.  Here my mind is mek me paranoid and nervous.  I jus' cut off from this place.  I might be de most famous man here, but I don't know much bout it Robert.  Trinidad was where tings did at least seem normal. Cuz, for a lil' moment, there was love."  Winston said.

 Winston lightly clapped onto his shin the side of the collins that Robert gave him on his departure as a plastic bag with fruit lightly cheered by his thigh. Overhead the moon went through the trees with an unmistakable sharp glow, features on the face of it like birth-marks, and were one to walk under the leaves of the breadfruit and mango trees and look up, the way that Winston was at the time, the moon might seem to twinkle its pock-marked light to you.  The houses were mostly silent at this point of the night, week-days it was this way. The insects called out into the darkness, creating an instinctual and perpetuating siren, as each insect, perched on their nocturnal pedestal, found a simple and eternal occupation.

 Miriam found the insects creepy.  When the night-noises reached her ear they were not received as a wafting tone poem of tones, but simply murky tension outside the car window on her ride home. Mr. Holford, who worked at the supermarket across the road from the hotel, and who would drop her home in the late night, and tell her smiling stories of the hopeless, irritable and easily confounded customers and employees of the supermarket, and who also would make fumbling compliments of her hair and necklace and would understand when Miriam declined his invites to concerts and exhibitions, and who would stare at Miriam’s rocking buttocks as she walked away from his car after smilingly thanking him, would then beep his car horn as he drove off softly.

 What is that? A car horn. Get behind this house. Make sure that all the lights are off in this house you leaning against. Your knee is okay tonight don’t worry. Who is that there walking?  It’s her. Her hair is frazzled a bit.  Her hips are so gentle.  How does she look so untouched up here in Suriname?  Almost all these women look run-down, chipped at the edges, shaken about a bit.  She’s different.  She is like one of those dreams you have in de morning when ya almost wake up and ya coul’ swear it real but ya is wake up in de grass and ya look around and realise it is de same as yesterday, but ya is put ya hand together and thank God that you coul’ still dream, cuz if not you probably would’ve drowned youself a long time ago.  Wait. Look at her eyes, all open wide in this night.  Is she surprised?  Is she looking for something?  No. No, look.  She’s scared.  Shite you just slip. Hide!  you just made a noise.

 Winston hid behind the house steadying himself with his forearms while Miriam stopped walking and just stared at the direction of the stumble-sound.  In the porous night where most things are hidden but some things escape stood the two, Winston peeping, Miriam listening.

“Who-w-who there?” she asked, amazingly evenly.  Winston paused.

“Nobody. Just a man. I ain’t gine hurt you.” Winston finally said, secreted behind the side of the house.

“You was waiting for me right?”  Miriam said into the night “I ain’t got no lotta money. I work hard t-this , um today. But tek it, tek d-de money, just don’t ra…”

“I ain’t wait for you .  I was jus’ walking through.”

“Then why you was hiding?”  she asked, not rudely, not accusatorily, but simply curiously.  Silence.  She then asked for his name but Winston stretched the silence, pressed rough against the side of the house.  Miriam took a step forward on the road and then listened, and then looked around as Winston crouched low.  He squinted his eyes at the woman taking tentative steps on the road and opened his mouth to say something, anything, to perhaps welcome her into his secret, or to tell her an outrageous and comforting lie while escorting her home, but instead he held firm and watched Miriam walk down the road quickly and determinedly into the shrouding night.

 Through the grass Winston walked, mainly by memory, through the trees that cradled things to sleep and by the edge of a craggy pasture, pocking rocks and dirt with his boots and collins, and in this heavy chaos is where he crouched down and laid by his supplies and run-ragged possessions.  Up into the air he looked, at the wavy and dreamy clouds, barely hiding the wide moon out tonight, and he thought of rushing things, and impoverished motionless things that loomed in his head as always, and then sometimes he would listen and listen as the night-time serenaded, or mocked him perhaps.

 There he slept, back used to the flat earth, dreams sliding in and out of the thoughts. He dreamt of the children in Trinidad & Tobago, the woman’s children that he was around a lot.  He dreamt about his stern lashes he gave them, and he dreamt of him teaching them how to make bow and arrows out of coconut leaves, sharpening the stem into an arrow-point using an old razor from a broken pencil sharpener.  He then dreamt of a hot fire, and of him running, and running, and running, and then floating and flying through the trees away from the fire up and above Trinidad, looking down at the twinkling lights that families would leave on at times. He then thought of when he was captured there, and the children looked at him and asked “Tony, ya ‘un come back?” to which Winston looked at them softly with those doomed eyes of his, and shook his head no, his heavy locks floundering over and about his shoulders.

 This is your life now.  This is your life.  Look at it. Look at the shadows of dem trees.  Doan worry.  We’ll get another plan together.  Remember Robert had said there might be a guy that could get pay off to smuggle you on that boat?  Something will always come up, you just have to hold on until then.  The same thing day in and out until your ship comes in. You know you got what other people doan got.  You got de discipline.  What? Man you gine got to forget about that girl, about this whole fucking country in fact. Just stay down.  Just stay out here, Robert gine set tings in motion. Man doan let you emotions get de better of you.  Look I know she look good.  I know she comforting.  I know you could use some of that comfort.  But let it go.  This is your life now.  This is your life now.  Look at the dark grass over there.  You could stash some things there.  You got to go over to get those carrots from that plot of land.  That is what you think of.  You get as close as you could.  This is your life.  Winston sit down. Winston-

 Winston got up and looked at the slow clouds, then back towards the little line of houses down the grassy slope.  He took up his new cutlass, and walked, shaky, unsure and for the first time in a long time, scared.

 Sergeant Douglass Sergeant walked around the district police station.  He was testy and bored.  He thought about being on the front page of the newspapers quoting something about some murder case he thought up in his mind.  At least a good burglary case involving a well-known minister or a beloved person in the media.  He would tell the reporters, in the most pleasant of voices, about the dangerous circumstances of the whole ordeal.  He thought joyfully of the microphones, of the notebooks scratched with details, of the television cameras with their dull shine on the lens.  In fact, he was drawing a complex, Eiffel Tower looking antennae on his note-book when Orville Lowell came up to him to challenge him to a healthy round upon round of x and os.

 Eagerly Sergeant would scrawl his x in the corner to begin his winning play he had read of in a book dedicated to these puzzles called ‘Tic-Tac-Toe for Winners!’ that he had picked up in a store adjacent to a hotel on the south coast of the island.  He grinned playfully at Lowell, and then at the page as the younger Lowell tried uselessly to circumvent the inevitable.

 The grass slid against the boots of Winston as he walked down the hill.  The rocks, loose on the dirt moved with a murmuring tumble as Winston kicked them or stepped on them on his way down.  He would arch his head, to see through trees and branches, calculating his path towards a house he had never been to, had never scouted out in advance, had never thought of going to until the recent wanderings of his mind.  Overhead the clouds were soft in their movements and the wind was cool against his old shirt and his face, run ragged by years, decades in fact, of worrying in a harsh, coarse manner, and decades of regret.

 Stop this.  Stop this. Stop this I say!

 Miriam opened the door to her son’s room and watched the young boy curled into the edge of his bed, but a calm curl.  He did not claw the bed-sheets like when she would look in on him after the arguments. This was a motionless slumber, a reprieve from the day at school where he was beaten for trying to cheat on his times-table test, and where Janice Peters, the girl he had pleasing thoughts about, laughed at him when he fell down darting between the trees.  He looked up at her as she laughed and then she walked over to him, helping him up as he dusted off his short pants, saying to him “doan cry, you gine get better”, and then she walked away.  Miriam closed the door slowly, the shadow of the door looming slowly over the bed until it darkened the entire room.  She pulled off her shoes and clothes and just laid in the bed, churning her mind as to who that could have been hiding behind the house, desperate not to be seen, and from whence did he come from.  She felt helpless, but also, for no reason, wondered if that man was helpless as well, adrift with no one to answer to, or to answer for.  

 She didn’t exactly want to help him, but rather, to understand him, where he came from, what had him out there at that hour, and what had him so scared, like her. She thought that perhaps he was hiding from the same dark permutations that she supposed existed in those bushy trees and grass up the hill.  Perhaps the world had ravaged him to such a degree that even the plaintive claps of a woman’s shoe-heel on the dirty ground scared him.  She surmised that his mind saw something horrible in people, and that sight drove him to cower noisily, with mouth agast, like in the movie she saw once where the man saw which people were holy, and which were demons of the devil. If only he stared long enough she thought, then maybe he would see that she was no clawed harlot, but that she was as scared as he was, distrustful of the very nature of people as he was, that she acknowledged the way that love spoiled into vengeful control after a long enough time, disappointing her as she was sure it did him, that poor man clawed and scared behind some wooden house, with the taunting night and the duppies all around him.

 Winston stood behind the bare tamarind tree and solidified his approach: he would climb the low pailing surrounding the neighbouring mini-mart and then squeeze through the space he saw on that hill into her premises, and then softly, patiently, meekly tap the windows of the woman’s house until she awoke and then calm her with his eyes and tell her all that was in his foolish heart about her beauty, her unassuming grace, her glad-eyed son, and his own drifting life, polluted with his frenzied volition and shame.

 He arrived at the galvanized pailing, creeping unsure like he had by the Plantation House where this whole legend began twenty or so years ago.  He jumped up to grab the top, but at that moment, his knee shifted around itself, causing him to fall and hit the outside base with a small thump.

 Miriam then heard a thump, small but real.  She startled up and looked out the window at the night.  She surveyed her little back-yard and saw nothing.  She looked at the next door neighbour and saw the stillness she expected.  She supposed it was a dog or cat bumping against the pailing, but she kneeled there on the bed, looking out at the trees that waved in the slight wind.  And then she gasped, her body tensing up uniformly as if expecting a blow at primary school, as if she caught the Holy Spirit at church, as if she was giving birth at the hospital, as she saw a dark man crawling on top of the neighbour’s pailing.

 The District Police Station’s phone rang twice.  The officer listened, grumbled his questions to the caller while scribbling notes, and then he looked at the two men playing and arguing about the 1987 Calypso Finals results.

 I understand you have a fancy towards her but this is no reason to do this.  Think about your knee.  Think about this pulsating, devious pain that moves from your knee towards the rest of your body.  I can’t stop you can I?  I want to. I want you to walk up that slope and disappear into those trees like you have since you came back to this part of the island. Stop thinking of her…you can’t can you? Your beautiful sin.  A booming voice tells you not to eat of the tree, don’t eat that fruit, but you have to, because that woman tells you to right? Right there, is when love, the way we know it, was created.  He looked towards the sky, looking the way that the sky looked now, a combination of tribulation and creation, the way four o’ clock has always looked, and Adam looked at the sky and chose love over unknowable punishment the way poor you from Suriname will choose it.  

 Winston jumped and swung his leg over the tall pailing and fell to the ground.  He looked around the new surroundings and squinted his eyes to see where the path to Miriam’s house would be.  He walked but then fell wordlessly in the soft darkness, soft because of the approaching morning that would shed light to the physicality of this all but never to the motivation, never to the chirping collaborators of the late night, and never to the love that occurred here.

 Sergeant Douglass Sergeant turned the car onto the street where Miriam lived in a careful arc.  Two others were with him – Lowell, the defeated tic-tac-toe player, and Constable Henry Yarde, a young man new to the police force who swore to his dying grandmother that he would do something useful with his life, and as she felt the dying in her along with the heat, the young man pressed his face into her scratchy, paper hands and thanked her for reforming him.  Sergeant knocked softly on Miriam’s door and the door opened silently creating a tension.  “I-I was just looking out my window when Jesus Christ I see a man jump over de pailing of’ de mini mart.”

“Okay yes this we know.” Sergeant whispered, “but in the time it tek for we to get here, you inform de owners o’ de mini mart?”

“Yeah, I call up Jackie and tell she.  She is de daughter. I call she up cuz I know that she cell phone don’t got a loud ring. It does mostly buzz.”

“Good. Good thinking.” Sergeant said. The young policeman looked at her while her gaze was towards Sergeant.  The woman was terrified.  To Yarde, her eyes were a-blaze with fear, unblinking and beautiful.  The wind would pick up for a couple seconds and he would look at her old T-shirt against her widening waist.  He wanted to comfort her and to tell her lies to calm her and after he kissed her, look at her in the morning sun and tell her truth after truth. Meanwhile Sergeant looked at the woman he briefly consoled at Kevin’s funeral and took down the information, caring little for her fear, taking it only to mean that the criminal was a large man. Perhaps he committed more crimes throughout the countryside he theorised.  Perhaps he could come up with a name of the man for the reporters to put on the front page - “countryside killer”, “de slasher”, and then “de jungle demon”.

 The banana tree in the back flopped as Winston leaned against it, slowly putting and then taking weight off of his knee.  He looked around again, and saw that the space leading to the woman’s house was wider than he thought.  He swept his heavy locks back and wiped his brow with his old shirt, and then held his cutlass like you would an eccentric cane and said out to the abdicating night “Hello.  My name is Winston.  People say I do some tings – some o’ dem I do, but some o’ dem I didn’t.  I tink I love you, but I ain’t sure, so, what is you name?”, then he shifted again in the craggy dirt and said “Good night, my name is Winston and I tink I love you. But wha so is you name?” Then he scraped the ground with his cutlass/ bejewelled cane and said “Even if you scared of me I want you to know that I love you.  My name is Winston Hall.  Yes, my name is Winston Hall and I am not ashamed.”

         Yarde walked into Miriam’s house, squinted his eyes and looked back, asking “Ma’am, is there a way we could get from where you live to de mini-mart owner house?”

“Yes. They got a lil’ path that is connect we.”

“Do we just get out into your back-yard and just turn right?”

“Yes, yes, yes ya is just turn right.” She whispered.  Yarde looked at Sergeant Sergeant, who then slid his right hand between his waist and the leather of his pistol.  “Yeah, we gine go in she yard and surprise he, cuz he think he hard, but we gine light up he ass.” And with that he walked through the length of Miriam’s house, walking as if he owned it with no heeding to any decorum, because whatever decorum that was expected usually – whether you took your shoes off or letting the lady walk in front – would mean nothing once police were in your house, partly because of all the urgency in this and partly because of your status in the country.  If it were a rich mover and shaker like a Goddard or a Williams, they would’ve at least asked if they could be shown the way through the house by the head of the house. Miriam noticed this, but pursed her lips because of this expected acquiescence that policemen’s widows exhibited always.

         The sky was still dark, but still becoming lighter on the upper edges of the sky.  Between Winston and the gate to Miriam’s house was a small, easily hop-able fence that separated the small garden that Winston stood upon, and the concrete that led to the back of the mini-mart.  He leaned against the soft banana trees and looked up as the leaves crowded the round and glowing moon, its shining glow fading as the sun began to make its approach upon the island.

         It combs the light of the moon.  Look at the moon being obstructed by the light slice of the banana leaves, the distant craters and darkness of the moon that suggest another place for us humans to go to and make simple at first with our enviable industry, then only to advertise to the people about the advantages of such a place, and then imagine escaping to a place where the best went to the roughest, just like in the westerns you like so much.  Feel that wind.  Understand it.  Believe that it holds a great new thing for you to encounter.  Feel the wind, pregnant with the exhalations of generations of Barbadians and tourists.  Tell yourself you love it.  The people inside of you.  Imagine that they tell stories to their children about you.  Believe that someone is printing out protest banners for you. Hail the goodness that has gotten you this far, that has made you believe in the gospel of survival through the mere occurrence of actions.  Worship the…

 “Freeze, ya rassole cunt.”

“Doan come close.”

“I gine got ta come close.  Cuz see I is de big bad woodsman coming to capture all o’ wunna wolves.  Ya fucking wolves.”

“You sound like you been thinking a lot about what you gine say before you capture somebody.”

“Hush you fuckin’ mouth!” Sergeant Sergeant barked.

“You even know why I here?”  Winston asked. “I ain’t here to steal.  I here for love.  I here to say something to a woman.  Something that I should have said a long time ago.  Let me through so I could tell her.”

“Put down de cutlass son.  I doan know if you got a crush or you in love but come along and we could sort this out.” Sergeant Sergeant said, his hand out-stretched, on the concrete away from the man.

“I tink I love she.”

 Okay run into the trees and then use the trunk of the trees to jump up to the pailing.  You could leap over and be gone before these policemen come.  We could get de dog and be gone from this parish by noon.  Just run and jump!  Your knee will be okay.  You can’t wrestle the policemen to the ground.  You have to retreat.  Run off. Run off into de wild.  Just do a lil’ jump an’ run.  Jus’ do it calm.

 Winston shifted back and looked at the imposing height of the pailing that he could jump over, he supposed.  He saw the three policemen, and he saw them spread out to be of proper use. Winston gripped his cutlass stronger, his arms tensing and straight.

 Then he saw her.  She peeped through the passageway, furtively of course, but he saw her, her great, rounded eyes, her dense, brown skin, filled with a swirling system of emotions by now, brown with the approaching sun.  She was pitied more than admired in her neighbourhood, and the tourists at the hotel were too caught up in the cocaine and flowers of the island to sit and study the beauty of this woman pushing past their rooms.  This perky Barbadiana, full of egregious glee, of blind fear and hate, who went undetected by the visitors, but always constant to this visitor Winston.  He knew no other recourse, could surmise nothing else but the accomplishment of these heated ideas that singed him in the dark.

 He ran towards the policemen.  The shot rang out with a sharp and ranging flight, like the flight of crows.  Winston slumped back, and then lunged forward towards Miriam while the young policeman Yarde shot again.  Winston fell back, squirming at first and then laying still, letting his shoulder-blades touch the ground, and listening to the arched sobbing of the mini-mart owner and Miriam go over the country-side, which was now becoming lighter with this new Age, supplanting the previous Age that began as the Union Jack went down and our flag went up, and ended as the man, arched and crackling on the ground, began to cough his last coughs about love, heard only by the mini-mart owners, the policemen, Miriam, and the curious primary school boy, who stood with his arms folded, staring through the open glass window of his room, with its colour coming alive again in the morning light.

THE END

[your-rose-highness]

Tell me What is Love (ch.1)

Hye hee entered a coffee shop at a dreadful hour when there was hardly anyone present. Being an assistant editor of a publishing house, didn't help in her dire need of a routine. Most of her days passed pulling deadlines late into the night.

Today was just another night of editing a long guideline of using a mechanical bicycle. As she entered the dimly lit cozy coffee shop, the barista gave her a pitiful smile, knowing very well why she was here at 1 A.M.

“Hey there.”, Minseok greeted as the little bell rang marking the arrival of customers.

“Hi.”, she groaned back.

She makes her way to the back of the shop, which was her deemed ‘spot’, that she used for feeling mega productive to finish her all nighters.

Minseok heads to the table carrying her pomegranate tea, which she regularly ordered during her night ventures.

“Here you go”, he said, placing the aesthetically pleasing pink tea in front of her, taking the seat opposite to her.

“Thanks min, you’re an angel.”

“So what is it tonight?”, he inquired, supporting his head on his palm, expecting another high rush novel.

“Mechanical sport bicycle guidelines. Want to hear more?”, she laughed sneakily.

“Bye.”, he got up as a reflex, making both of them chuckle. “Any way if you want anything, i’ll be just behind this screen. I’m not really expecting anyone tonight, it’s a slow evening.”

She nodded and began typing away. Sipping her tea, she felt exhaustion creep in by 2.30.

If only i had not taken up the extra manuscript yesterday, i could be in bed today, she thought.

Barely able to keep her eyes open, she typed the last few pages, when the little bell jingled a little too loud into the quiet night. Hye hee peeped from her laptop, to find a man covered in black clothes, a face mask and black goggles step in, shivering from the cold outside. Minseok stumbled out and the mysterious man ordered his drink. Hye hee resumed her work, her thoughts slightly clouded by entrance of the man.

Idol?

She thought to herself. Poor fellas, don't get proper alone time that they probably need to hanker about in the middle of the night. As she worked out her theories, minseok approached her again, to ask if she needed anything. The man had seated himself with his back to her, so she couldn't make out who he was.

You've grown, Song hye hee, she congratulated herself.

It was still hard for her to see idols anywhere since baekhyun.

Baekhyun, her dorky friend from the seventh grade. The both of them had never spoken to each other before he spilled his pudding all over her skirt in the cafeteria one time, when he slipped while demonstrating a move his dog had done earlier that day.

Hye hee was the class president and had dreaded the clown baekhyun was. He had always teased her in the past for being too nerdy. He could be the definition of trouble all by himself But this was the limit. Baekhyun had expected her to yell at him, sincerely sorry for have done the deed. To his surprise, she cried in the middle of the crowded cafeteria, attracting annoying looks from everyone. Baekhyun’s friends slipped away from him, afraid of being embarrassed. He rushed to soothe her, but she wailed even louder, running into the girl’s bathroom. He waited for her to come out, but when she didn't for 30 minutes, he picked up courage and entered calling out her name.

He found her, head between her knees, sobbing with red eyes. She looked up at him with defeat. Hye hee was tired of his impractical jokes, but he had surprised her that day. Handing her tissues, and offering his school coat to her to cover her skirt. They had walked home together that day, which was a rare event even though they had lived across the street from each other. She was touched from his actions and he had a found a good friend in his nerdy, irritating class president cum neighbour.

From that point onwards, Baekhyun and Hye Hee were pretty much inseparable. They enjoyed each other's company to their and their classmate's surprise. He still teased her but knew his limits. At times, he would join in and help her with the tasks in hand.

They were happy. It felt complete. Extremely mismatched, although, it seemed to work out for them.

Hye hee brought herself back to reality when the black hoodie man got up from his table. She looked at him till he went to the door, when suddenly he turned to meet eyes with her for a second, as if he knew she was watching him.

Finishing the last page, she lifted her eyes to find that it was nearly six in the morning. Picking herself up and rushing to her office, she submitted her manuscript when her friend found her.

“You! Do you even check your phone?.... Omg what the hell? Girl, you look like a panda again!!!”, Jae In said surprised.

Lee Jae In, her only comrade in this lonely business. Hye hee and Jae In were both interns when they met. The competitiveness wouldn't let them be friends in the beginning. Getting ahead was more important. As years passed, they realised how alike they were and slowly got to know each other. Jae In (or Jane, as she preferred to be called) and hye hee were now the rare colleague- friend combo.

“I’m sorry.. You called? I had to work overnight for this…”, hye hee explained, frantically digging through her bag to find her phone.

“Forget about that… i have to tell you something really important.”

Jane paused to have her friend’s full attention.

“Baekhyun’s getting married.”

“What?”, hye hee whispered.

“Go out with me.”, baekhyun casually dropped one evening when both of them sat by a tiny pond, feet dipped in the water.

Hye hee turned to stare at him with disbelief. “What? No!”, she exclaimed.

“Why?”, he whined, “look i’m way better than daniel anyway. So you’ll be safer with me.”

“Safer?”

“The guy’s a literal jerk. How can i trust him with you?”

“You thought i was asking for your permission?”

“Look, you like me, i like you. What's the problem?”

“The problem is we’re friends!”

Baekhyun then kissed her. Trying to give her reasons, hoping that the kiss will be a silent confession of his feelings that he did not quite understand himself. All the 16 year old knew was that he was jealous when his friend spoke to other boys or dressed up for them. He hated that she would be their company.

He loved her. He had always loved her.

Breaking the kiss, both sat without uttering a word. It was new for them. The feelings that they were experiencing. Baekhyun watched her with the corner of his eye, judging her reactions. A tiny smile broke across her face, and he sighed in relief.

They were in love.

No one was surprised, really. Their friends always thought they were dating secretly.

Like all young lovers, they faced everything. Misunderstandings, passion, anger, jealousy and unceasing love.

Regardless, they became each other's strength. Hye hee wanted to pursue journalism and write, Baekhyun wanted to be a singer, as his passion wouldn't let him pursue anything other. They worked hard to achieve their goals, frequently disappointed with the outcomes. Working as  team, they supported each other, and became the other’s driving force to hold on and keep trying.

“I'm giving up.”, Baekhyun screamed, as he walked into Hye Hee’s room one evening.

“Baekhyun?”, Hye hee inquired from the bathroom.

“Yeah..”, he sulked on the bed.

“You should KNOCK when you come. I'm a GIRL.”, she stressed across the door.

“Yeah… GIRLFRIEND. by the way that's not the point. I'm tired Hye hee. I didn't get in through this audition too. I… I can't anymore.”, He sighed.

“Don't give up Baekhyun. You love music and you're good. Honestly, if you weren't, I wouldn't be pushing you. But you're really good!”, She said stepping out of the bathroom.

He looked at her, and he forgot about the audition for a minute. What had he done to deserve her? She was beautiful. She caught him staring and smiled.

“You're being so obvious that you're in love with me.”, She cockily said.

“I do love you.”, Baekhyun cooed, wrapping his arms around her waist.

The past came back like a whip. It was just a second. Jane realised that Hye Hee wasn't listening to her. Baekhyun and Hye Hee's relationship had gone downhill ever since he was accepted into SM agency as a trainee.

First, they hardly had any time to see each other. When they did, Baekhyun would just sleep, too tired to go out.

Only, during the trainee year, he was still the Baekhyun she knew. He was tired, but at least he was still her old buddy, her first love.

After he debuted, that's when the difference began. He wouldn't pick her calls, if he did, he wouldn't talk much. It drove her insane.

Baekhyun was in ecstasy. The new found fame, the popularity, his name on everyone's lips, it made him feel on top of the world. He was a sensation and he knew it.

“Hi.. Baekhyun right?”, A young girl peeped in one day when he was in a vocal room of his company practicing.

“Oh! Hello! Yes, I'm Baekhyun.”, Baekhyun bowed to his senior, and his idol.

Girls generation's leader, Taeyeon.

“I've been meaning to meet you guys! But we had to leave for a concert.”, She said shaking his hand.

It had begun there. Girls generation was always hanging out with their new maknae boy group who were so filled with energy. Everyone noticed how much taeyeon and Baekhyun loved each other's company. They shared food, jokes, even had inside jokes that they giggled on.

Baekhyun had idolized Taeyeon. He had a massive crush on her since school days. Now, he was able to talk to her and she was exactly how he had dreamed she would be. Sweet, gentle, an Angel, and so beautiful. Taeyeon was attracted to him too. He was lively, cute and made her laugh.

Baekhyun was loving life. He would tell Hye Hee about taeyeon when they spoke on the phone. It was always about taeyeon or exo. He was so drunk off of his company, that he couldn't wait each day to get back to work. He anticipated taeyeon’s call more than Hye Hee. At times, he'd pick her call when Hye hee and Baek went out on their very rare trips out, talking for hours.

Hye hee was jealous. She wanted to be supportive and not behave like a controlling bitch. But her boyfriend was suddenly so into another super pretty, model-esque girl, not to mention part of the biggest girl group of the time, it bugged her. They had common ground of conversation. Something now Baekhyun and Hye hee lacked.

“We're just really good friends, Hye Hee. She's amazing too…”, he convinced her.

“Did you tell her you have a girlfriend?”, Hye hee asked innocently, poking at her noodles.

“Yeah, that's what we discuss about at work.”, He laughed it off.

“It didn't seem like you were talking about work..”, she whispered softly, but he heard it.

“Are you being suspicious?”, He asked.

“No…”, she said, unable to meet his eyes.

“Look, I don't really want to do this right now. Let's eat and go, I'm really tired.”

Hye hee convinced herself that it wasn't how she thought it was. Deciding to have dinner with him today, she bought his favourite food, healthy ofcourse, and called up Junmyeon.

“Hey Hye Hee!”, Jun Myeon boomed on the phone, “ it's been long since we've spoken! How're you?”

“Hi oppa. I'm good. It's just that I miss you guys, and thought we could have dinner together? Are you all free tonight? I wanted to surprise Baekhyun.”, Hye hee radiated.

“Ah! Yes we're free. But all the boys wouldn't be home till late 10 I guess. Baekhyun and Jongdae are home I think. Why don't you ahead over? I'll see you there later..”, he informed.

Thanking him, Hye Hee, bopped to their dorm. Feeling oddly happy that she was doing something for the tired Baekhyun. Usually she would be too busy with work herself to enjoy any free time.

Reaching over, she put in the code, she knew so well. Baekhyun's room was on the first floor, so she decided to say hello to Jongdae first. Knocking twice, when she slowly opened the door, she found him strewn on his bed, sleeping with his mouth open.

Wow, he must be really tired. I’ll wake him up later when junmyeon gets here.  She thought and shut his door.

Baekhyun must be tired too, i was so harsh on him. He needed me the most now and all i've really done is be all jealous. I was being a bad girlfriend.

She opened his door slightly, incase he was sleeping too. He wasnt in his room though. Hearing muffled voices coming from the balcony, she tiptoed across the bedroom to find him.

“I miss you too… guess what? Let’s have dinner at my place tomorrow. The guys will be out and we can have the place to ourselves.”, baekhyun giggled over the phone, with no idea that hye hee was standing right behind him.

It was taeyeon on the phone. Hye Hee’s heart shattered. Without knowing how to deal with anything, she left without a word. Baekhyun, giddy over the phone, hadn't realized anything yet. It was when suho came home, finding the takeouts on the table, did he ask baekhyun about it.

“Hey baek, where’s hye hee?”

“What? I don't know.. At home maybe. Why hyung?”,baekhyun without a care in the world.

“Why didn't she stay?”

“Stay where?”

“She came here to see you right? The food is on the table.”, suho said confused, pointing at the dinner table.

Horror crawled in on Baekhyun’s face.

“When? When did she?”

“She didn't meet you?”

“When did she call you?”

“I don't know around 8?.....”

Baekhyun knew. She had heard him. He did notice someone who looked so much like her run down the street. But he had brushed it off.

He grabbed his jacket and ran to his home, his heart thudding uncontrollably.

Hye Hee wasn't responding to his calls anymore and after sometime it said switched off. She wasn't home.

Where could she have gone?

Running around his neighbourhood at 1 AM, he found her at last. She stared straight at him. She had been crying for long, but now her cheeks were stained with the dried tears.

He approached her slowly, sitting beside her. When she didn't say a word, Baekhyun worked up courage.

“Hye hee.”

“We're over.”, She stated.

“Let me explain.”

“There's nothing to explain Baekhyun.”

“Taeyeon…”

“Stop it! STOP IT!”, she screamed into the night.

“Stop saying her name! I get it! She's the one you've always wanted! But you should have had the mere decency to tell me that you didn't love me anymore! You could…”, she broke into tears again.

It hurt him to watch her so broken, worse, because of him. He had knew that he had feelings for Taeyeon, but he forgot that unintentionally was hurting Hye hee.

“I guess we should just take a break.”, Baekhyun whispered. It was making him crazy. He loved Hye Hee but taeyeon made his heart beat. Was it possible to be in love with two people at the same time?

“You love her..”, Hye hee softly said.

“I love you too.”

“No. You don't. I'm just someone you're used to.”

“No… Hye hee…”,tears filled his eyes realising what her words meant.

“Look. We've been dating since high school, right? So we never really dated a lot. Maybe she's the one. You never know.”, Hye hee muttered, more to convince herself.

“C'mon, run back. You've got to leave for China tomorrow right? You need rest.”, She continued.

Baekhyun stared at her. He felt an ache build in his chest. She'd been such an important part of his life and ripping it out wasn't going to be easy. “No point continuing this if there's no love Baekhyun. We'll just continue to be anxious. It's time to move on. I don't want to hold you back.”

With that, she hugged him one last time. Hye Hee embraced him, wanting to engrave him in her memory forever. Baekhyun wrapped his hands around her. His first love, his best friend, the super girl, who was good at video games as well as academics was leaving him. Nothing he said or did would make a difference now. They had grown and they had changed.

It was an end of an era.

Meanwhile, the words rang in her head as Hye Hee tried to continue her day as usual...Baekhyun is getting married.

It’s out! I’m so nervous about this story so do let me know your thoughts on it!! :D thank you for reading

[norihisahyuga-archived]

“Just smile, I really need to see you smile right now.” kyofushi trio

He should be used to this; the day comes every year without fail, a stark reminder of everything he had lost and what little he had gained from the wreckage. It had been years since his mother passed away; he still remembers the phone call, sitting down with his aunt at the kitchen table.

Life had continued on after that even if part of it had stopped for him. There were no more hours-long trips to the hospital every day (though he made the trip at least once or twice a week for months after, not ready to let go yet even though he had nothing to hold onto).

Some years, the date sneaks up on him. He’ll be in the middle of studying for an upcoming final, working on his bicycle, riding down a mountain road with Ishigaki and Mizuta, and he remembers, and everything comes to a stop once more. Some years, he dreads waking up the night before, wishing he could just close his eyes and reach out to his mother and not have to wake up to a world where she had died before he could ride her across the finish line with him.

It was a stupid dream anyway, right? A stupid dream for a stupid child who would never amount to anything more than riding a bicycle, a kid so quiet and withdrawn that making friends had never come naturally to him and the few people who seemed able to tolerate his presence had gone out of their way to talk to him, to befriend him, to learn more about him. His grades had been poor, he could hardly find it in him to stand up for himself, and even his teachers had given up on him. Losing his mother had simply been the last piece of the puzzle, completed.

Midousuji Akira would never have been anything without her faith in him and he feels like he cheated her by only winning the once for her. He should have won all three years.

If he had his way, he would have won the first year, and that would have been the year he was the most proud of when all was said and done. He wished he could have won when Ishigaki was still on the team. Ishigaki, who had faith in him when he had done nothing to earn it, who had seen through to his heart when Midousuji had done everything in the world to claw the useless, needless organ out of his chest. Heart never won a race for anyone, right? But Ishigaki knew the truth about him when he knew nothing about him; his mother would have loved Ishigaki. She would have told him to hold on to Ishigaki tight, to never let him slip through his fingers.

As if summoned by his thoughts, a pair of arms snake around his waist, shaking him out of his thoughts; he had lost track of the room around him, the kitchen counter, the coffee brewing only a few centimeters away from his hand, warming the backs of his fingers. He doesn’t have to turn around to check which of his two partners had come to greet him this morning; Ishigaki is the one most prone to surprise embraces, and Midousuji knows how he feels from his arms alone.

“Good morning.” Ishigaki plants a kiss on the back of his neck and Midousuji shivers at the touch. “You’re spacing out again. Thinking about your mom? It’s that day again…”

The fact he remembers proves he is far too good for Midousuji. “I may be, yes.”

Talking about it still hurts. Ishigaki had found out only because Midousuji had a breakdown in the middle of this first year of university, one that resulted in Mizuta calling Ishigaki in the middle of the night to come help him calm Midousuji down. It was embarrassing, still makes him cringe and flinch away in disgust when he thinks about it, but something far worse might have happened if Ishigaki had not come, and how gross would it have been to seriously hurt himself?

When Mizuta joins them in the kitchen a few minutes later, his usual bubbly morning talk is absent; he looks somber when he eases into Midousuji’s field of vision, fingers brushing his upper arm so gently it’s a barely-there touch. “Hey,” he says, and if he was anyone else the tone of his voice would have set Midousuji off. “How are you feeling this morning?”

“I’m fine,” he says, because that’s easier to say than to explain he feels like he’s on the tipping point between feeling nothing at all and drowning in himself. “I made the coffee this morning.”

The tension in the room is taut and he knows they expect him to snap it at any moment, to break down like he has almost every single year he thinks too long and hard about his mother. She really had been everything to him once; he had grown up in a house where his aunt already had children of her own to take care of, so he could never blame her when he became an afterthought. What more could he have asked of a woman who never planned on raising him?

He should be annoyed when they turn him around between them, Mizuta glueing himself to Midousuji’s back because he likes to have his back even though he’s far shorter with no hope of ever making up the distance, pressing his face between Midousuji’s shoulder blades and giving him a little squeeze around the waist. Ishigaki holds him from the front, an arm in the small of his back and the other around his shoulders because Midousuji can reach his shoulder easier, pressing his face into the worn-thin fabric of the t-shirt Ishigaki slept in last night. He lets Mizuta cling to him and clings to Ishigaki, a fine tremor running through his entire body.

He hates how hard it is to touch people like this when he feels like he might die without it.

“We’ve got you, Akira.” Ishigaki only uses his names during times like this, and he says it so quietly, so softly it might as well be a lullaby instead of just his plain, ordinary name. A plain, ordinary name for a man who was anything but. “It’s okay. We’re here if you need us today.”

It isn’t funny, but it might as well be a joke. Need them today? He needs them every day. He doesn’t know what he would do if either of them left his life at this point.

But saying that aloud is not an option, too hard, the words balling into a knot in his throat and threatening to choke him if he does anything other than swallow them back down. He whimpers and pushes his face harder into Ishigaki’s shoulder, wishing he had picked out a turtleneck today, wishing he had the extra collar to hide himself away in, safe and sound from the world.

“It’s okay if you need to cry,” Mizuta tells him, and Midousuji thinks it sounds like it hurts him to say that, like he doesn’t want Midousuji to cry at all. “Don’t let it all stay inside, okay?”

“You did that enough,” Ishigaki adds, and they work in tandem so perfectly with each other when it comes to him, and he almost hates himself for doing this to them, making them work this hard.

He pulls himself from between them, straightens up as best he can. “I’m fine, really.”

They look at each other in silence for a moment and he hates that they can almost read minds when he doesn’t share that with either of them, but it might be better that way because he doesn’t want to see their faces if they see just what the inside of his mind looks like.

“You don’t… Have to be fine, today, you know.” Ishigaki reaches for him and Midousuji steps back away from his hand, putting a sizeable distance between the two of them. “We won’t push it, but please don’t push yourself too hard today. It’s okay to have a day to yourself.”

He hates feeling so fragile, hates that they seem to think he’s going to shatter into a thousand pieces at any moment— mostly, he hates how right they are. He has to grip the back of a kitchen chair with badly shaking hands to keep himself steady on his feet and even then he gives up and plops down in it, his head coming to rest on top of the table.

He misses her. She had been everything to him once, the one person who believed in him, who put her faith in him even though she had nothing left to give by the end. Who even in her worst condition only wanted him to succeed, to go forward because she knew there was nowhere else she could go. She was supposed to ride with him across the finish line, but how pathetic a dream was that when most of the time, he had to claw just to get himself across it? He had broken during his first Inter-High. They would have both fallen into the grass then.

She had suffered so much and he feels horribly selfish every time he wishes she could see him now, in college and actually getting good grades for a chance. He wishes that he could soak in the warmth of the hospital without having to empty out everything he had in a race, that he didn’t have to give up everything he had just to feel that tenuous connection to her once more. And how awful is he to think like that when he has to give up so little of himself compared to how much she gave up? What kind of son would think such horrible things?

Ishigaki’s hand is on his back a moment later and Midousuji startles, realizing how hard and heavy his breathing has gotten, how his hands are digging into the top of the table so hard his knuckles are bleached white. There are scars here and there— most from cycling, some form the kids who had hurt him, who left permanent physical marks to go with the emotional ones.

“Stay with us,” Ishigaki says, his voice both gentle and urgent, and Midousuji can feel his entire body trembling, the sick roiling in his stomach, the way everything seems too much all at once and yet feels so far away he can barely process it. “Mizuta, take one of his hands.”

“It’s okay, Akira.” Mizuta, who had never once broken respect to him in high school, takes both of his hands and twines their fingers together, anchoring him to this world, this moment.

“I miss her,” Midousuji whispers, and it makes his eyes sting. “I wish she could be here right now.”

Ishigaki is at his back this time while Mizuta holds his hands, winding himself around Midousuji, leaning over him, blanketing him from the rest of the world. “That’s okay. It’s okay to miss her. I know you feel bad about it because you’ve told me you do, but it’s natural. She was your mom.”

“She was just so sick and so weak it feels wrong to wish she had lived through more years of that just for this.” Midousuji swallows so hard it hurts, makes his throat feel sticky and raw.

Mizuta bumps their foreheads together gently and both of them are so close that in any other circumstance, MIdousuji might have panicked to have to deal with so much touch, so much sensory overload at once, but right now he needs it, needs them. “It isn’t wrong. You just miss your mom. I’d miss my mom too. You’re allowed to have a heart that hurts over that.”

“I don’t even know if I have a heart or not,” Midousuji says, and it sounds horribly melodramatic but it’s the truth, truer than anything he has ever spoken before.

“No one would cry over their mother dying every year without having a heart, believe me.” Ishigaki kisses the side of his neck, behind his ear, little brushes of warm lips. “You have a heart, and it’s beautiful, and I wish there was something I could do to stop it breaking.”

Midousuji ducks his head at that and the tears come fast and hard, squeezing out from beneath his eyelids, wetting his cheeks and dripping down onto the top of the table. Mizuta presses their cheeks together and hums softly in his ear while Ishigaki holds him as tight as he can, warm and sure and strong. With anyone else, Midousuji would have hated himself for breaking like this. With them, he lets everything else go and trusts them to be there through it with him.

She would have loved them both for different reasons. She would have loved Ishigaki for his warmth and security, the way he just knows Midousuji’s heart and labors to take care of it. She would have loved Mizuta’s optimistic personality, how he’s always gone out of his way to be right there when Midousuji needs him, to be anything Midousuji needs him to be.

When he finally quiets and lifts his head, his face feels raw and hot. “S-sorry about that.”

“Stop that.” Ishigaki kisses him on the mouth, thumbing tears off of his cheeks so tenderly it doesn’t aggravate the sensitive and sore skin there at all. “Don’t apologize. C’mon, look, you don’t have class today and I don’t care to skip. Let us take you back to bed.”

The offer is too tempting to turn down right now; neither of them let him go as he stands up, only adjusting their holds on him so that they don’t have to let him go. He has never felt so small before, so in need of this touch, this protection, this safety they offer him so freely like it’s second nature to give this to him. Maybe for them, it is. Maybe Midousuji needs to stop waiting for them to wake up and realize how awful he is. Maybe they don’t think he’s awful after all.

The bed just fits the three of them and Midousuji finds himself jostled into the middle of it while Ishigaki and Mizuta fall over themselves to dab the tears from his cheeks, stealing kisses until his lips tingle and his stomach doesn’t hurt as much even if his chest still aches.

“Hey.” Mizuta cradles Midousuji’s face in his hands. “Just smile, I really need to see you smile right now.”

Midousuji bites down hard on his quivering lower lip at the request, his heart skittering against his ribs as he considers the words. Most people have been horrified in the face of his smile, recoiling, trying to put as much distance between themself and him as possible. His smile had been something his mother was proud of. She told him to take good care of his teeth and he had without hesitation, doing his best to care for his teeth like he cares for the rest of his body. To have either of his boys asking him to smile makes a very small, very vulnerable part of him warm all the way through; he smiles through the tears far more easily.

“There’s that beautiful smile we love so much,” Ishigaki tells him, brushing a kiss along the side of his head. “A beautiful smile on a beautiful boy. Let us take care of you today, okay?”

The words make him flush and duck his chin down into his chest, but Ishigaki kisses the side of his head and that makes it a little more bearable. He ends up pulled down into the sheets with them, stretched out between them, kept warm on both sides. Maybe he isn’t entirely sure he deserves this yet, but he’s happy to take what they give him so willingly.

He doesn’t think he has to wonder if his mother would be proud of him for this.

[mst3kproject]

Hod Rod Girl

Hot Rod Girl was directed by Leslie H. Martinson, who never did anything that ended up on MST3K but did direct the 1966 Batman movie (the one that gave us the immortal line some days you just can't get rid of a bomb!)  Rather more relevantly, it stars Caroline Kearney from The Thing that Couldn't Die and Lori Nelson from Revenge of the Creature and Untamed Youth, and the title, poster, and advertising all have very little to do with the film itself.  It's the sort of movie that feels MST3K-ish even if it doesn't have much specific MST3K cred, kind of like T-Bird Gang or The Galaxy Invader.

After his little brother Steve is killed in an automobile accident, chunky Jeff Northrup swears off racing and buries himself in his job at the garage.  His friends try to bring him out of his funk, to no avail – until certified asshole Bronc Talbot swaggers smugly to town and starts trying to ruin everybody's good time.  Bronc dares a guy called 'Flat Top' (played by Frank Gorshin, whom director Martinson would be seeing again ten years later in that more famous movie of his) into a game of chicken, repeatedly hits on Jeff's girlfriend Lisa, and runs over a mime on a bicycle.  Finally Jeff can't take it anymore.  It's time for him and Bronc to settle their differences like men, by pretending to beat the tar out of each other in time to foleyed-in punch noises!

This movie has the standard misleading poster, which promises us teenage terrorists tearing up the streets.  In fact, most of the young people in this movie are decidedly non-rebellious, happy to use the police-designated drag strip and stay out of trouble.  It's also got the standard misleading title.  There is a 'hot rod girl' in the film, in the form of Lisa, but she doesn't do much.  All that is pretty par for the course of 50's exploitation movies – but Hot Rod Girl also scores significant bullshit points on its back-of-box blurb.  Check this out.

I don't know what movie that's describing, but it's not the one I watched.  The first sentence is accurate enough – Steve's death makes Jeff quit racing.  The second starts to wander.  Bronc doesn't seem to have much of a goal in the story.  He's just a bully, making himself feel important by causing trouble for the people around him. He never tries to win any sort of title at the racetrack.  In fact, he's not remotely interested in the racetrack, which is all too civilized and well-regulated for him.  And the third sentence is a complete lie.  Bronc never steals Jeff's girl, though it's not for lack of trying.  Lisa despises him at first sight and that never changes.  The words hot rod against hot rod suggest that the movie will end in a climactic race, but it doesn't.  It ends with Jeff and Bronc having a fistfight, and then Bronc is dragged away by the cops.

I usually find things like hyperbolic titles and inappropriate posters fairly amusing, but for some reason this particular instance was just frustrating.  Maybe because I expected a little more honesty out of a modern re-release of the film.  Maybe because the blurb never even mentions the conflicts on which the movie actually turns: Bronc's bullying of Jeff's friends, and the death of the cyclist.  Or maybe it's just because the film the box describes sounds way more entertaining than the one on the disc inside.  Without that summary Hot Rod Girl would still be a lousy movie, but I probably wouldn't have found my first viewing nearly so disappointing if the blurb hadn't set up specific expectations that were destined to go unfulfilled.

Maybe that's the difference.  Titles and posters only set up vague expectations to dash.

Either way, you'd probaly assume that a film about car races would be fast-paced and action-packed, but Hot Rod Girl is slow and talky.  We open on a drag race montage in which we have very little idea what's going on because we haven't met any of the characters yet, but after that most of the movie consists of people standing or sitting around and talking, in scenes that have almost no blocking in them.  Jeff is in a funk and Bronc is a jerk, and everybody else crowds themselves around half a table in a soda shopso that the camera can see them all.  Imagine The Giant Gila Monster without the lizard or the reasonably well-developed character of Chase and you'd get something like Hot Rod Girl.  Even when there are racing or chase scenes, they're remarkably low on tension or excitement, largely because there are so many terrible back-projection shots.  I can imagine Joel and the bots making repeated jokes about how all the 'hot rodders' are really just riding one of those little cars outside the grocery store.

The movie has lots of cars in it and the sets look all right, but in order to afford those it had to skimp in a couple of places.  These are fairly well-chosen, but still noticeable.  The movie makes excuses for why its soda shop, run by a guy nicknamed 'Yo-Yo', is almost empty in any given scene, but they probably just didn't want to pay for any more extras than they had to.  Although public opinion about drag racing and its possibly lethal consequences is supposed to be running high, we only learn about this through the cops talking about it and a couple of cheesy newspaper headlines.  Even Ed Wood knew that a Concerned Citizen complaining to the chief of police is far more effective!  We never see the accident that killed Steve, only a pile of parts that kind of looks like a rolled car in the foreground of a shot.

So yeah, it's a cheap, boring movie that was advertised with lies because the people who distributed it were worried nobody would want to see it.  That's perfectly normal for things that can be considered MST3K fodder.  For all that, though, Hot Rod Girl is not entirely a hollow cash-grab of a film.  It does seem to have something to say about teenagers and racing, and I do think the writers were doing it on purpose.  What's more, the movie's theme almost makes the deceptive advertising work for it – this is a film about how the vast majority of teenagers are nowhere near as rebellious or self-destructive as the adults worry they are.

Among the main characters is detective Ben Merill, who acts as an advocate for the teenage racers.  He's the one who got a special bit of road set aside for them, and makes sure that the rules about racing are followed.  In some ways he's kind of a father figure to the whole group: we never actually see anybody's parents in the movie, and the part of  Merill seems to have been deliberately cast with an actor several inches taller than any of the 'teens'.  He is supportive but strict, wanting to make sure that everybody has fun while not getting hurt or breaking the law, and the local kids are perfectly happy with this arrangement.  They don't want to die or go to jail – why would they?  Detective Merill has arranged for them a safe, legal way to enjoy their hobby, and they're grateful to him.  We wouldn't have a movie at all if it weren't for the arrival of Bronc.

Bronc is the only character who comes anywhere near the idea of teenage terrorists tearing up the streets.  We never find out much about who he is or where he comes from, although it seems he's already on the run from the law.  He's not meant to be comprehensible or sympathetic, because people like him are not comprehensible or sympathetic when they occur in our real lives.  Where are those people?  They're not hard to find – they draw attention to themselves at every opportunity.  Bronc Talbot is that loud extremist who gives everybody else a bad name by proxy.  Pick any group you like, be it a sport, a fandom, or a major religion.  There's always some asshole who has to go and ruin it for everybody.

Almost nobody would have gotten in any trouble in this movie if it hadn't been for Bronc.  We still would have had the accident that killed Steve and resulted in Jeff losing his license and promising never to race again, but none of the fights, accidents, or deaths that follow.  There would never have been any threats of closing down the racing strip or Jeff being charged with manslaughter.  A lot of bad things happen in Hot Rod Girl and almost all of them are because Bronc felt the need to be a dick.  The other racers didn't like him even before he put their good time in danger, but people outside the group think of him as typical and therefore want the racetrack closed down.

Why do I think this was the purposeful 'message' of the movie? Well, consider who the audience is supposed to be.  The fifties were when 'teenagers' first became a recognized demographic, and films with teenage heroes doing things like racing cars were made for them. Teenagers don't want to see themselves portrayed as violent and stupid – they get enough of that from their parents and teachers. Most of them hate the Bronc in their group and wish he'd stop getting them all in trouble.  They don't identify with him.  They identify with sensible Lisa or with Flat-Top, goaded by peer pressure into doing something he didn't want to do.  That's the movie they want to see, so that's the movie somebody made – and then the idiots in the  marketing department got a hold of it.

With this as a theme, the title, poster, and description almost become a form of satire.  They're what you see if you take a brief glance at the movie rather than actually watching it – just as the teenagers appear to be a crowd of Broncs if you don't take the time to get to know them.  If that were intentional, it would be kind of brilliant.

The movie still sucks, though.

[kootenaygoon]

So,

The early morning sun prickled my eyelids, the heat painting the inside of my skull a throbbing crimson. Swallowing a few times, I attempted to struggle back to consciousness as someone carefully dragged their fingers through my wet hair. I forced one eyelid open, revealing a sight-line of milky clavicle leading down to a goose-pimpled breast in a sheer black triangle. Everything smelled like satsuma body lotion, and happiness, like some beautiful orchard with a gently babbling brook. The woman above me glanced down, noticing the movement, and gave me a bemused smile. It was Blayne, and I was sprawled in her lap on the edge of Niles’ campsite. One of my flip flops was missing.

I sat up, blinking away the dizziness. 

“And our intrepid journalist is with us once again!” Niles announced, as he manned a little tabletop burner ten feet away. All around him the girls were sleeping, some in sleeping bags and one in a hammock. “Blayne found you down by the river before you could take off swimming. She says you were talking to yourself.”

I looked back at her, from where I was laying between her open legs. “Really?”

She nodded. “When you took off from the dance floor I went looking for you, and you were down by the river pacing back and forth. You were really upset about something, and angry, so I brought you back here. You’ve been passed out for like four hours now.”

“Holy shit, what time is it?”

Niles stood up, walking his sizzling pan across the grass. “It’s just past 7 a.m. now. I’ve got scrambled eggs and avocado toast almost ready here. Just give me five minutes.”

My stomach immediately made its discomfort known the moment I stood up, and I staggered over to the picnic table half-doubled over. Blayne crossed to Niles’ trailer, ducking inside to grab something, while I tried to process my surroundings. How long had Blayne been holding me like that? Had I done anything stupid? It seemed more and more obvious that she was in love with me, which was a serious problem. Why couldn’t she have materialized during one of my university dry spells? Why did she have to show up when I already had a partner I was obsessed with, that I wanted to marry? Why would the universe play a cruel joke like that?

“Hey Blayne,” I said, palming her forearm as she passed. “Thanks for looking out for me, seriously.”

She smiled. “It was no big deal.”

“Well, I consider it a big deal. You’re a good friend,” I said, emphasizing the last word. “I mean that: I really value you.”

For a moment she looked startled, like she might cry. Then it passed. “I was just trying to do the right thing, especially after what you did for me. I knew you were a Shambhala virgin,” she said.

“And you were here to help me pop my cherry. I won’t forget it.”

She gave me a long hug, reaching up to wrap her arms around my neck, and I breathed in the satsuma again. We could hear Niles banging around with breakfast, and nearby campsites were beginning to blare their music. I felt really fucking tired, like the inside of my skull had been scraped clean with a spoon, and I longed to faceplant on a pillow. I wanted to find Paisley, spoon her, and retreat into unconsciousness. The longer I stood there with Blayne pressed against me, though, the more dangerous it became. I needed to get home quick. Once she released me, sinking down from her tippy toes, I went looking for my flip flop. Niles then reappeared, singing to himself.

“We’ll get a good meal in you, then send you back to your lady with a to-go coffee and everything,” said Niles. “We’re doing it right around here.”

After gorging myself and thanking Niles profusely, I hobbled off bare foot to find my RAV. Shambhala was a significantly different place during daylight, and at this time it was mostly deserted. I stopped at a row of Port-a-Potties, which had a sleepy line of campers waiting dejected for their turn. One guy was covered in body paint, splashes of green and orange and yellow, while another was wearing a Chewbacca costume he’d rolled down to the waist. When I reached the front of the line a woman came bounding out topless, intent on her next destination. Her chest was bathed in sparkles and she had two black hearts taped over her nipples. I held up my hand to stop her.

“Hey, sorry, I think you forgot your shirt in there,” I said, concerned.

She laughed. “Dude, I haven’t been wearing a shirt for days.”

As I hiked back to Paisley, I tried to take stock of my headspace. Most normal days I woke up in a black mood and had to chase away my thoughts with cannabis, but today felt different. My body trembled and vibrated, still processing the events of the night before, while my mind hurtled above me and took off flapping. There was something I’d learned here, something important, but I couldn’t figure out exactly what it was. I couldn’t believe that this was my job, that I’d been sent to this experience for free, that I was a real fucking journalist now. I was trying to teach myself to live with gratitude, and the fact was simple: I’d never felt more fulfilled by a job, more fortunate to play a certain role. If only I could get over my conflicts with the Carpenters, everything would be perfect. It was them, Cam and Sharon, who were ruining everything with their bush league bullshit. I wished they would get fired, or transferred, or somehow ejected from my life. 

It made me feel terrible to hate them, but I did.

Then Snapper appeared, riding a tiny pink bicycle. He stood up to pump his legs, weaving dramatically, as he pulled up alongside me. His pony tail was loose, so his hair hung around his shoulders, and he wasn’t wearing a shirt. I could smell him from six feet away.

“Hey man, I heard you went for a widdle walk-about down by the river last night,” he said. “Partying with my Dad?”

I started to walk faster. “He’s good company, your father.”

“Speak for yourself,” he said, spitting and slurring. “You have no idea how fucking embarrassing he was growing up.”

“Where’re you heading?” I asked, trying to figure out if I could ditch him or not. “You got a campsite out here?”

“Nah, I gotta head over to the harm reduction tent cuz my buddy’s having a nice sleep on a comfy womfy bed like the fucking princess he is.”

The next thing happened fast. My mouth was open to say something when the first ATV screamed to a stop only six inches from me, and still open as three more revved into position from all sides. Snapper saw what was happening, but couldn’t pedal properly, and nearly toppled over. Before he could regain his balance they had him by the arms, these red-shirted security dudes, and they were bending him over the back of one of the ATVs. One of them already had the Zap-straps ready. They swarmed Snapper as he thrashed, throwing himself around like a hooked Marlin. With his arms pinned behind his back he lowered his head and rammed straight into one of the security guards, clobbering him in the sternum and knocking him off balance.

“Fucking pigs, get the fuck off me!” he yelled, slobber flinging from his mouth. “Fuck you!”

Around me all sound dropped away, the world coming into sharp focus, until I was watching Snapper struggle on mute. The security guards body-slammed him into the dirt face-first. Blood ran from the side of his mouth as he tried to crawl away like a snake, as he donkey-kicked one of his opponents in the chin. It was a desperate, stupid, violent spectacle and I felt a realization washing over me: I understand Cam Carpenter. 

If Snapper represented the druggie subculture of Nelson, then I understand how someone like Cam could spend their whole life wanting to be the absolute opposite of that. Ever since I moved to the Kootenays I’d judged him for his business-centric attitude, for his archaic views on abortion, for his whole anti-hippy M.O. But what if I was wrong? What if that sub-culture was disgusting, and violent, and worthy of rejection? Maybe he wasn’t the real asshole; maybe it was me. I’d taken all my Christian baggage and right-wing prejudice and projected it all on to someone that was completely undeserving. Some small-town family man. Cam was just a father, like any other father, who wanted the best for his kids. If I could see him as human then maybe I wouldn’t have to hate him anymore.

I was still pondering all of this when the ATVs departed, taking Snapper with them. My heart was thrumming intensely, and for a moment I couldn’t move. It must’ve taken a minute, maybe less, for them to swoop in and grab him. What was that about, even?

“Hey dude,” I asked one of them. “Why did they arrest that guy? Did he do something wrong?”

He glanced at me, tired. “No wrist band. And I’d bet good money that’s not actually his bicycle.”

Shaking my head, I continued my journey back to Paisley. I didn’t know how much more Shambhala I could take. I’d been on the grounds for just over 12 hours, but it felt like I’d been away for weeks. I thought about the tidy stash of joints in the glove compartment, about her slumbering away peacefully in the back. Pretty soon we’d be home to Muppet and Buster. The sun was starting to bake my shoulders, I was covered in grime, and I desperately needed some water. I took another slug of Niles’ coffee, and laughed a little to myself.

Well, that was something. 

The Kootenay Goon

[thesylvalining]

Despite the fact I prefer volcanic to arctic, the air in Faenza these days is inescapably infernal. Today a mischievous humidity also creeps about so thick and damp it seems an unruly throng of teenage boys holds a bucket above, dripping hot droplets on passersby. But I still have memories of the Appennini outside Modena where recently I went for a mountain-bike powered sojourn and the air was cool as a cucumber — er, cetriolo.

Go Lisa’s bike, go! Dai!

The first morning, leaving with my friend — let’s call him Luigi — somehow became comically difficult. Even exiting his parents’ house was its own unique struggle — it was one of those mornings where both of our heads may have fallen off if they weren’t connected to our necks. We forgot forks, then found them again, victoriously managed to fit two bikes and a surprising amount of camping gear inside the petite car, made it to the store and managed to tackle dinner and aperitivo but spaced lunch (until our stomachs started growling). We made a u-turn and hit another store for sandwiches. On the way, a wasp launched into the window, somersaulted off Luigi’s arm, wedged itself between my shoulder and the seat and bit me like a mad, miniature Dracula. By the time we applied After Bite, wrangled taleggio e proscuitto panine, drove to the trailhead, unpacked the mess that was the car, reassembled bikes and repacked the car, we’d cleared the noon hour like an Olympic hurdling champion.

To think we almost tried to ride to a rifugio with all this crap…

During those days, my friend and I circled the stomping grounds of his youth on our bikes like happy vultures. For him some of the terrain was familiar, only he viewed it now (excited, endearingly like a kid on Christmas morning) from the seat of his new red steed; for me, it was all new and fantastic.

Mornings weren’t early ones. Nights were spent, after a cold but free shower at otherwise buttoned up Rifugio Capanna Tassoni, nibbling cheese and big green olives and sipping Sangiovese at a picnic table, waiting for tuna pasta to come together on dueling stoves. Of course, we forgot a couple of key ingredients: oil and salt, but — Bear Grylls style — instead used oil from the tuna can and olive juice. Later, with stars and fireflies as our audience, he played guitar and I sang and squinted at lyrics of old partisan songs emanating from the worn-in strings. The nights, it must be said, were veritably cool and — I’m sure to never live this one down — I forgot one important article. Yes, Luigi, I (the mountain “expert”) departed for the mountains without a jacket.

Monte Cimone, here we come…

Maps are neat…

Colazione (breakfast) 🙂

Three days of perfect weather allowed for daily two-wheeled journeys of about 20 kilometers (13 miles) each with 700-900 (2296-2956 feet) meters of climbing. We discovered (or rediscovered) cool forests and mountaintops with curving single-track spines, rocks jutting from their craniums like stubborn chins and views to either side stretching farther than our imaginations. And we perfected the art sweating very profusely. If there suddenly had been a lakeside photo shoot one or both of us — gleaming in the mountain sunlight — would’ve been hired on the spot.

Hike-a-bike section complete!

We devoured sandwiches on ridge tops, presiding over the expansive views like king and queen of a relatively wild kingdom. Or on the patio of Rifugio Lago del Scaffaiolo, where the buttery sun warmed the nearby lake sharing the same name and melted the cheese on our sandwiches, along with any cares lingering in the corners of our sleepy eyes. Or we dined at splintered ski area porches where old couples tanned and bright yellow Snow Rabbits waited patiently for winter’s white blanket.

Mountain top lunch spot 🙂

Lago del Scaffaiolo.

Snow Rabbit!!! (aka Snow Bunny?? :))

For dessert, we destroyed a package of Haribo Happy Cola, one of my favorite pedaling pleasures. And in our downtime, I taught Luigi the questionable virtues of “That’s what she said” jokes (“she said that!”) and he taught me the names of (fake?) constellations. On rides, I took way too many pictures of everything per usual and he shot lovely videos of flowers, mountain scenery and me attempting to mountain bike (and inevitably dismounting too early for what he had in mind :)).

“Not much biking up there but the view is nice,” said the only other three mountain bikers we saw.

On the road to Monte Cimone.

Same same.

Once upon a time I truly loved to mountain bike; I arrived in Colorado in 2005 with only a duffel bag and a suitably decent navy blue and white Giant. Later that year, I broke my collarbone aboard (or rather, Supermanning off of) the Giant in spectacular, go-big-or-go-home fashion: three fractures and surgery. Afterwards, I was timid on a mountain bike and never quite recaptured the reckless joy 20-year-old Sylva found.

But — like so many other facets of life now — everything is coming back around. The treasure map led to Italy and I’ve unearthed all sorts of gems, including mountain biking! On this trip, miraculously (for me at least), we managed to kick some technical butt. The trail scored some goals too… I fell off Lisa’s trusty little Trek more times than I can count, often in the inevitable slow motion fashion that allows enough time for: I think I’m falling? Yep, I’m falling. Oh, look, blueberry bushes…

Getting to the ridge on the first day.

Cascate (waterfall) del Dardagna.

Another notable dismount occurred in the woods, when I somehow managed to stick to my bike like After Bite to a wasp sting. A sharp, steep corner started it all; according to Luigi my front wheel popped out and he thought, “I’ll get off my bike and help her.” But somehow, I stayed astride, almost saved it, then slid through a shortcut between two innocent bystanders/trees. I hooked one slim trunk with my left arm, swinging around it (still astride my bike) like a pole dancer. At this point, Luigi thought, “I should get my camera out and film this…” Turns out he’s quite the little film-maker, but my bicycle dance move remains committed to memory alone…

Look! A meowntain!

By adventure’s end, I had a pedal bite on the back of my right leg that would put a pit bull’s to shame and so many unaccounted for bruises I’m not sure if I won or the mountain bike did. All I know is the good vibes are taking the trophy. Probably because I always feel most at home in the outdoors. And with no home at all right now I was instantly content in the Appennini, even laying on a bike grease-stained sheet observing butterflies and a leaf blowing in the wind that I felt oddly connected to. Or awakening in the wee hours to a lingering, eerie call (which Luigi’s bro correctly thought was an owl). I fell in love with the proud peaks outside Fanano, the radio-tower crowned Mt. Cimone (at 2165 meters or 7100 feet, the tallest point in the northern Appennini) and — as a word nerd — my favorite alpine feature, the Libro Aperto (or Open Book).

Greenery!

On the eve of our return to normal life, we returned to Luigi’s parents’ house, just high enough on a breezy hill to dry off our freshly washed mountain bikes. If we turned around and shaded our eyes, we could spot the mountains in which we’d fallen off our bikes quite recently. That evening, his delightful family put on a barbecue (perfectly executed even without my dad’s jet-powered Man Grill), replete with local sparkling wine and flavorful grilled local cheese and Romagnolo sausage. I was so tired my Italian was even more pathetic than usual — I think I actually said “I like horse” to his brother’s lovely wife, who owns four horses. We retired relatively early, for Italian standards, especially since we had to catch a train eons before the lazy hour at which we’d risen in previous days…

Table set by the cutest mom in the land…

Late night guitar playing with full bellies…

Post-Apenninos, I’ve traded mountains and forests for beaches and rivers and an open book for an open computer; yesterday, I turned in my article for the Italian magazine, Ossigeno. I also started tutoring the bright little munchkins downstairs in English. And Lisa returned from more tour leader adventures, after which, attached at the hip, we lived like rockstars for a few days (kicked off by a cameo from her hilariously awesome air traffic controller friend Nico). More on our wayward, water-themed escapades on the next Sylva Lining…

Some of the prettiest faces this side of the Adriatic…

Nico, Lisa and Sylva enjoying Boca Barranca… again…

Into the (Italian) Wild Despite the fact I prefer volcanic to arctic, the air in Faenza these days is inescapably infernal.