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Post by pentagrandma on Dec 30, 2021 16:13:47 GMT -5
[For Kyle]
Jess had woken late into the afternoon. He’d laid out all night, and he’d sure enough felt it in the pounding of his head; the result of which could have only come from a bout of real heavy drinking. Still, he knew he’d be right as rain with a bit of fresh air and some hair of the dog. He always did make a swift recovery—even when he hadn’t seen the moon for a while.
Times like these, when his hangover was loud enough to remind him of his days as your regular, run-of-the-mill country boy, he’d sometimes get a whiff of nostalgia. He’d think about the days when he and Boone would go down to the lake in a fit of boredom, and skip rocks. He’d think of how they’d hedge bets and trade taunts. How they’d get into their cups and get all tangled up. Simpler times, but he’d wager he wouldn’t go back given the chance—even if he did miss his old friend now and again. He liked the sorts of things he got into now. Liked the thrill of it all. Wished Boone'd had the gumption to come along with him.
This day, he found—after donning the same time-worn and muted-hued flannel from the night before, blue jeans, and his trusty brown leather jacket—wasn’t a good one for rock-skipping. He’d stepped outside to find it to be too-windy and too-misty, but he wound his way through the woods all the same. Just as well that he hadn’t spent any time on rearranging the bed-rumpled mess of his hair; left, instead, to flop charmingly over his brow. It wouldn’t have survived the trip, anyhow.
Eventually, he stumbled upon the Mirror Basin, with a half-drank handle of Jim Beam hanging from apathetic fingertips; having sacrificed only one humidity-squandered cigarette. He found himself a dry patch beneath a tree to sit, and lit up another beneath the safety of that shelter—hunkered down and indolently slumped against its supporting trunk. With that smoke dangled untended from his mouth, collecting a long pillar of ash, he slipped into some kind of waking coma; eyes dull and glossed over in their unfocused stare out toward the water.
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Post by Tyler on Jan 1, 2022 23:52:57 GMT -5
Kyle had only been in the big city for a few weeks, the thrill of the deafening sights and sounds still casting their spell over the Iowa farm boy. Kyle had been a dreamer his whole life, and Dusk was his Oz. Unlike Dorothy, he had no Toto to relate it all to, and also unlike Dorothy, he didn't ever want to go home. There wasn't a home to go back to at this point. His mom talked about visiting one day, but he kept putting her off. No need to invite the apathetic reminder of his past to his dorm room. She hadn't done him the worst, but she'd let it happen. Bitch. He didn't need her. He didn't need anyone.
All he needed was ciagratess, and maybe his work. No. He definitely needed his work. Poetry was so not cool, but it spoke to something in him that even boys, bourbon and cigs couldn't. That's why he'd braved the misty weather of Mirror Basin. He felt the cool, almost inhospitable, weather was "writer's weather." He thought of people like Dickens in smog filled London, or Vonnegutt gaining his inspiration from shit holes like the ruins of Dresden. Those dudes were stone cold bad asses, and he wanted to be one just like them. In lieu of city bombings and industrial smog, he'd have to settle for shitty December weather.
Kyle's hair was meticulously done, even in this weather. His Farrah Fawcett hair almost doubled the size of his head, and was currently filled with enough hairspray to damage the ozone. He wore a simple pair of skinny jeans ripped at both knees, and a blue flannel all his own. Unlike Jesse's cool leather jacket, Kyle wore a beat up, hamdydown windbreaker. Fingerless gloves were more for show than warmth. The only element of clothing that looked personal or special, was a red, knitted scar around his neck. It was obviously homemade, and cherished.
Originally, he'd tried to skip rocks, same as Jesse's plan, but he found it was a lot harder than he imagined. In the end, he'd chosen a tree too, plopping down to write. He began to pen a few poems that went nowhere.
Mirror Mirror,
why do you hide your reflection?
Why do you hide in the...
"Crap," he concluded, tearing out the paper.
Stones skipping down the freeway of...
"CRAP," he repeated, this one not even getting a line out before he realized it was a false start. He sighed, pulling his knees to his chest. His jeans were poor protection from the cold due to their rips. His skin, while normally very pale, was a crisp red due to the sting of the lake's chill.
It was around this time, Kyle's attention was diverted to Jesse. His mouth struggled to stay closed as he looked over the single cutest guy he'd ever remembered seeing in his whole life! This level of hyperbole was typical of him, but he wouldn't be convinced of that in this moment. In this moment, there was only this strange dude. Kyle starred from his own tree, and tried to think of any excuse to go over and disturb this obviously deep and really cool guy. Finally, he knew his opening.
He moved over, trying his best to look nonchalant and totally cool. He pulled out his fresh pack of cigarettes, and placed one in his mouth, conveniently forgetting he had a lighter in his jacket.
"Trade a cig for a light," he offered sheepishly, his country accent creeping into his words. He'd tried so hard to stamp it out, but as his nerves increased, the twang started to take over. He wasn't sure if she should smile or scowl, and so awkwardly split his face in two, trying to manage both. The effect was a silly, but endearing little grin.
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Post by pentagrandma on Jan 5, 2022 22:12:26 GMT -5
Could be that Jesse—way back in the depths of his mind, dug deep into what little awareness he had at that moment—had made some subconscious note of Kyle’s presence. It wasn’t until he’d approached and spoken, however, that our Jess snapped out of his reverie and paid him any mind. The dullness within his gaze was driven away as he refocused on his surroundings; lifted listlessly upon the questioning fellow with a lazy turn and subtle uptilt of his head. That collected pillar of ash fell from the cigarette that hung abandoned from his lips, to land on the front of his jacket. That, too, he’d paid no mind.
He spent a quiet moment in passive scrutiny. Perhaps he was sizing up the poor kid; or, perhaps, determining whether or not he was old enough to smoke. Not that it mattered any, where Jess was concerned.
With a tawdry sniff, he plucked the depleted butt from his mouth and flicked it carelessly into the lake. He shifted, then— to delve a hand into a denim pocket and pull out a classic Zippo lighter. This, he offered to Kyle on an open palm. When, eventually, his southern-honeyed words fell from his mouth, his voice was thick and rasped with misuse.
“Keep your smoke,” he said. “… I got my own.”
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Post by Tyler on Jan 5, 2022 22:47:33 GMT -5
Kyle looked over Jesse as the ash hit is shirt. What. A. Badass. Kyle leaned down slowly, placing the cigarette between his lips and pulling that first, all important, drag as Jesse's fire hit the end of the stick. Within moments, his body was warmed by the hit of acrid smoke in his lungs. To be warm in a cold place was a comfort, and in Kyle's naive eyes Jesse had warmed him up.
As Jesse stared him over, Kyle's brain lit up with possibilities as to what he could be thinking. Did he think he was lame? Hot? Cool? Perhaps, he was only thinking that Kyle was too young for a cigarette. He wasn't of course, but it was common for people to think so. No, not this guy. He was so obviously a deep thinker. Kyle could only wonder about what was happening in Jesse's mind.
"Cool bro," Kyle fumbled out, the second work not sounding as if it was in his normal vocabulary. He watched as Jesse flicked the butt of his cigarette into the lake, and while normally Kyle would never do such a thing, he resolved to the same with his when he finished smoking.
"Thanks for the light," he said, unsure if there was anything else to be said or not. He ended up sitting on another corner of Jesse's tree, their backs separated by the trunk. He wanted to say more, but had no idea what. Instead, he pulled out his notebook and started to write again.
A smoke for a light,
Better than an endless fight,
A simple trade of fire for smoke,
That ends upon the final toke.
Was this their beginning,
Or merely the beginning of the their end?
Was the offering a twinning,
Or simply the act of a budding friend?
Kyle scribbled on, and blew smoke rings out his mouth in-between stanzas. He wondered if Jesse would just get up and leave, and hoped he wouldn't.
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Post by pentagrandma on Jan 8, 2022 16:49:43 GMT -5
The lights were off in Jesse’s mind; weren’t anyone home. He closed the hinged lid of his light with a loud snap, tucking it away in his jacket pocket thereafter. Kyle’s words of gratitude were met with little more than a nod—but at least our boy acknowledged them.
He didn’t mind any that Kyle had moved to transversely share his shade. The kid was harmless, and Jess had figured him to be human. In his current state, Jesse wouldn’t hit a lick at a snake, anyhow. It took time for him to even muster up the energy to unscrew the cap from his near-forgotten handle; to guzzle down a hefty measure of that liquid gold with an audible slosh. He wasn’t goin’ anywhere. Not yet.
With his wolf sense, he could hear the scratching of Kyle’s pen against his notepad. He listened for a while—tired focus still cast out toward the water—before eventually piping up with a dim-witted query of, “You writin’ out bible verses?”
... Nice.
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Post by Tyler on Jan 9, 2022 1:05:40 GMT -5
Kyle’s face slanted to the left as Jesse asked if he was writing the word of the good lord. Kyle could evoke a biblical theme or two in his task as a wordsmith, but actual Christianity was not his jam. He chucked a little, blowing another smoke ring before replying softy, “just a poem.”
He wanted to continue writing. He wanted to tell Jesse he had the sexiest mouthhe’d ever seen in his life. But he knew that was no good. Most guys like Kyle didn’t ask about Bible verses in his experience. Why were the straight ones always so cute?
He was paralyzed now. He’d blurted out he was writing a poem! How weird would he think that was? He stared open mouthed for a moment, only his cigarette reminding him to close his trap!
Then, he had an idea; a way to change the subject without looking like a total dweeb.
“Hey, could I have a small swig of that,” he said pointing to the handle. He didn’t drink very much, but Jesse just had, and he figured maybe he liked a guy who threw back a little whiskey. Kyle finished his cigarette, tossing it in the lake like the wolf had before him.
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Post by pentagrandma on Jan 13, 2022 21:08:18 GMT -5
Jess didn’t know a lick about poetry. He might’ve asked to read it if he thought he could make any sense of it. He knew better, though. Come Kyle’s request for a swig, Jesse puffed out a meager laugh-- giving voice, thereafter, to his previously unspoken ‘concerns’ regarding the kid’s age.
“You even old enough to drink it?” He asked. Even still, he placed the open jug down on the roots between them; opting to save his efforts, rather than return its cap. Not very Christian of him, to enable underage drinking.
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