Digging in the archives for treasure...
Apr. 22nd, 2014 01:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
asphaltcowgrrlSince I was in the mood to write, but not even slightly interested in my current project, I began poking into the depths of my WIP folder. I'm always amazed at how many things I've either started and never finished or taken notes on and never started. Some of these things will hang around for a year or more and then suddenly, whammo! Inspiration strikes and I'm good.
And other times, they languish for a very, very long time and never get the respect they deserve. Sometimes I lose interest, and sometimes, well, the reasons speak for themselves. Kinda like this one that I found today, in a folder labeled 'That Depressing One'. I started working on it in September 2013 and managed about a thousand words and stopped. The prompt was this: Do you ever wish you were someone else?
--
“Do you ever wish you were someone else,” he asked me, setting the half-emptied glass of Scotch before himself.
I looked at him curiously. Wes was the most confident and emotionally secure person I had ever known. How could he have such insecurity hiding within him? I looked down at my hands for a moment, watching the way they idly tapped the scarred, wooden bar top beneath them. “Yeah man, I sure do. Mostly when I was younger, not so much now.”
“But there are occasions?” He looked away, across the room, focusing on a pretty redhead in a low-cut dress momentarily before bringing his gaze back to mine.
“Yeah, of course there are still ‘occasions’. There are days when I wake up hating myself, although,” and here I laughed for effect, “there are many more where I wake up in love with myself.”
My joke had had the desired result. He chuckled low in his chest before sighing and casting his gaze downward again. I wish I knew what he thought he saw in that amber liquid. His hopes, his dreams, his future?
“Good.” He lifted the Scotch to his lips, knocking back the last inch of alcohol still within in the glass. “It makes me feel one hell of a lot more normal to know that even someone as loved as you are has days like this.”
I watch as an undetermined emotion crosses his face. He lifts his sultry blue eyes to the waitress and with a smile and a tilt of his glass, a refill arrives. When it arrives, he lifts it to his mouth and drinks deeply, I begin to worry because this is his third tonight. That in itself is very un-Wes-like.
“Hey man, don’t you think that’s more than enough?” I reach out and grasp his wrist with my hand, hoping to dissuade him from drinking any more.
The sadness behind his blue eyes was my undoing. I took the Scotch from his grip and replaced the glass with my own hand. I gripped his fingers tightly, reassuring him that he was welcome here, with me. There was safety with me, his partner, his friend.
“It’ll never be enough, Travis,” he said to me, golden lashes fluttering against his pale skin. “I’d think you’d have noticed that by now.”
I squeezed his hand again, tighter, more firmly, until he lifted his gaze and met his blue eyes against mine. “Never enough for who? Me? The captain? The world? Dude, one of these days you’re going to have to realize you don’t have to live up to anyone’s expectations of you other than your own.”
I must’ve touched a nerve in there somewhere because, for the first time since I’d taken his hand in mine, he squeezed back. Almost unnoticeable at first, but then stronger. “I think you might be right. Call me a cab?” He tilted his head to the side, waiting. He knew me all too well.
“You’re a cab,” I joked, playing into the role he always saw me in, the joker, the miscreant, the loose cannon. It raised a flicker of a smile on his lips, enough to assure me he was going to be okay. Maybe not by morning, but soon. It would have to do for now.
Wes stood and reached for his wallet. He threw a couple bills onto the bar and smiled weakly. “I knew I could count on you to be you.”
I wasn’t sure how to take that at first, and then he tossed me a playful wink that was more alcohol than attraction, but it had its desired effect. I laughed, loudly, and stood, smiling back at him. I crushed Wes to my chest in a hearty embrace I’d later blame on the alcohol. He didn’t need to know – not now, nor ever – that it was more than that. Heaven only knew he had more on his plate right now than anyone, he didn’t need this added to it all.
Even so, I couldn’t help but whisper in his ear, “Just FYI, you’ve always been more than enough for me, baby. Always just what I need.” I brushed my lips against his cheek, a brotherly kiss that held more than I could say.
He pulled out of my arms slowly, his smile crooked and uncertain. “I see a possible ride out front, waiting. I need to go.”
I nodded in agreement, walking him to the cab that waited in front of the bar for men just like him. I promised to help him get his car in the morning and handed him gently into the back seat. Wes waved at me as I closed the door on him. I watched as the cab pulled away, his beautiful cheek pressed against the dirty glass of the window.
Knowing that tomorrow he’d return to his stoic, unrelenting self, I took a deep breath and held the memory tight. It wasn’t how I wanted to think of him, but the only times he let me hold him were on nights like tonight. Those moments when the world overwhelmed him and his façade cracked, showing the frightened boy underneath. They were the rare times that he turned to me, first, looking for answers somewhere between my smart mouth and his Scotch. I wonder if he ever found what he was looking for. I was positive that I wasn’t ever going to know.
--
So yeah, that happened. :)
And other times, they languish for a very, very long time and never get the respect they deserve. Sometimes I lose interest, and sometimes, well, the reasons speak for themselves. Kinda like this one that I found today, in a folder labeled 'That Depressing One'. I started working on it in September 2013 and managed about a thousand words and stopped. The prompt was this: Do you ever wish you were someone else?
--
“Do you ever wish you were someone else,” he asked me, setting the half-emptied glass of Scotch before himself.
I looked at him curiously. Wes was the most confident and emotionally secure person I had ever known. How could he have such insecurity hiding within him? I looked down at my hands for a moment, watching the way they idly tapped the scarred, wooden bar top beneath them. “Yeah man, I sure do. Mostly when I was younger, not so much now.”
“But there are occasions?” He looked away, across the room, focusing on a pretty redhead in a low-cut dress momentarily before bringing his gaze back to mine.
“Yeah, of course there are still ‘occasions’. There are days when I wake up hating myself, although,” and here I laughed for effect, “there are many more where I wake up in love with myself.”
My joke had had the desired result. He chuckled low in his chest before sighing and casting his gaze downward again. I wish I knew what he thought he saw in that amber liquid. His hopes, his dreams, his future?
“Good.” He lifted the Scotch to his lips, knocking back the last inch of alcohol still within in the glass. “It makes me feel one hell of a lot more normal to know that even someone as loved as you are has days like this.”
I watch as an undetermined emotion crosses his face. He lifts his sultry blue eyes to the waitress and with a smile and a tilt of his glass, a refill arrives. When it arrives, he lifts it to his mouth and drinks deeply, I begin to worry because this is his third tonight. That in itself is very un-Wes-like.
“Hey man, don’t you think that’s more than enough?” I reach out and grasp his wrist with my hand, hoping to dissuade him from drinking any more.
The sadness behind his blue eyes was my undoing. I took the Scotch from his grip and replaced the glass with my own hand. I gripped his fingers tightly, reassuring him that he was welcome here, with me. There was safety with me, his partner, his friend.
“It’ll never be enough, Travis,” he said to me, golden lashes fluttering against his pale skin. “I’d think you’d have noticed that by now.”
I squeezed his hand again, tighter, more firmly, until he lifted his gaze and met his blue eyes against mine. “Never enough for who? Me? The captain? The world? Dude, one of these days you’re going to have to realize you don’t have to live up to anyone’s expectations of you other than your own.”
I must’ve touched a nerve in there somewhere because, for the first time since I’d taken his hand in mine, he squeezed back. Almost unnoticeable at first, but then stronger. “I think you might be right. Call me a cab?” He tilted his head to the side, waiting. He knew me all too well.
“You’re a cab,” I joked, playing into the role he always saw me in, the joker, the miscreant, the loose cannon. It raised a flicker of a smile on his lips, enough to assure me he was going to be okay. Maybe not by morning, but soon. It would have to do for now.
Wes stood and reached for his wallet. He threw a couple bills onto the bar and smiled weakly. “I knew I could count on you to be you.”
I wasn’t sure how to take that at first, and then he tossed me a playful wink that was more alcohol than attraction, but it had its desired effect. I laughed, loudly, and stood, smiling back at him. I crushed Wes to my chest in a hearty embrace I’d later blame on the alcohol. He didn’t need to know – not now, nor ever – that it was more than that. Heaven only knew he had more on his plate right now than anyone, he didn’t need this added to it all.
Even so, I couldn’t help but whisper in his ear, “Just FYI, you’ve always been more than enough for me, baby. Always just what I need.” I brushed my lips against his cheek, a brotherly kiss that held more than I could say.
He pulled out of my arms slowly, his smile crooked and uncertain. “I see a possible ride out front, waiting. I need to go.”
I nodded in agreement, walking him to the cab that waited in front of the bar for men just like him. I promised to help him get his car in the morning and handed him gently into the back seat. Wes waved at me as I closed the door on him. I watched as the cab pulled away, his beautiful cheek pressed against the dirty glass of the window.
Knowing that tomorrow he’d return to his stoic, unrelenting self, I took a deep breath and held the memory tight. It wasn’t how I wanted to think of him, but the only times he let me hold him were on nights like tonight. Those moments when the world overwhelmed him and his façade cracked, showing the frightened boy underneath. They were the rare times that he turned to me, first, looking for answers somewhere between my smart mouth and his Scotch. I wonder if he ever found what he was looking for. I was positive that I wasn’t ever going to know.
--
So yeah, that happened. :)
