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 Posted: Wed Jun 22, 2016 9:38 pm
Lakeside Lingering
(The first swim of summer) Of all the things in the world that Oliver loved, living so close to a lake had to be near the top of the list. He loved being able to walk five minutes from his front door, down a nice woodland path, and be able to lounge with ease during the summer months. It was also a favorite spot for his family to gather for barbecues, or just to take advantage of the fact that they had a relative near such a beautiful property. He liked to think it was the foremost reasoning, but with his family, he could never be sure.
He'd spent most of the day outside already, tending to the garden and reading on the deck, but closer to the middle of the afternoon the temperature had reached a scorching ninety degrees. If it had been ten degrees less he would've gone inside and hopped in the shower, but the sight of his swimsuit hanging on the clothesline quickly changed his mind. He suited up, packed himself a snack of chips and iced tea, and hustled to the lake.
Instead of taking the time to assemble a space for his things as he usually did, he simply kicked his sandals off and dove straight into the water. He swam beneath the water and headed toward the opposite side of the lake before resurfacing with a heaving breath. The water was pretty much perfect, if not a bit chilly in the deeper, darker parts of the water, but that was to be expected. It felt pretty damn incredible though after all the time he'd spent tilling and sitting in the sun, and he could already feel his body relaxing. He took a breath and leaned into a back float.
The way the sky looked from where he was looked picturesque. All of the trees that surrounded the lake made a some-what circular line that left you feeling like you were peering into a tunnel to some blue-white wonderland. Or was it more like an upside-down teacup, with the trees and foliage representing the rim and the sky the tea that the Earth was supposed to drink? He smirked to himself, finding that sort of visualization humorous, and took a breath in order to sink beneath the water again.
He couldn't see very much down here because he'd forgotten his goggles, but what he could see was still just as fascinating. Blooms of algae, bits of wood stuck to the bottom, even old toys that must've been left behind by children ages before he had moved in... It was like something out of a children's story book. What was even better was the fact that he knew he could reach the bottom and could easily pull these things up to look at them. However, he rarely ever did, just to keep the magic of the scene below the surface intact. He wiggled his way up, took another breath, dove back down, and repeated the process a few times.
Then, something caught his attention. It was shiny, not terribly so, but just enough of a glint to make him look twice. He dove deeper, rose up, and dived down enough to free it from the muck of the lake bottom and brought it up to the light. All it took was a wipe or two from his hand to see what it was.
"... How did this get here?" He muttered, tracing his hands along the muddy plastic frame. The picture inside of it had somehow stood up against water damage, meaning that it had found it's way to the bottom fairly recently. However, the smiling faces lined up in the photo itself had been from some time ago, making it hard for him to figure out a reason why it was here. His mouth twisted a bit in thought before he swam back over to the shore and sat down so that only his feet were left in the water. There, he spent some time mulling over the photo and trying to work out an answer.
Until his cell phone started ringing.
"Ah, jeez!" He gasped, rushing to where he'd dropped his things to grab his phone. "Hello? ...Devin! Yeah, I'm just at the lake, I'll be there in five minutes! Your father should be-Oh, did he get up? I didn't hear him, must've been absorbed in my book. ...Okay, I'll see you in a bit!"
He hung up the phone and grabbed his things, but gave himself another moment or two to study the picture frame. Then, he wrapped his towel around his waist and made his way back home.
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Posted: Sun Jul 17, 2016 8:17 pm
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Posted: Tue Aug 09, 2016 12:49 pm
Long Time Gone
(But not yet forgotten) It usually started like this. Pink clouds, a sunset, a beach, sixteen years ago. This dream hadn't happened for a while, but in some ways, he missed it. What caused it to come back after three years away was up in the air. It could have been stress, perhaps the effects of withdrawal from his habit, or how long he studied that picture frame.
Regardless of reason, he stood in this familiar world, his old brown windbreaker open and his feet wet in the waters of a cove, and watched the horizon shimmer before him. It felt breezy, warm, and inviting. But he knew better. The sting of loss still waved through the air, like lavender on a morning breeze. He'd been through this before, time and time again, and he knew what was coming. He was here for a reason, waiting for them to appear.
And as soon as they did, he'd be running. Begging, pleading. He'd make up reasons why they could still work things out. How he could make it up to them. How he would quit smoking, wouldn't move back to Barton town, and wouldn't try to please his parents. He'd fall to his knees, scramble along, and get caught in the waves as they drifted away. Together, arm in arm, without him. He'd sputter and sob, cough and gag, and fall helplessly into the darkness until he woke up in a cold sweat at three in the morning.
But, until then. He'd wait. Tears already flowing, staring straight ahead, and watch their boat approach. He wouldn't try to wake himself up, he wouldn't allow himself to lucid dream. He'd face the truth of it all, as he always did, and let it leave him raw.
Like an eroded shore.
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Posted: Tue Aug 09, 2016 12:51 pm
Just Keep Swimming
(Even if it hurts, there are some things you just have to do) The humidity of late July and August settled into Barton like a fog and made it a lot harder for Oliver to want to leave the house. A ten minute walk down the lane felt like a sauna, and the blond just wasn't keen on dealing with it. However, lingering inside for so long only allowed his mind to turn further down memory lane, especially with the resurgence of a recurring nightmare he thought he'd gotten rid of. It only felt right to allow himself to, metaphorically, dip his toes into the pools of the past he'd left behind, and felt drawn to the boxes he'd shoved into the attic with forever in mind.
While the attic fan spun above him, the sound of it's blades the only thing keeping him tied to reality, Oliver plunged into the depths of his youth. There were some things he only held for a second at most, like textbooks and club pins, but as the digging wore on, a pile of pictures and letters formed at his sides. He gave each letter his breath and each photo his attention, and even went as far as to wipe furiously at smudges on faces he couldn't quite see.
Then, upon opening the last box, all of that came to a halt.
He hesitated, at first stunned, and shook his head in disbelief. His hands rose, cautious and unsteady, and withdrew a folded plaid shirt from the box. Though it had seen better years, it still had it's charm and vibrancy from when he was young, but when he raised it to his nose and breathed in... He couldn't hold back his tears anymore.
It reeked of cigarette smoke.
But he remembered something sweeter that lingered there before he'd started that habit. Far before his world and dreams came crashing down. Red hair, tan skin, arms that he'd felt safe in so many nights! There had to be one article of clothing left in here that still had that scent!
He emptied the box onto the floor and gave everything a sniff, but couldn't find one thing that didn't smell like smoke. He knelt, among the memories he'd thrown about, and curled forward into himself. Everything was gone. Up in smoke, just like the years he'd spent back then. There wasn't a single shred of them left for him to hold on to. He'd let himself wander, blindly, back into nostalgia like it were going to be therapy! Why was he such a stupid, emotional child? Why couldn't he let all of this go? None of this stuff was going to help him, it only made him feel worse!
And throwing all of this into the lake wasn't going to do him any good, either.
He breathed, uncoiled himself from his ball, and forced himself to shove everything back into the boxes. He didn't care where they went or how they fit, he wanted everything gone just as quickly as he'd found it. Then, once everything was out of sight, he kicked the boxes as far back into the attic as he could get them and stomped downstairs.
He had to get away. Away from this house, away from himself, and away from the past. There was no good in keeping himself here, tired, sweating, and crying. The sooner he could get his swimming trunks on and a thermos of ice tea made, the better.
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Posted: Wed Aug 31, 2016 9:02 pm
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Posted: Thu Sep 08, 2016 5:36 pm
Over The Hill
(Oliver turns 40, but his journey is only just beginning) Eleven am, Thursday morning. Oliver had decided the night before that he would be sleeping in after binge watching his favorite old television show, Mystery On White Water, until three in the morning. The professor was snuggled up under his covers, comfortably dreaming, with the window wide open beside to let the cool breeze flow. Though he wasn't quite awake yet, he could feel the sudden drop in temperature well enough, and smiled at the thought of the Autumn weather soon to come. He rolled onto his side, his blankets becoming like a cocoon, and let out a contented sigh. "OLIVER! ARE YOU ALIVE UP THERE?"Thatcher, of course. Oliver's eyes peeled open like the outside of a dry orange and blinked. If anyone were able to ruin his lazy morning, it would be Thatcher. He grunted, pushing himself into a half seated position and took a deep breath.
"Yeah!" He replied, shaking his head. "Ugh... Be down in a minute! ... And here I thought I'd be sleeping in. No, no, of course not. You have siblings, Oliver..."
He pulled himself to the side of his bed and rolled his shoulders, before pushing himself to his feet and shuffling across the floor. However, as he slipped his robe on and ran a hand through his hair, he couldn't help but feel as though he'd forgotten something. He paused, shrugged, and padded his way down the stairs.
"Alright, good morning, I'm up!" He exclaimed, inching his way toward the kitchen. "... Why does it smell like cupcakes in h-"
The loud bang of a confetti popper cut his question clear off, but the following exclamation from everyone in the room reminded him of what he'd forgotten.
"SURPRISE! HAPPY 40TH BIRTHDAY, OLIVER!"
He gasped, finally noticing all of the decorations lining the staircase, the hallways, and the kitchen, and wiped at his eyes.
"Oh, is it my birthday? I completely forgot!" He laughed, putting a hand over his heart. "But you didn't need to go to all this trouble! How long have you all been here setting this up?""Since about eight am this morning!" Sherwood chimed, clasping his hands. "Now, how does it feel to be forty years old? Your joints aching yet?""No, but how about yours?" Oliver replied, rolling his eyes. "Honestly, I don't feel all that different. My health has never been better!" "Well that's good to hear, because we're taking you out to your favorite restaurant tonight!" Rose Marie cheered, blowing a small party horn. "And Thatcher's going to cover it, aren't you?""I said I would and I will." Thatcher sighed, shaking his head. "Just don't put me into debt, alright?""Don't worry, Thatcher, we won't." Oliver laughed, before nudging himself into the kitchen. "However, I do think I'll have one of these cupcakes with my morning tea. Anything's allowed to be breakfast when it's your birthday, am I right?"
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Posted: Sun Sep 11, 2016 8:52 pm
Passing By
(Like the wind through the trees) Northcrest Tavern and Lounge had been a favorite spot of Oliver's since his college days. It had everything you could ever want out of a pub while still being classy enough for a formal dinner with family and friends. However, Oliver liked it best for it's rustic, homey decorations and the Tuesday's special of surf and turf. It was much cheaper than a high scale restaurant, but always cooked just the way he liked it.
Oliver had arrived just a little earlier than the reservation with Thatcher and Sherwood and sat near the entrance to wait for their table to be ready and for Rose Marie, Anna Sage, and his parents to arrive. Peter, Rose Marie's husband, wasn't able to call off from working late in order to attend, not that it was any surprise to Oliver. That man never stopped working for anyone, not even his family. He couldn't really remember the last time he'd seen Peter at a family function, much less in person. The blond made a face, rolled his shoulders, and stood.
"I'm going to the bar for a drink, either of you want anything?" He asked, adjusting his watch.
With a refusal from both his brothers, Oliver set off for the bar. It wasn't too far from the rest of the tables, but just off from where the outdoor seating was located. He sat closest to the windows, looked out over the trees, and sighed.
"Rough day, buddy?" The bartender asked, tossing a cloth over his shoulder.
"Nah, just waiting for family to arrive. Birthday celebration and all, you know?" Oliver replied.
"Ah, yours or someone else?"
"Mine, the big four-o, too. I'm not sure where the time went."
"Ha! I'm sure everyone has that feeling at some point." The bartender laughed. "Well, in any case, what can I get to drink for the birthday boy this evening?"
"Just the house fall ale, no need for a lime or anything fancy." Oliver replied, smiling. "I'm not sure when our table will be ready, so I'll just enjoy it here in the bottle until I'm called."
"Alright, one fall ale coming right up!" The bartender said, walking off toward the other side of the bar. Oliver watched him go for a moment before returning to the window.
... Honestly, where had the time gone? It only seemed like yesterday that he was fresh out of high school, wings on his ankles, and ready for anything. Now he was forty years old, ten years of teaching under his belt, and preparing to become a father. ... A father to someone not completely human, too. He rubbed at the back of his head and looked past the trees and out toward the horizon. Forty years old, sixteen years gone by since university, and everything still felt the same. Wounds still stung, memories still lingered like fog, and yet the world kept on spinning without him realizing anything was going on.
Thatcher became a father, had his accident, settled into a new life caring for wild animals, and was only now just coming home. Sherwood, after years of struggling with rejection after rejection from publishing companies, finally started earning awards for his plays and now had at least twelve. Rose Marie married a business man, had a beautiful daughter, and owns a successful business all on her own. Even his nephew, Devin, was starting to consider college, earned money from his photography, and seemed to understand so much more than his father had ever learned how to do. And, yet, here he was. Forty years old. No husband or wife, a child on the way... What had he been doing all these years? He didn't measure up at all.
His shoulders shrunk as he thought of all of the wasted opportunities he'd passed on and all of the experiences he'd turned down. Where had he been? Was he only now just waking up from a dream? Why hadn't anyone stopped him? Shook him awake? Told him about all of the things he was missing? Was it because he'd been so busy chasing the past? He clenched his fists and took a breath. So much time, gone. In the blink of an eye, his life was going so fast, and he'd missed so many things. But how and why? Why?
"Excuse me, sir? Your drink."
"Oh! Thank you!" He gasped, turning toward the bartender and reaching for his wallet. "Sorry about that, I got lost in thought there for a minute, what do I owe you?"
"Not a problem, and don't worry about the tab, someone got it for you. They heard it was your birthday and all." The bartender replied. "I think they left their number there for you, too, on the napkin. Hope you get lucky, if you know what I'm saying!"
"No kidding? Wow." Oliver laughed, blushing heavily. "And, uh... Thanks? I... Haven't been given a number by someone since I was in university. I wish they'd come up to me instead."
"Well, it just goes to show you. Crushes can start at any age." The bartender chuckled, turning to another customer. "You have a good night, sir, and a happy birthday too!"
"Thank you, I will!" Oliver nodded, raising his ale up and taking a sip. He tapped the napkin idly, half-nervous and half-curious about just who might've given him their number, and flipped it over. However, it only took one look at the short message jotted above the number for his heart to skip a beat.
"Happy birthday, Ollie! Enjoy this drink and drop me a line if you ever want to talk! My mobile's here!
With love,
Asher Damino"
Asher? Asher had been here? The blond shook his head frantically, looking for any sign of the redhead. When none could be found, all focus went right back to the napkin, which he now held firmly, yet unsteadily, between his thumb and pointer finger. One of his boyfriends from university had been in this very room, at this very bar, probably right next to him while he was staring out the window like a moron, and he hadn't noticed him! His breath caught in his throat and his mind felt like fireworks at a war zone. He couldn't believe this... He just couldn't <********> believe this. "Oliver, the table's ready!""Coming!" Oliver replied. Sherwood's call couldn't have come at a better time. The professor folded the napkin over and quickly shoved it into his jacket pocket, before shuffling off to join his family at the table. He would order himself the biggest dish of comfort food that he could possibly imagine and think about calling Asher tomorrow. And by think, he meant stress over. Stress over until he couldn't stress any more.
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Posted: Mon Sep 12, 2016 5:36 pm
Hello?
(Sometimes, you just need to pick up the phone and dial) September 2nd and 3rd came and went, and Oliver had finally sat himself down in front of his phone with Asher's number in hand. He'd used the last two days to gather his courage, or so he told himself, and decided that today had to be the day to call. It was a Sunday night, usually people were home and not too fussed with anything, and he couldn't call tomorrow during work hours. ... The professor took a deep breath in, grasped the phone, and punched the number in.
"You can do this, Oliver." He muttered, his jaw clenching as it rang. "He probably just wants to talk, that's all. Nothing else. All you have to do is breathe in and say hell-""Hello? Asher Damino speaking, who's calling?"Oliver's breath caught in his throat. His voice, it... It sounded the same. A little raspy, but not too much of a difference in tone. The blond leaned back in his seat while his mind, and heart, thought about the last time he'd heard Asher's voice, and sighed."Um, hello? Is anyone there? I heard breathing...?""Oh, heavens! H-hello!" Oliver cried, shooting back into an upright position. "I-it's Oliver, Asher! S-sorry about that, I was... Thinking! H-how have you been?"
He could hear some muttering on the other end, not discernible enough to understand, but it didn't sound angry. However, after a few seconds of waiting for a better response, Oliver bit his lip.
"Is it a bad time to call? I could call back later?" He offered. "No, no! It's not a bad time, I just... Didn't think you'd call.""... That crossed my mind a few times." Oliver sighed, glancing toward the window. "I mean, I was shocked, but it didn't feel right not to call...""I'm glad you did." Asher said. "Hold on a minute, I need to look at something really quick. Be right back!""No problem!" Oliver said, letting the phone rest between his shoulder and ear. Again, he could hear muttered voices and shuffling in the background, leaving him to wonder just what was happening on the other end of the line. However, it didn't take long for Asher to come back, even if his breath sounded a bit heavy.
"... Is everything alright, Asher?" He asked. "What? Oh, yeah! Everything's fine!" Asher replied. "... Hey, uh, listen. I need to take care of a few errands today, but after that, would you like to meet me for lunch at that pizza place in Barton? You know, near the old bookstore?"Oliver's heart skipped a beat. That's right, wasn't that their favorite place for lunch when they were younger? He took a moment, his expression twisting as he thought, and eventually nodded.
"Sure, that sounds good!" He exclaimed. "Is a late lunch good with you? Say around, two o'clock? ... I'm ashamed to say I'm still in my pajamas.""Two o'clock is perfect!" Asher said, laughing. "And I guess you haven't changed very much, have you? Pajamas, twenty four seven, I remember that."Oliver let out a short, awkward laugh, and looked down at his plaid pajama pants. Yeah, he hadn't changed much. He'd realized that a few days prior over a giant bowl of fettuccine carbonara, two rounds of garlic bread, and a bottle of wine at good old Northcrest. He rolled his eyes.
"I'll be sure to be presentable by the time I see you." He mocked, shaking his head as Asher's laugh, again, rang through the receiver. "Alright, go do what you need to do and I'll see you at two. Bye for now!""Yep, see you soon! Bye!"Oliver hung up the phone and promptly slumped backward into his chair with a long, thorough groan. Why had he gone from being afraid to speak to him to accepting an invitation for lunch? What was he going to wear? Was that pizza place even open on Sunday afternoons? Augh! This was going to be nothing but a disaster for him! What was he thinking?
He placed the phone down on the counter and smoothed his hands over his face, before sliding himself out of the chair and toward the stairs. Well, he'd dug himself this far in, now he had to go through with it. Whatever the outcome, he had to make sure that he tried. There was no turning back now.
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Posted: Fri Sep 16, 2016 6:07 pm
How Time Moves On
(And allows us to heal or break us down) Oliver felt that the chill and the breeze of this Sunday afternoon really added an extra air to the reunion he was heading toward. He'd decided to walk to the pizza place, mostly to clear his mind, and took his time along the woodland path he'd chosen. The leaves had yet to start turning, but the smell of autumn lingered in each trunk. It lulled him in a calm state of mind, one that made it much easier for him to approach the restaurant without holding a rock in his throat and a sweat on his brow.
He sat down at an outside table and fiddled with his glass of water, his eyes glossing over the street. The restaurant was at the end of the road, just before the turn you'd make to drive to Durem, which meant Asher's car would likely drive up in front of him. He couldn't believe that they lived in the same town and never bumped into one another, though. Barton wasn't that big of a place, but maybe they went to different stores and shops? Or just went out at different times? He mumbled, tapping the glass in idleness, until the sound of a car door shutting distracted him from his thoughts.
There he was.
Though his back was turned, there Asher stood, fussing with his keys. Oliver sat up, his heart skipping to catch up with his mind, and held his hands in his lap. ... From this distance, he could see that Asher still boasted long ruby-red hair and dark tan skin, but he'd grown considerably more muscular since they'd last seen one another. His sleeves were rolled up, showing red arm hair and the beginnings of a familiar lower-arm tattoo, and as he turned, the scruff on his face was more than enough to make Oliver blush. The blond breathed deeply and stood.
"Asher!" He called, raising a hand to wave.
The other man seemed to pause and turned, slowly, to meet Oliver's gaze. He couldn't tell if it was last minute apprehension or disbelief that crossed Asher's face then, but the warmness of the smile that followed eased his nerves. He moved, aiming to meet Asher in the middle, only to stop when he seemed to trot toward him."No, please, sit!" Asher laughed, brushing fringe from his forehead. "I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long. I got a bit sidetracked.""You haven't kept me long at all!" Oliver replied, placing his hands in his lap. "I only just got here, I walked. Too beautiful of a day to drive out here, you know?""Oh, really? I guess it is!" Asher agreed. "Uh, so, have you ordered anything? I was thinking of getting a pizza to share, unless you have anything else in mind?""Pizza sounds fine." Oliver nodded, pointing to the menu. "They still have that special with the basil, sausage and extra mozzarella. Is that what you were thinking?""Yeah! I'll go order us a pie of that. Do you want anything to drink?""No, I'm fine with water for now. Thank you, though!"
Without further discussion, Asher set off for the inside of the restaurant and started ordering, while Oliver continued to fiddle with his drink. So far so good, right? Asher seemed delighted to see him. ... Maybe even a little too delighted. The professor shrunk and looked to the street, before looking to Asher when he returned. "Alright, our order's in!" Asher cheered, sliding into his chair rather comfortably and clasping his hands on top of the table. "Sooo, how have you been? What's life like in the Kipling circle these days?""Well, right now, not too much." Oliver replied, pursing his lips. "But, I do have something I'm looking forward to, or to be more direct, someone." "Oh-ho-ho, are you dating someone?" Asher asked, grinning."Ha-ha! No, I'm adopting." Oliver laughed, rubbing the back of his head. "... Have you heard of Lab 305?""Ah, congratulations!" Asher exclaimed, before gasping. "Actually yes! Marcus and I were looking into that a few years ago, but we got tied up with the family and it just didn't seem to be the right time. I'm happy to hear that you got in, though. When are you picking your Raevan up?""I'm not sure. There haven't been any updates since February, but I'm hoping they'll be here soon." Oliver said, leaning back in his chair. "Raevans take a lot of time to form, apparently. I guess all I need to do is be patient.""Yeah, kind of like humans, really." Asher replied, crossing his leg over the other. "Ah! Looks like our pizza's ready. It's a good thing, too. I'm starving."
Both men watched the pizza be set in the middle of the table and thanked the waitress before each grabbing a slice. They paused chatter to eat for a while, glancing up at one another from time to time, and split the last slice. Then, Asher sat back and smiled.
"... You know, Oliver, um..." He began, his expression faltering. "I'm really happy that you decided to call me and meet up today. I know that we haven't spoken for sixteen years and that we left off in a really bad way, but I hope that things can be repaired now. I mean... I've felt terrible for years since then."
He leaned forward, leaning his face on his hand, and sighed.
"Mark and I shouldn't have abandoned you like that. It wasn't your fault. None of it was your fault." He continued, biting his lip. "If there's anyone to blame, it's my sister and how she decided to behave after Devin was born. Or, maybe, it's her fault and mine? If I hadn't been so quick to get angry at Thatcher, none of this would have hap-""Stop right there, Asher." Oliver interjected. "Like you said, it's been sixteen years. There's no sense in trying to find someone to blame now."
He paused, noticing the pained look on Asher's face, and did his best to relax. There was a part of him that wanted to rise up and shout. Scream about how sad and angry he had been. How it had felt to be left alone at the pier that night sixteen years ago while he and Marcus went back to their hometown without him. How it hurt to have each call unheeded, how quickly addiction had become a part of his life, and how hard he was struggling to combat that. But he held that back. He didn't want to argue, he didn't want to hurt Asher, and he didn't want to make a scene. It was time to let his anger go.
"Listen to me. What happened between Thatcher and Judy gave both of us a beautiful nephew who I wouldn't trade for the world." He continued, reaching out for Asher's hand. "And I will never, in a million years, let myself hate him over how his entrance into this world ended my relationship with you and Marcus. I've struggled with the entire situation, of course. The birth, how she behaved, the fight you had with Thatcher, the blow up between our families, all of it. There's just so much to look at and analyze that it's best, now that we're much older and more mature, to just let it go."
He paused, wiping at a tear in his eye, and breathed.
"I'm so glad that you stepped up and reached out to me. I would have never done it myself." He said, shuddering. "I've been so cooped up, so stuck in place. You coming back into my life has been terrifying, but in so many ways, a wonderful, positive change for me. The days where I used to be outwardly confident in myself have been buried under a pile of old emotions that, now, I feel I can finally surmount." He gripped Asher's hand. "Take it from me, okay? Don't sit around trying to find the reasons why and who to blame. You'll get nowhere and only end up frustrated and tired. Let's try to move on from here without any baggage." Asher seemed frozen for a minute as Oliver's words came flowing out and eagerly held onto his hand in response. The fervent way that Oliver spoke, the acceptance and forgiveness he was offering...
It sent him to tears.
"I... I... I don't-" He stammered, wiping his face with his arm. "Okay, alright. If that's what you want, I'm all for it. Moving on from here is what we'll do and we'll figure all of that out as we go."
The redhead's voice cracked, causing him to pause, and he handed a napkin to Oliver.
"Here, you've got sauce on your fingers. I don't want you to burn your eyes.""T-thank you." Oliver laughed, quickly wiping his fingers and taking a deep breath. "Okay, that's about as much emotion as I can take for one afternoon... But, I just realized. Where is Marcus? Did he not want to come?""... Well, yes. He did." Asher replied, looking down to the table. "He's... Uh... On bed rest at home."
"No one really knows what it is, but his lungs are just... Failing him." He muttered. "He gets infection after infection and there's really nothing we can do for him but keep him home, attached to an oxygen tank, and medicated. He hates it and it's frustrating for me because I'm the one taking care of him... But, what can I say? I love him. I wouldn't leave him to a care center even if I were crippled."
He looked to the restaurant door, pursed his lips, and looked back to Oliver.
"If you have the time today, would you mind coming to see him?" He asked. "I know this was so sudden and that we've only just reconciled, but I know it would mean the world to him if he could talk to you. He feels as terrible as I do about what happened, and we really don't know how long he has before this condition lands him in the hospital, permanently..."Oliver held his breath. Marcus was sick? He sat back, somewhere between devastated and shocked, and put his hand over his mouth. How could the doctors not know what he had? What could be attacking his lungs so violently that wasn't cancerous or something easily diagnosed? His mouth twisted, and after a moment, he nodded.
"I have plenty of time to see him." He said. "But are you sure he's well enough? I wouldn't want to come if he's in so much pain that he can't talk to me." "He'll be fine just as long as he doesn't have to stand up." Asher explained, before pausing to sign the check as it was brought over. "Sometimes it's alright for him to walk around the house or the back garden a little, but lately he's been so bad, he can't even walk to the kitchen without wheezing or being overcome by coughs."
He placed a few dollars down next to the check, stood, and turned toward his car.
"I can drive you back home later, and again, I'm really sorry to spring this on you like this. I hope it isn't too much.""Don't worry about it, I'm glad I asked about him." Oliver replied, following Asher. "And don't worry about a ride home. I can get a taxi. After all, you did just pay for lunch and a tip."
To be honest, as he settled into the passenger's seat of the car and they started to drive away, Oliver couldn't help but feel upset. He almost wished that Marcus had still been angry with him and decided not to come because of that, not because he couldn't leave the house or breathe. He fidgeted with the thought and sighed. Well, it was all out of his control. There was nothing he could do but look forward and hope for the best. For all of their sakes.
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Posted: Thu Oct 20, 2016 9:21 pm
Bittersweet Nostalgia
(Who knows? Only time) Asher's car pulled up along a dirt road not too dissimilar to the one that lead up to Oliver's home and took an easy right turn toward a cream colored Victorian style house. Two-stories tall with a spacious yard, Oliver felt that it suited the couple that lived inside very well. He knew that both of them had children from other relationships, so the bikes and toys laying about in the grass didn't surprise him. Honestly, he hoped he could meet one or two of them while he was here. After all, Devin was Asher's nephew, too. He couldn't help but wonder what his cousins looked like.
He followed Asher up the drive and to the front door, admiring the front garden along the way, and offered Asher a smile.
"How are the kids? Looks like they've been busy." He chuckled."Hm? Oh, ha! Looks like it." Asher laughed, nudging the front door open. "It's too bad they're not home, though. Armaroq's out with his girlfriend and the other three are out with friends. I think Armaroq's picking them up, though. I'll call him and ask."The inside of the house was white, spacious, and lined with photographs. Oliver recognized some of the faces from photographs that Devin had shown him a while back, but most were portraits of Asher and his kids with their large extended family. He envied them a little, both Marcus and Asher, for coming from such big families. He liked to think it was nice to be able to travel around and always have someone to stay with. His family wasn't too big or adventurous, save for Thatcher of course, and they really didn't have any cousins or extended relatives to fall back on. In many ways, the Kiplings were a pretty boring, small group of people.
He wandered along the hall a bit before turning to find that Asher had gone into the kitchen to use the phone and paused, not sure if he should wait for the other to finish talking before going forward. However, the sound of a television going in the living room caught his attention and he peered in, just to see what was playing.
There on the couch wrapped in a blanket with an oxygen mask over his face, was Marcus. The blond sucked in a breath and leaned back, hoping that he hadn't been spotted yet. It seemed that he was focused on the television, though, thankfully, and Oliver decided to stay in place and watch. But, he couldn't keep his eyes off of Mark for long, and the more he looked, the worse he felt. He looked so different. Pale, skinny, frail... And that tank. He gripped his jacket."It's alright, you won't disrupt him." Asher whispered from behind him, only to lean back as Oliver jumped. "Whoops! Didn't mean to scare you. ... Let me go make us some tea and I'll join you both in a minute. Okay?"Tea? Oliver looked to his watch and gasped. Was it really five o'clock already? It didn't feel like lunch took very much time at all. He watched Asher retreat back to the kitchen with a sigh and turned back to Marcus. ...Well, he was here to see him, more or less. He could share a cup of tea and chat for a while.
He stepped into the living room slowly, as though afraid to make noise, and leaned toward the couch. Did he want to sit down and greet him? No, that seemed a bit rude. He clasped his hands and took a breath.
"H-hey, Mark, it's been a while." He greeted, waving a hand and glancing to the television. "... How have you been?"The hum of the machine beside him seemed to impede some of Marcus' hearing, judging by the volume of the television in front of him, but the sound of Oliver's voice had quickly grasped his attention. His eyes flitted upward, wide with shock, and a weary, shaky hand reached out from underneath his blanket.
"O-Oliver...!" He said, his voice more or less a raspy wind. "I didn't know... I would have gotten..."
He heaved, clutching his chest and closing his eyes. Then, tears flowed down his cheeks and he shuffled the blanket over his face, a bright red blush already settling in.
"I would have... Gotten dressed." Oliver froze, the skin on his face growing tight around his lips and cheeks as he struggled to keep himself from crying. However, the more he tried to stretch his face and shove it down, the more it twisted him up inside. Here was someone he'd known years ago, who he'd loved and spent many nights cuddled up to. And he was a shell of who he used to be. Barely able to speak, his words like scratching sandpaper, and whiter than snow. The professor's knees shook.
"No." He said, the word coming out more like a command than an answer. "No. You... No, no, no, no."
He slid down, nudging himself carefully past tubes and wires, and draped his arm around Marcus' back.
"Don't you worry about a thing. You look fine as you are." He continued, wincing as tears of his own started bubbling up against his vision. "Asher told me all about it. You don't need to do anything but sit here with me for a while... If you want me to stay, that is." Marcus took a few jagged breaths and tried, vainly, to form words out of them. However, he eventually resigned to the comfort of Oliver's words and leaned against him, the blanket drifting to the side.
"Yes." He exhaled, breathing deeply afterward. "Just... A while."Oliver raised his hand and smoothed Marcus' hair. The moment was somber, but sweet, like the ending of a sad romance novel. The only thing missing was the rain, really, but a beautiful night like this did suit the mood. It was a reunion, after all, not a goodbye.
At least for now.
------
It wasn't long until Asher brought the tea and suggested that they watch some old series from when they were younger. Oliver didn't recognize the name, but the plot sounded somewhat familiar, so he agreed. Somewhere along the lines of this there was popcorn, shared by he and Asher only, and every photo album known to man seemed to be pulled out of thin air. He was introduced to faces he'd never met, names he'd probably forget, and told about places he'd only seen on travel magazines. ... He had to remark, they'd had an interesting sixteen years together.
There was further talk about university, how they met, and how things ended, but everything seemed to be okay. Wounds were still there, on both ends, but they were respected and talked through with sensitivity, as Oliver had always wanted them to be. It was nice to finally have resolution and closure after all these years of suffering alone. Knowing that they had felt just as guilty and sad made him feel less like an outcast and more like a human being. It was okay to laugh, cry, and express frustration. Things really felt like they were going to be okay.
But the reality of Marcus' mortality still weighed them down. There wasn't much that anyone could do for him, and it dug a hole into Oliver's heart to look at how much he was suffering. Without anything more than the words "chronic disorder" to go by, there weren't any cures or effective treatments for him to try. It was really just a day-to-day struggle where not even he knew how he'd feel when the sun came up. Or, if he'd still be home the next day at all. Oliver, by the end of the night, wished that he could breathe for him, buy him some extra time. But he knew, in his heart, that neither Marcus or Asher would want him to do that.
He didn't remember what time it was when he got into the taxi and saw the house disappearing behind him, or when he handed the driver two twenties and shut his front door, but he did know that he'd remember this day for the rest of his life. Just like he remembered the day he met them and the day they left him. And he hoped that, despite the way things looked, that there would be plenty of memories with them to come.
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Posted: Sat Oct 29, 2016 8:02 am
Pumpkins, Cookies, and Photo Albums
(How much will the Kipling family traditions change once Laurel arrives?) Oliver wouldn't call himself that much of a fanatic when it came to Halloween. It was more of a holiday that he lingered through slowly, not really caring for or against it. He liked the season, the festivities, and the candy, but when it came to the scarier aspects and the haunted houses, he just didn't see the appeal. Anna Sage and Devin were always very excited about it, though, and would come to his house overflowing with decoration ideas and an annual plea for him to host a party. The answer was always no, to the party of course, but decorating was always something he enjoyed doing. In fact, holiday decorations were the kind of thing that the Kiplings just did. It seemed innate, the impulse to surround themselves with seasonal cheer, and Oliver was no exception.
He'd set the date for painting pumpkins with the kids on Saturday, when both Devin and Anna Sage would be off from school and likely ready for a break. However, this didn't mean that he couldn't start on painting pumpkins of his own, and bought three at the market on his way home from work. He hauled them in, set a space up in the kitchen, and got right to work after a quick change of clothes.
"Dang, out of red." He sighed, turning the dry tube of paint around in his hand. "I guess it's down to the cool colors, black, and yellow this year. I'm sure I can make something of that."
He started with the largest pumpkin and painted it entirely teal. This one would go right out on his front porch and indicate his house as a safe place for children with allergies on Halloween, at least according to a post he'd seen on the internet. He'd gotten two bowls this year, one for small toys and trinkets and the other for candy, just in case anyone wanted a choice. There wasn't anything too special, just some snap bracelets and light up rings from the dollar store, but they were sure to make at least one child smile.
The next two pumpkins were treated as blank canvases and he took his time with thinking about what to put on them. Did he want a candy corn pumpkin? A witch on a broomstick? Maybe striped or a theme taken from a spooky movie? He scratched his head and looked at his paint selection again. He was running low on green and white, but he had plenty of yellow and black... He tapped his paintbrush against his nose and grinned.
Why not a spotted pumpkin, like a cheetah? He felt like a genius.
But, as he worked on each spot, it got him thinking about the future. Would Laurel like painting pumpkins with him on Halloween? His brows furrowed at the thought. ... Furthermore, would Laurel like holiday traditions at all?
He set the paintbrush aside and leaned against the counter. It was a valid question, one he hadn't really given much thought to. How was he going to introduce Laurel to the family at Christmas? Explain why their family celebrated Easter? Decorated the house, bought presents for one another on some days but not others? Would he have to change some traditions to accommodate Laurel, even if his family didn't approve or appreciate them? His lips puckered. He didn't really want to change anything about how his family did things, not unless it was something dire...
He shook his head and returned to his painting. It was probably too early to think about this, at least in depth. He'd cross any bridges when he came to them, and make any changes if need be. After all, Laurel would be a new member of the family when they arrived. He wanted to make sure they felt welcomed, loved, and supported, no matter the season or whatever Kipling family traditions he might have to uproot.
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