Indecently Exposed

 

Part One: He Knew The Day They Met

 

Noah wasn’t sure what to make of the new kid. What had the application said? Jess? He shook his head dismissively, it didn’t matter anyway.

Kid would probably be gone in a few weeks anyway. Didn’t look capable of building a birdhouse, let alone mending the endless acres of fence line his cattle were always tearing down.

He’d just opened his mouth to say so, and maybe scare the kid off before he wasted any time training the puny thing, when Jess suddenly turned to him.

Their eyes locked instantly and Noah felt something electric snap between them. Even if he’d wanted to define it, he couldn’t. So he just nodded politely and swung into his gelding’s saddle, clucking and nudging the horse into a gallop. He was hot and a little frightened and more than eager to get away from this place.

Unsure about what had happened, and scared that it might repeat itself, he didn’t dare face Jess again all night, but that hadn’t stopped him from feeling those curious blue eyes drilling holes in his back.

 

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“You’re Noah, right?” The nervous voice queried. Noah turned, half-expecting someone more substantial than the gangly-limbed youth. And then he struggled to swallow the lump in his throat, to stop his eyes from racing down those sleek lines like a hormonal teenager, as he realized who it was.

He tried and failed to shrug noncommittally, “Depends.” Oh, God. Had his voice actually cracked? He grit his teeth angrily, ignoring the sudden swell of humiliation.

“Well, Sir, I’m the new temp. Just got assigned a few days ago by the Bureau. Jess Behrone?”

Of course I know who you are, Noah wanted to accuse. You’re the same kid who made my head spin so easily the other day. Who do you think you are, bringing me to my knees with one look? But he only nodded gruffly, “Sure you’re old enough, kid? You don’t look more’n fifteen.” 

Jessie straightened indignantly up to a full five feet, eleven inches, thrusting one hand into Noah‘s line of vision. “I’m nineteen, Sir, I know I may not look like much, but I’m a hard-worker. You won’t be disappointed.”

“No need to call me Sir,” he muttered, dragging his eyes guiltily away from Jessie‘s, and accepting the offered hand, disguising the tremor in his fingers with an overly vigorous shake. “Go, uh go,” he broke off suddenly, tugging at the neck of his shirt, “Go check with Lydia, I’m sure she can find somewhere to place you.”

Jessie nodded, flashing a grin, and twisted away. “Thanks,” And then, half-turning back to him, “I promise I’ll do my best for you, Sir.”

Noah’s heart skipped a beat. Had he only imagined an emphasis on the word ‘you’? Was that a conspiratorial smile curling the corner of that perfect mouth? Good God, was that sauntering stroll deliberate?

He couldn’t be sure… didn‘t even know if he wanted to be sure.

“Don‘t call me Sir,“ he said under his breath, scuffing the toe of one boot on the ground, and rubbing his forehead in confusion. He wasn't really sure what it was, but that curious blue gaze did strange things to him. Strange things that one should not have to deal with on such a hot day, or regarding an employee at all.

He cleared his throat, pretending not to watch Jess walk away, determined not to acknowledge the self-assured swing to those slim hips he just knew was meant to torment him. And then he cleared his throat again for no reason, shifting on his feet, wearing what he was sure was an expression that defied definition.

 

What in the world had just happened?

 

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At twenty-four Noah Kingston barely had the civility to wipe his mouth in public, let alone deal with his reaction to Jessie with any kind of couth or grace.

So he resigned himself to keeping long hours in the saddle, patrolling well into the night with his favorite horse and gun, until weariness and hunger brought him reluctantly back from the fields. By that time the fire would be raked into low ribbons, his riders already retired to their respective bunkhouses, and Noah would have the warm circle of light to himself to heat a can of beans and sit until the rivets on his jeans scorched.

Tonight was different though. He was filled with a bone-deep exhaustion, and worry had chased away his appetite.

He’d been woefully short-staffed this year, forcing the decision to breed only half his heifers, and an unexpected June drought had killed his crop of cotton. Money was unbearably tight at the moment. His mortgage on the farm was already two months late, and only a heroic show of groveling had stayed his landlord’s hand on the eviction notice. Even most of his staff were working on faith alone.

Noah was worn out. He tugged off his dirty white t-shirt, tossing it over his shoulder as he redirected his steps toward the house. Suddenly a hot shower sounded like a good idea.

 

If Jessie hadn’t opened those brilliant blue eyes Noah was sure he’d have passed right by the kid. He halted mid-stride, half-wondering if he should try to put his shirt back on or whether that would make him look like an idiot.

He didn‘t have anything to hide, he finally decided, crossing his arms over his chest anyway. “Behrone,” he acknowledged, nodding his head curtly. “What’re you doing on my porch?”

Jess got up, neatly unfolding those long legs. “I was waiting for you.”

“Hey, if you’ve got a problem with someone, deal with them. I’m not here to be a mediator,” sighed Noah, scratching his neck irritably.

“I don‘t have a complaint about anyone else, this is about you… but since you avoid me during the day, I figured this was the only way I’d get you alone.”

“I do not avoi-” Noah started to protest weakly, but Jessie cut him off.

“I want to know why you hate me.”

“I do not hate-” he began again.

“Oh, really? You can’t look at me without storming out of the room. You don’t show up for meals, I’ve heard the others talking, I know that’s not normal.”

Noah laughed hollowly, a horrible, fake laugh that he cringed to hear, and shook his head, “You’ve got no idea what you’re talking about kid. Go to bed,” 

He attempted to move past, but Jessie put a hand against his chest, the palm hot and damp. Noah flinched, jerking away from the touch, suddenly panting.

“Then again, sometimes I don’t think you hate me at all.” murmured Jess thoughtfully, taking a step forward. “Sometimes… I think you’re scared of me…”

“Go to bed, Behrone,” he repeated tensely, wringing the white t-shirt hard enough to permanently wrinkle it. “You don’t know what you’re saying.” He glanced away uneasily, something like anticipation beginning to build and double in his stomach. His heart was hammering somewhere in the vicinity of his throat. There was a vein throbbing angrily in his temple, unsuccessfully trying to circulate blood to a brain that was draining faster than filling.       Jessie was rocking back and forth on feet that were slightly too large, hands dug deep into worn pockets, grinning as if the question had been answered anyway. And then, before he could even register it, Noah felt himself being pushed up against the porch rail and the gentle, tentative brush of lips against his own.

He stood on that porch for another few minutes after Jess left, a hand to his mouth, feeling too stunned to do much more than breathe. What had he just let happen? His jaw hardened as he puzzled over the incident.

And, when he finally found the motivation to move his jelly-limbs again, well… most of them felt like jelly, he wisely thought he’d better change that shower to a cold one.

 

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The summer air was heavy and sickly sweet with late-blooming honeysuckle as Noah crumpled into a miserable heap on his porch, watching the last horse trailer rattle away, it’s driver clutching his last hundred dollar bill, all the money he could spare in wages. Then he burrowed his face in his hands, and fought the urge to sob or scream or puke or some satisfying combination of the three. He ached from scalp to sole with frustration. The farm, the cattle, the equipment, the horses, everything was being split up and sold. Some south to Texas, some east to Tennessee.  

He had failed, and if he was honest with himself he knew he’d been doomed to fail from the start. 

No, more than that, he had crashed and burned and taken everyone else down with him. It was too late to interpret the warning signs for what they were. Leaning back, he took a drag from his cigarette, cursing the cruel clarity of hindsight. What a foolish man he was to think he could manage a ranch with only a handful of novices. 

And what had possessed him to doggedly hold on even after everything started falling down around him?

Stupidity, he answered himself.

He gazed toward the front paddock, his gelding, Rook, a solitary black speck in the distance, and slowly swept his eyes back up the fence line, almost not recognizing a fuzzy brown on white outline for what it was.

Another horse?

Mentally, he went back over the list. Surely a buyer wouldn’t have let him cheat them out something they’d paid for?

“Hope you don’t mind me pasturing Cincinnati with Rook,” said Jess, half apologetic, half amused, and grinning as a low whicker shattered the shocked silence. “I think they like each other,“

Noah glanced toward the pasture, and then back to Jess as if compelled to do so, shrugging, “Yeah.”

“So I was thi-”

“Jess, why are you still here?” he cut in bluntly, swallowing hard. “I already paid you your summer wages. You should’ve left with everyone else.”

Jessie frowned, dropping down beside him on the step. “I didn’t want to go,”

“Well, have fun being here by yourself. Me’n’Rook are packing up tomorrow and heading out. Doubt the landlord’s gonna let you stay here any longer than that.”

“I thought, well, I thought maybe we’d stay here together.”

Noah snorted, “Yeah, great plan. Because you’ve become a millionaire in the past hour, right?”

“Seriously, Noah. We could do it. We’ve just got to downsize, maybe keep ten acres or so for the horses. It’d be a small operation… but it’d be ours.” Jessie slipped a hand under his shirt, making slow circles on his back, and whispered, so close to his ear that Noah felt the steamy fan of breath, “I don’t want to leave you…”

They sat there for a long time, only shoulder to shoulder, but somehow so much more intimate than that. 

And Noah suddenly felt like he’d agree to anything Jess asked of him. He didn’t realize how much he’d been dreading this inevitable parting, and now he felt sick at the thought of it. His fingers pulled at the worn denim of his jeans as he mulled the idea over.

Agree now, panic later. Maybe with a bit of luck everything would turn out all right. “Okay,” he said, leaning into Jessie, wondering how on Earth he’d gotten to this point and if he should be scared.

“Okay?” The hand stilled in question, curling momentarily before starting to move again.

“Yeah, okay.”

Jess relaxed against him, having been braced for an answer, and here it came, late and unexpected, but welcome.

 

 

Part Two: Lost Letters from No One

 

Two months later.

 

Noah couldn’t recall a time he’d ever felt more exposed, more flayed open with the vulnerable beat of his heart in view. He wore his emotions on his sleeve for no one, but there was a sinking feeling in his gut, a nervous twitch to his coiled muscles as he watched the figure on the horizon. He took a long, steadying drag from what was left of the cigarette he was holding, forcefully blew the smoke out, and crushed the butt under the heel of his boot.

            His mouth set into its eternal grim line as he shielded his eyes from the bright light of noon. It was only mid-fall, at least he thought it was; still early enough in the season to make the days warm, still too early to blame the chill in his bones on the upcoming winter. His spine flexed involuntarily, irritated by the slick of sweat settled beneath his shirt. The faded blue fabric strained against his chest, tight and damp and uncomfortable, as he struggled for breath.

            The figure, small and dark against the crest of the hill, moved with a stiff, deliberate pace… as if the news it brought were a heavy burden. The sun, now reaching the far side of its arch, stretched thin shadows across the dusty ground, clinging to the scattered rocks as if trying told onto its last rays of heat. From the west a breeze kicked up, sweeping the grass into a wave, playfully pushing at his back, urging him to go meet his visitor midway.

            He resisted, planting his worn boots firmly into the ground. The gentle tick of his watch kept muffled time from his shirt pocket, as he leaned against the railing of his porch. His once proud shoulders caved in defeat. The scratching of grit against his house cut off as the wind slowed and died, leaving an uneasy silence.

            The dirt lane leading to his house, a lonely, ramshackle place set deep into the shadow of a hill, was packed tightly. He looked up at the changeless, boneless blue sky, indifferent to the demands of rain the people were making below it, and then scanned lower across the horizon, trailing a pair of hawks that wheeled gracefully, cutting the endless quiet with hunting screams.

            The silver tune of a whistle found its way slip-sliding down the road long before its owner. It was all too much, thought Noah, suddenly falling against the wood, stoically accepting its strength as a wave of nausea forced him to surrender his breakfast. Still heaving dryly he straightened again, wiping his mouth on his shirtsleeve. He was glad for the hundred yards that still lay between him and his visitor- regardless of recent events he was not a weak man.

            At least not until you threw Jess into the equation… but Jess had been dead for too long. He was just now coming to terms with the idea. The grave was somewhere north of Noah’s sleepy little hometown, he hadn’t had the nerve to inquire further and the newspaper hadn’t offered any details. He didn’t have the power to make himself go see the naked little plot earth, with its silky dirt barely settled atop the coffin. Not yet.

            Those first few days slipped past in a haze, he had spent most of his time clinging to a fool’s hope, still hearing Jessie’s hopeful voice in his ear, at night still feeling the slim body pressed hip to hip with his as they had loved to lay. He could still picture the gently curling black hair, the laughing blue eyes, delicately shaped ears, the mouth that had been slightly too large and the upturned nose.

            The house was an empty one with Jess gone, as if the life had been snuffed out of both of them at the moment of impact. Noah’s razor lay forgotten by the sink, the broom went unused – banished to a corner of the kitchen-, there was coffee angrily splashed against the wall after he’d forgotten and let it boil into a bitter imitation. There was no laughter, no soft murmur of voices, no socked feet padding into his bedroom at midnight, no hallway rug to fix in the wake of Jess’ big, ambling feet. The comforting noises of life’s continuance were gone.

            They had been fiercely in love that summer, desperately and irrevocably dependent on each other. Theirs had been a passion hard to come by. A few moments out of time that existed beyond the knowledge of society, reigned by raw emotion and a taboo hunger that they were helpless to control. It was a twisting, indomitable understanding between them, a driving need. In the quiet of the night they’d been consumed by it. With the hot summer sun striking across their straining bodies they had been inflamed by it.

            Noah ran his hand angrily through his light brown hair, leaving the dirty strands at odd angles. He was living in the past… and a lot of good that would do him. Jess was gone for good. 

            …because of him… he added silently, not wanting to face the reality of the statement.

            At the end of the summer he had sent Jess away, reluctant to define their relationship. No amount of pleading on Jessie’s part had softened his resolve. He watched that old black truck pull away; its bed pilled high with suitcases, a weather-worn trailer behind it, pulling Jess’s prized paint, Cincinnati, and knew its proud driver would not return unless asked. Earlier, leaning against the partially open window, he’d seen Jess’ hands shaking as they clutched the steering wheel, had flashbacks of those warm palms splayed across his chest and almost begged Jessie to stay.

            But no. He had personally sealed his own fate. So he just watched in silence, still staring at the tire tracks long after the vehicle had faded from view.

            Jess had the unnerving ability to strip him of logic, which was what made the whole situation dangerous. Jessie could make him react on instinct alone. Make him disregard his calm, practical nature. They had fallen upon each other like sexually frustrated teenagers, sharing the physical aspect of romance without hesitation. Jess was the only one confident the rest would follow… right as usual, but Noah wouldn’t dare admit it.

            He had been unwilling to label it as anything more than sex, had resisted the terms of endearment Jess occasionally used, had resented the probing questions meant to tie him down. He thought he was being smart, playing it safe, by keeping the reckless feet of Jess firmly on the ground.    

            “Um, are you Mr.…?” Noah’s head snapped up, eyeing the grungy boy in font of him. He was small, blonde-haired, with a face full of freckles, and a mail bag slung over his skinny shoulder. He looked uncertainly into it, shuffled a few things around, finally digging out a wrinkled envelope. “Are you Mr. Noah… K-King.. Kingston?” he asked, stumbling over the name as if he hadn’t spent time in a classroom, holding out the dirty letter like a peace offering.

            Noah frowned, the postal service rarely made it out this far. He had to make the half hour drive into Elayne almost weekly just to keep on top of his bills. “Depends,” he said vaguely, reaching for the letter and having it tossed into his hand as if he wasn’t worth the effort. He smoothed away some of the creases, rubbing the grime of travel away. That was indeed his name and address scrawled across the front, and in the left corner, the soft pencil lead almost worn away…

            …Jess Behrone.

            His heart skipped a beat, slamming against his chest and then, after reminding himself what a fool he was being, sinking with a miserable, crushing feeling. He held that rumpled letter for a moment, staring at it until tears blurred his vision.

            “I’ll just… be going, Mister,” said the boy, absently scratching at a scab. He looked uncomfortable.

            Noah nodded, cleared his throat gruffly, waiting until the kid had beaten a hasty retreat back up the dirt lane, clouds of dust betraying his nervous jog as he disappeared over the hill, before being overtaken by the emotion.

            He held the letter for a long time, once bringing it to his nose and breathing deeply, trying to catch that warm, musky, wood smoke and hay loft scent of Jess. He thought he could feel the last lingering traces of it, that same achingly familiar combination. But in the end he had to admit there was no real scent… only the memory of it.

            He turned the envelope around, studying the seal a moment and then, taking a switchblade out of his back pocket, he flicked it open and carefully slit the letter down its side.

            Two sheets of paper tumbled out, their neat, corresponding folds coming undone. He picked them up, shaking the grit of the porch from them. The top of the first one said simply, “Noah.” As he read he could hear Jessie’s voice, the rarely used edge of seriousness in it.

           

            “Noah,” it began in Jess’ oversized, looping handwriting.

            “I hope you’re okay... no, more than that… I hope you’re happy. At least that makes one of us. I can’t help it, Noah. I’m just so tired. Tired of playing this stupid game. I’m sick of trying to convince you of something I bet, deep down, you already believe.

            I don’t know what else to do, I honestly don’t. I know I’m the one with all the big ideas, that’s why we make such a pair. But this time I need you to tell me. Stop worrying about anyone else besides yourself. Okay? Do me a favor, take a moment and really think about it...”

           

            Noah broke off reading with a deep sigh, bringing the hand he’d been pressing against his forehead to his chin. He stroked the stiff feathering of stubble thoughtfully, refolding the pages. The wind picked up again, rolling the pale brown grass like dirty water, as he gazed into the distance. He scrubbed at his eyes, angry at the tears springing forward, unbidden and unwelcome.

            The front porch groaned under his weight as he got to his feet, the ancient timbers bowing and creaking in protest. He opened the door, letting the screen slam behind him, its rickety frame nearly collapsing from the stress. Passing through the kitchen, he dropped the envelope and its contents onto the counter. Then, as if on second thought, he pushed them into the trash.

            He left them there, keeping company with a week’s worth of ignored bills and leftover dinner, as he wandered into the bedroom, half-consciously lighting another cigarette and sitting down at the edge of the bed. He sat like that for a long time, letting the unsmoked f*g burn itself into oblivion, watching the gray ashes slowly speckle his green blanket. He leaned back, tossing the spent stub into a half-filled water glass beside the bed, and closed his eyes. The air was electrically charged with unspoken words, his tongue heavy with no one to say them to anyway.

            Even with the appropriate things tripping over his tongue to be said… they still didn’t seem right.

           

            In a disquieting, less obvious sort of way… nothing seemed right anymore. 

 

 

 

Part Three: The Double-edged Sword of Self-Evaluation

 

Noah slept fitfully, half reclined against his headboard, suspended in a horrifying dream that was eerily real. He rolled over, automatically reaching to his right. Seconds too late to stop the action a feeling of cold realization came over him. And even before the blanket collapsed under his hand and his fingers brushed the edge of the bed he knew Jessie wouldn’t be there. That side was cold, the sheets not even fully pulled down.

            Stretching and sighing he began kicking off his boots and struggling out of his worn jeans and t-shirt. The clothes landed in a heap in the corner of the room. He’d fallen asleep fully clothed again. He was working himself too hard…

             Jess’ pillow, limp from play fights and being tossed to the floor on the nights they’d shared Noah’s, was tucked against him. After the first week he’d given up looking at it, the only nauseating reminder of Jessie’s absence left in the room, and slept with it under the sheets. But no matter how many times he punched it into shape it never quite felt the same as Jess.

            He replaced it at the head of the bed and smoothed over its pale blue and white checks with a tender hand.

            The clock on his nightstand read 4:48 AM, still too early to think about getting up for the day. Lying back down, restless without the clogging heat of day to stunt his thoughts, his mind wandered again to the letter and he gripped the blanket as if trying to physically stop himself from rising and digging it out. Managing the day was easy enough- there was always something being demanded of him. Chores to do, a few animals to tend.

            But the night…

            The night, with its quiet stretches of time, occasionally possessing a silence so complete you could almost fool yourself into thinking the clock had stopped ticking, was dangerous. The darkness left you wandering around in your own mind, nothing to do but agonize and replay and worry while the black expanse of hours crawled by. It was a desolate feeling, one he tried hard to ignore… but it always returned, always stealing more time than it deserved.

            Noah got up from the bed, scratching at the waistband of his boxers as he shuffled through the kitchen. He glanced over everything in self-disgust, but kept his eyes carefully averted from the trashcan. Maybe he’d get around to cleaning it later. Maybe…

            The bathroom was tiny and covered in grimy white tiling that reflected tiredly as he hit the light switch. A single bulb sputtered into life, shivering and flickering as if it sensed the ungodly hour. He didn’t bother tapping it to get it to stop or even shutting the door, things he hadn’t worried about in weeks. A wedge of gray light spilled past him and into the hallway, casting his shadow on the wall, his motions huge and grotesque when parodied by the other man.

            Outside the lone howl of a coyote picked up, punctuating the almost sacred stillness, it’s tone long and mournful and commiserating. Probably the mate of the female he’d seen smashed on the road into town. Noah twisted the tap, drowning out the sound. If anything he knew how futile a howl could be. And this particular one would continue its cry, unanswered and lonely.

            He bent over the sink and splashed his face. The water was icy and slightly discolored after being pulled nearly three hundred feet from underground.

            The drought that had started back in June had forced him to dig another well after the first ran dry, this new one deeper and farther from the house. A few bills from what he still had from the money he and Jess had so carefully saved had passed begrudgingly from his hand to the drillers. He’d slowly counted out the bills, the thin paper damp and creased from his palm, amidst the drone of machinery and the dull, whining grate of steel on dirt. Their stash of money, so painfully scrimped together, was disappearing almost as fast as the parched ground drank dew.

            He’d shaken the coffee can only days ago, all that remained of their small fortune were two-hundred dollars and the depressing, metallic rattle of a handful of coins.

            Over cups of coffee he’d watched as Jessie added the day’s leftover cash, only half-listening to the excited chatter about what they’d do with the money, about the future Noah was certain they’d never have. He didn’t want to be right, didn’t want to be the one to burst the euphoric bubble, but he couldn’t help it.

            His stomach convulsed at the memory and he straightened again, grabbing the threadbare cream towel to dry the rivers running down his neck and chest. The mirror caught the movement and he looked up, startled by his reflection. Blinking water out of his eyes and tucking stray curls of wet hair behind his ears he stared. He didn’t quite believe that man was himself.

            His brown hair; longer than it had ever been. His eyes; hard and cold and squinting against his dripping eyelashes. His mouth; set into a firm line, resolute even when his heart was not. His jaw; covered in a shadow he suspected was more dirt that stubble.

            What was happening to him? He glared at his reflection as if demanding an answer. Invincible. Infallible. Intuitive. Those were the words used to describe Noah Kingston since childhood. He was the strong one, the one you ran to, the one with the good advice. It had never occurred to him that he could fail at anything. Fail anyone. The loss of Jess had only confirmed his suspicions. He was not strong, just a parody of strength, a gross imitation invented from twine and smoke and mirrors and bits of virtue. Conjured into being by a small time city who needed a demi-god. Stubbornly he had refused to confront them, even took pleasure in continuing the charade, and like an acid the truth had worn him away. He was barely more than a savage now, dirty, and scarred and lifeless. It was a way to cope, a way of dealing with the intense ache that Jessie left.

            He left the bathroom, hitting the switch as he passed it. Darkness plunged over the house. He made his was down the hall, lightly brushing the wall with his fingertips though he was surefooted. The creaking floorboards were as familiar to him as a favorite pair of jeans, his feet knew every knot, every crack.

            The kitchen was filled with a kind of roaring quietness, a silence as thick as cloth that pressed against his ears. He crossed to a drawer next to the fridge, his hands moving almost of their own accord as they rummaged through the contents, tossing aside a dead pen, a few loose matches, sheets of yellow paper, and a lone cigarette, which he stuck in his mouth out of habit, until he found what he was looking for. Two newspaper articles, crinkled and dog-eared and held together by a small paperclip.

            The black and white photo beside the text was grainy, showing the smoking wreckage of a truck wedged between two trees, it‘s cab twisted and crumpled. Utterly destroyed. His stomach lurched. It was so easy to imagine the dark shadows as blood, sprayed violently against the windshield, coating the interior of the cab, suffocating the life inside under a gurgling red spring.

            The caption was brief, unemotional, “The carnage of 19 year old Jess Behrone was found yesterday and pronounced dead at the scene. Cause of death still pending. Police are conducting investigation.”

            Noah snorted. Carnage. They’d called the body carnage? As if Jess had never led a life, never been loved. As if Jess didn’t matter. A lump was forming in his throat, hot tears burning against his eyelids. The article was just as impersonal, written as if a vaguely interested distant relative were extending condolences. He guessed it was more out of duty than community concern that it even made the paper at all. Shaking his head angrily he flipped to the next article- an obituary. There was Jessie….

            Smiling, blissfully unaware of what would inevitably happen. The black hair was shorter than Noah could ever remember it being. The icy, blue eyes, strained despite the grin though he doubted anyone would ever notice, were not yet softened by the time they would spend together. Jess in a cap and gown. Jessie the high school graduate. This was the Jess they would remember. The one, despite everything that had happened, they chose to remember.

            Noah gazed at the photo sadly, remembering things about Jess that wouldn’t make it into the memories of anyone else. He sighed heavily and leaned against the wall, letting his mind bring back the rush of emotion. If he didn’t press his attention on it, it might remain all day, re-heating memories of that past summer when they’d ruled their little piece of the world and nothing seemed wrong.

            He bent and grabbed one of the matches he’d tossed aside, striking it against the wooden floor in the same fluid motion. It flared and died suddenly, leaving the stench of sulfur on the air. Cursing, he hunted for another. This one lit properly and he cupped his big hand protectively around it, bringing it to the cigarette still hanging from his mouth. The paper caught fire, sending a tendril of smoke curling into the air. The smoldering end glowed bright red momentarily as he took a grateful drag.

            From the other room a feeble beeping started up, signaling the arrival of 5:00 AM and an excuse to leave the house.

 

            Part Four: They Say The Wreck Killed Them Both

 

            The darkness was close on his heels the moment he stepped from beneath his porch light, with a cigarette it was too early for dangling negligently between his fingers. Still pre-dawn, the air was clean and crisp with the smell of hay that had long since been baled as Noah made his way down to the mailbox. He tugged it open and peered inside, half expecting more letters. Then he shook his head, his sigh fanning across the air. It was too much to hope for, he knew, that two letters should show up late.

            Slamming it shut again, he partially turned, gazing down the lane with an artist‘s interest. Endless miles of silvered road stretched before him, a scene unbroken by fences, untouched by any human hand but his for the past few months. Tomorrow he’d be leaving, and a return seemed unlikely.

            It was just as well, he told himself. He couldn’t take the loneliness much longer. .

            He stamped his feet against the ground, crushing the delicately frosted grass audibly, and blew into his hands before pulling his collar up around his neck. Sometime during the past week Winter had settled quietly over the landscape, blending effortlessly with his bitter thoughts, and pensively he wondered what the date was. Had October slipped past? November? Had he missed Thanksgiving? He honestly couldn’t remember.

            Not that it mattered, he thought angrily, thrusting his hands into his pockets.

            To the east night was just beginning to drain from the horizon, replaced by a dim band of light that made the trees look like spindly black twigs. Everything was bare and brittle, and dead. Another year had come and gone, the seasons combining together in a rush of exalting happiness and inconsolable pain, and he could no longer put off the inevitable.

            He trudged back toward the house, glaring at nothing in particular, and the dawn seemed to retreat from his anger, quickly veiling her skies in gloomy gray cloud.

            It was shaping up to be a long, luckless day, measured in unbearable seconds rather than quickly slipping hours, and despair welled in Noah as he mounted the steps.

                       

            “Come here,” said Jess, coming up behind Noah, slipping those persuasive hands around his waist and sighing contentedly. “You move too much.”

            “I don’t move enough,” answered Noah, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off a fly, dropping his hand to release the hold but pausing midway, and instead rested it on Jessie’s own. “There’s so much to do, and only the two of us. I don’t know how we’re going to keep the farm.”

            “We’ve got money,” soothed Jessie, stroking down his back.

            "Right, I'm sure you've got it in your pocket and just want to keep it safe for now. Feel free to pull it out whenever,” he replied, his sarcasm deadpanning into monotone.

            “Shhh,” Jess breathed against his ear and Noah shivered, his stomach quivering with something he refused to give a name to. “You also worry too much.” He felt a grin against his cheek, the soft, brief press of lips.

            And then they both lapsed into a comfortable, dreamy silence, their shadows casting a single column along the ground. It felt like the sun held of setting completely for the sake of this embrace, he mused vaguely, kicking a heel up, relaxing his weight, his head cocked against Jessie’s neck as he listened to a tuneless, wordless hum.

            The evening air crackled electrically, steadily pulsing to the rhythm of their breathing until finally Jess stirred, shaking off the doze and dredging a smile from somewhere. “Come on, cowboy.”

            Noah felt a playful push against his back, and nodded silently, aware of Jessie walking back into the house. But he stood frozen on the porch for a moment more, scanning and re-scanning the landscape, restless and edgy and crawling in his own skin, as if he had no business doing what he was doing.

            A slow corrosion was working inside him, something unnoticeable at that time, but it wouldn’t be long until he made the descent into pure decay.

           

            Noah shifted hesitantly, almost refusing to come out of the memory, his fingers thoughtfully stroking the porch railing, but then, with a sigh he pushed the door open.

            With only one income to support the farm it was surprising the landlord held off the eviction notice for as long as he had. Noah was grateful, but he knew no amount of alchemy could turn his gratitude into money. And even though the landlord had been polite, with a family of his own to provide for, his ultimatum was amicable but resolute. So Noah hadn’t even bothered to beg or bribe, wasn’t sure he was capable of it begging in any case, and he certainly had nothing to barter with.

            Still, he’d put off packing as long as he could for awhile, hoping that Jess would come back unbidden, and then after the news of the wreck he had ignored it out of despondence. Maybe he was cutting in kind of close, but something stilled his hand when he went to dig out the suitcases. Some indefinable wave of grief that made it impossible for him to abandon the place he‘d last been happy, or move on, or even rest at all. So he let the eviction date creep steadily forward, not preparing, not particularly interested in preparing anyway. 

            He jolted slightly, hearing the screen door slam behind him, but was already halfway down the hall, wandering into the kitchen, drawn there by something specific. After an uncertain pause, his pulse racing faster with fear, he leaned and drew the lid off the garbage can. His heart skipped a beat when his eyes didn’t immediately find the letter. Had he dreamed the whole thing?

But no, there it was, halfway wedged between a stack of last week’s overdue bills and this morning’s cold oatmeal. He expelled the breath he’d been holding with weak relief and, grabbed the letter, flicking a strand of dried spaghetti off it. It was no worse for the wear, having spent the night in there.

He unfolded it, his eyes skimming over what he’d already read and beginning again, his mouth painfully forming around the words.

 

“…about it. It’s not a question of how much I love you, but rather how much you’re willing to love me back. Noah, I know you. You’d never do anything without first weighing all the consequences, but I’m begging you, just this once. Jump with me.

What life is worth living with you not in it? God, Noah. I’m trying so damn hard to be understanding, you wouldn’t even believe it. I’ve been fighting all my common sense not to redline it back to you, and hold you hostage in my room for the next month since the moment I left. Don’t act like you don’t feel it. Ignoring this isn’t going to make it go away.

I know there are too many questions and not enough answers, but I swear, just give us a chance. We’ll get them eventually…

It’s indescribable, the way I’m just not right when you’re not near me. My bed is cold. My heart, colder. You balance out the air. You... you equal me out. When you’re gone everything feels sharp and empty and displaced.

Consider it, Noah. Do what feels right.

Anyway, I didn’t start this letter to complain. Don’t pity me, Noah. Pity yourself. You know the number, I’m only a phone call away. And in case you ever doubt it- I love you.

          - Jess

 

Noah grit his teeth, his eyes helpless to stop themselves from tracing over the signature again and again.

Jess was right, he reflected sullenly. It had been effortless between them, artless and instinctive in a way that could not be reproduced in a thousand years of trying.

And as he folded up the letter, clipping it neatly to the other two articles and replacing the whole stack in the drawer, he couldn’t help wondering if something more than just Jessie had died in that crash.

 

 

 

Part Five: Jessie

 

            “I’ve never met anyone like you…”

            I groaned inwardly. Me and my big mouth. I hadn’t even meant to say it out loud, but that’s the problem with my self-revelations. Sometimes they’re just so embarrassingly obvious that they spill out unchecked.

            “Oh.” He stared at me a moment, his mouth slightly open like he was fighting not to say something else.

            “I… I didn’t mean it like that,“ I quickly tried to amend, and then I sighed. “Okay, I meant it exactly like that.“

            He cocked an eyebrow, his mouth stretching into a crooked smile like he wasn’t sure whether to be offended or amused. There was an awkward silence, and then he bumped his hip against mine. “If it helps, I’ve never met anyone like you either.”

            I leaned on the counter in interest, resting my chin in my hand. “Is that a bad thing?”

            He paused and bit his lip, silently battling some private confession, then shrugged, “I haven’t decided how much I like it yet,” he admitted.

            Then it was my turn to shrug like it didn‘t matter, like in the space between my question and his answer I hadn‘t died a thousand times. My face burned with deflated expectation. “Fair enough, I guess.”

            Out of the corner of my eye I watched him watching me, his eyes so heated and intense I kept waiting to physically feel them. And I hesitated, thinking he might say something more, but he didn’t. Typical.

            Secretly, I was beginning to think it was a game to him. To watch me squirm under his gaze, or try to figure out his latest metaphor. To watch my embarrassment with indecent interest.

            Oh, well. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. If it was anyone other than him you’d never catch me sticking my neck out either.

 

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It just got worse every day, growing and growing until I was damaged and done for. I melted when he walked into a room. My knees buckled when he glanced at me. I loved his bed-head, the muscle that ticked in his jaw when he was angry, the unguarded half-smile he gave me sometimes. I loved to watch his hands as he unlaced his boots, and the power rippling under his skin as he strained to lift something.

I started pestering him in the morning just to hear his husky, just-woke-up voice, and brushing past him purposefully too close to remind myself what he felt like.

“What?” he demanded after enduring several weeks of this.

I realized I’d been staring incredibly hard as his fingers worked the buttons on his shirt, and I just smiled to myself, “…nothing.”

 

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He closed the book he hadn’t been reading with a low groan. I’d been wondering when he’d give up the pretense. He wasn’t the strongest reader, but he hadn’t turned a page in nearly ten minutes. Something was bothering him.

“What’s the matter?”

He shook his head, got up from the chair, stretching lazily. “I don’t know… I feel like… Do you ever feel…like…” he trailed off. He was staring at the wall, determined not to look at me.

I lay back, lacing my fingers behind my head, waiting for him to organize his thoughts. But he just shucked his shirt and lay down next to me.

I rolled onto my side, my fingers idly drumming on his bicep. “Do I ever feel like what?” I prompted.

He sighed, and turned towards me, his hips connecting with mine, our foreheads together. “Like… all of this is just a dream? Like its too good to be true?” His eyes were glittering, pleading me, desperate for me to understand without him having to say it.

I was beginning to feel uneasy. “What are you talking about?” My toes found his foot, rubbed playfully along the arch.

He laughed dryly, “I mean, do you ever look at me and feel scared? Like it’s wrong?” His breath was labored against my face.

“Oh, yeah. All the time. I'm just extending the torture of being around you because I am secretly a masochist. There. All out in the open now. Boy, I feel better.” I rolled my eyes in case he didn’t catch the sarcasm.

His forehead pushed mine. “I’m serious, Jess.”

“No… no, I don’t feel like that. I look at you and feel so so so unbelievably lucky. Why?”

He shrugged, “I don’t even know why I brought that up. It doesn’t matter. Forget it.” He kissed me fiercely, and I thought I felt his jaw grind like he was angry with himself. But then he smiled, and rolled onto his back. “’Night…”

I curled against his side, positioning my ear over his heartbeat in a strange, defensive way. I didn’t know why I felt like protecting him… but it seemed important

 And even after his steady breathing filled the room, it was a long time before I felt safe enough to sleep.

 

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I sighed, shoving my plate away like it was the cause of my frustration. And then I sighed again, this time louder, adding a little throat clear in for effect, but he didn’t even stir. Just kept right on gazing through me, his own plate untouched, fork endlessly taptaptapping its edge.

I couldn’t talk to him when he got this way; silent and brooding, and lost in his own mind. It made me feel so useless, like if I could only figure out what he needed me to be everything would be okay again.            

Sometimes he snapped out of it in a few hours, but this time it’d gone on for days. I knew something big was going to happen, and by the time Noah let me in on what it was, it would already be too late.

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“You have to leave.”

The careless way I’d been observing him suddenly slid into painful focus as I did a quick mental backtrack. Had I said anything… done anything to make him mad? I risked a glance at his face, but no… there was no anger there. Only immeasurable sadness, and as I watched his emotion spun, like a pre-set dial, into longing, and then finally settled on fear.

“What?” I asked, my voice sounding weird and choked and scared, my head already fighting against what he said- even as awareness began to bleed through me. My heart spiked into my throat, desperate to plead its case against his words. “You… want me to… leave?”

At last, after all the waiting, this is what it came down to.

He shook his head, swallowing hard, and then contradicted it by nodding. “I can’t do this anymore, Jess. I feel… I feel like I‘m…” he broke off, struggling to find a word.

I tried to reach him for him, to reassure him, to do anything but stand idly by while he ruined what we’d worked for, but he cringed away from me.

“Don’t touch me,” he begged, “Please Jessie. Just go.”

“Noah!” I cried in alarm, clawing for him, coming up with a fistful of his shirt. My hands sought his face, pulled our mouths together, my lips insistent and searching. Surely he didn’t mean it, his actions would prove it. Any second now he’d give in and kiss me back.

But he just stood there, his lips trembling and unresponsive against mine, his breath coming in harsh pants. “Noah, please,” I sobbed, “What are you doing? What‘s this about? Just tell me, whatever it is, I‘ll do it, or stop doing it. Noah, don‘t do this.”

But I could see from his face that my words had come too late to do any good. He already had done it, and no amount of pleading would change his mind. I forced myself into his frozen arms, my hot forehead against his neck, murmuring his name over and over. “Noah, Noah, Noah please, Noah….”

He pushed me away resolutely, his eyes squeezed shut, his jaw clenched tight. “This was a mistake, Jess. Who are we kidding?”

I tried to find the stairs, stumbling through the blur of tears, falling, getting up, falling. The whole time my body convulsing with sobs.

 

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“It’s for the best,” he whispered, so low he might have been convincing himself, instead of addressing me. He leaned against my half unrolled window, his hair falling in static-cling wisps, his face distressed and damp at the temples.

Good, I couldn’t help thinking nastily, I hope he suffers so unbearably…I hope even feels half as horrible as I do. Hell hath no fury like a lover scorned, you’ll get what’s due Noah Kingston. Nothing more, nothing less.

“For the best,” he murmured, tracing the edge of the glass. There was something in his voice that made me think he was lying, though I couldn‘t place my finger on it. Maybe a slight catch in his conviction I picked up subconsciously, or something that just barely registered in his tone.

Then he fell so silent, and still, I was suddenly afraid of what this meant. What it could mean, what it did mean… what it would mean shortly. I felt like a prisoner faced with freedom when all I wanted was an execution. There was an unmistakable air of finality, like at last my heart caught up with the rest of me. Finally understood and accepted that I wouldn’t be coming back here.

“So this is it?”

He didn't say anything, just let my question hang pointlessly in the air. We both knew the answer anyway. There was no use pretending. It was what it was. An awkward parting between sordid lovers.

Only… that’s not how I felt at all. I felt like he was punishing me for making him feel dirty. Like it was my fault he loved me and that I loved him back.

He slid his hands into his pockets, pulled them back out immediately, fists clenched.

I looked for something in his grasp, but didn’t see anything, he was filling the silence with worthless gestures. Fidgeting to keep from grabbing for me.

I stared at him, silently saying a better goodbye than mere words could achieve, committing his face to memory, aching to touch him, to hold him, kiss him one last time. It felt hopeless. Like I could be God himself and things would still be rent in two. After this nothing would ever be the same. Possibilities that existed right now would be snuffed out the second I drove away.

And it scared me more than I could ever explain.

A heavy moment passed, and I turned away, nodding slowly, answering myself. I tried to smile, and could feel streaks of dried tears cracking and flaking away. My knuckles were shaking and impossibly white against the steering wheel. I gripped it harder, grinding my teeth and focusing on the pain instead of him.

Anything but him…

Noah made a strangled sound, but I refused to look, wasn’t even tempted to look. If I gave in and snuck a glance, I might scramble out of my truck faster then he could stop me.

So I fumbled for the key, spent a second trying to force it in, then realized it was upside-down. With a scowl I pushed it in the right way and twisted viciously. The engine coughed, sputtered, and turned over, finally roaring to life.

…and just like that, I pulled away from him. The man I had come to love so deeply. The man who meant so much to me. I let go, because it was pointless holding onto him. He was human, and I understood that he had panicked. And all there was to say was, sucks to be me. I didn’t hesitate, didn’t pause, or beg, I didn’t even trust myself to watch him in the rearview mirror.

The gas pedal was under my feet, the steering wheel in my hands. And that was enough stability for now. It would have to be enough.

I had gambled everything for him, and in the end lost. I had come out of this ordeal hopelessly mangled, and irrevocably damaged, and so unbelievably hurt. But it had been worth it, and there was nothing shameful in the loss. I was just a fool, doing what any other fool would do.

Or, at least that’s what I told myself.

 

And I didn’t even bother setting myself straight…because there was something oddly comforting in the charade.

 

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Three hours later found me half-way to the Stateline, and still I35 stretched endlessly before me, offering itself to the satiation of my tire‘s hunger. The disbelief had reformed into cramping pain, and then later, that was replaced by a distant numbness I was grateful for. I stopped in a tiny town for lunch, and hastily penned a letter I didn’t think I’d send, but ended up mailing anyway.

In the visor I saw the corner of a photograph. It was of him. And briefly, I considered throwing it out of the window. Let the wind carry it where it may, and good riddance.

But in the end I was unwilling to let go of even this small part of him.

Selfish…

Maybe I really was masochistic.

 

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            I was blind. Not blind like discrimination, blind like prejudice. Not blindly groping for excuses. Not blindly just and fair. And now I couldn’t even claim to be blind like love. I was just blind.

            We were evenly matched, faced off, squared shoulders, unblinking as we glared at each other.

            Then I sighed, and fell against the brick wall, rubbing my forehead in frustration. I was pathetic.

            I could feel it in my fingers as they closed around the payphone and in the way I was powerless to stop them. I just want to hear his voice, I argued with myself, and my eyes cut to my reflection, regarding me solemnly from the window, waiting for the outcome of this internal war. Around the phone my joints strained, trying to bring the receiver to my ear. Just let me hear it one more time…

            I looked in the window again. Disgust. Weakness.

            I threw the phone back into its cradle, cursing. Then just as fast I yanked it back against my ear, and had his number halfway dialed before I could get ahold of myself.

            Stop it.

            Let it go.

            He’s gone.

            I gently put the receiver down, feeling the numbness flickering and begin to dissolve. Then awful truth dawned on me. The blissful, calming void had just been a disguise, the protective shock your body goes into after massive trauma. I was bleeding from an inoperable chest wound. I was a living corpse, a jumble of failing vitals and faltering respiration. I had taken a fatal blow. I would not make it.

            My eyes clenched, my fist in my mouth to keep from screaming. Crying out for him, damning him for putting me in my grave, begging him to come and hold me.

            I’m scared, Noah.

            The vinyl was cold as I slid in behind the wheel, cutting through my jeans. The weather had been deceptively mild earlier, and now the threat was clear, it would be Fall soon. Everything we worked for would be covered in leaf rot, and then snow. Trapping life motionless between the layers, and I half-thought if you dug deep enough you would find our bodies there too, waiting for the life-giving Spring thaw.

            But this kind of coldness was final and absolute.

            Noah, I hate you.

            The truck snarled as I screeched out of the parking lot, my tires squealing and seizing. I careened through an intersection, barely tapping my brakes for the stop sign. Behind me a horn honked half-heartedly, too late to stop me, too late to sway me. Futile.

            I love you so much it hurts.

            I was hyperventilating, suffocating in the cab, desperate for a stretch of unbroken highway, urging the engine to give me more. I swerved around a corner, veering into the left lane, and from the visor his picture fell.

            A candid, black and white shot of him wiping grease onto a ruined white t-shirt, a mocking half-smile set playfully on his mouth, his gaze beautiful and unfathomable, his profile highlighted by the setting sun behind him. I remember snapping it quickly, and laughing as I cleaned streaked oil from his temple. My fingers, slipping over his skin, were innocent and curious, with none of the hot rush touching him would later become.

            He had pushed me away, and then, swearing, pulled me back against him, his mouth slanting urgent and insistent on mine. His hands were slick and dirty where they gripped my face, breath coming hard and panting. He broke away suddenly, tucking me along his side. But the damage was done. He had finally kissed me first.

            “Do you love me?” A fearful question. I didn’t want to know. I needed to know.

            He nodded slowly, his jaw clenching, his fingers possessive and cramping as they clung to my shirt.

            “I knew it…” I had whispered softly into his neck, and I was so glad I‘d gotten a picture of the way he looked right now. Flushed, alive, unbearably warm and pulsing in my arms.

            In that moment he belonged entirely to me. He was mine.

            And in the days following that one I never noticed him taking pieces back, until I had no claim left.

            I fumbled for the photo, searching around the dark floorboard for it, shuffling through trash and luggage. Panic shot into my throat. Had I lost it?

            Please, please, it must here somewhere.

            Then my fingers closed around it. I smiled in relief, sat up again with it safely in my grasp.

             And horror bled through me, my limbs too numb to even jerk the truck into the right lane. The semi blared it’s horn, the moment of impact only seconds away.

            Jessie, turn, please, turn the wheel. His voice was an angel’s lament in my ear, begging sweetly for me to spare myself. Please, just turn the wheel.

             I gave a massive wrench on the wheel, swerved away and over-corrected. The nose of my truck dived into a shallow ditch, and the roof crumpled in as it flipped end over end. My head slammed against steering column, the seatbelt I wasn’t wearing fluttering like a distressed bird in my peripheral vision.

            And all I could think of was my picture. God, the cruelty, the irony of it, spending my last moments without even a photo of him.

            But there it was, wedged between the roof and dashboard.

            I tried to sigh in relief, but heaved and coughed on the blood that came up instead. I tried to reach for it, but my arms were dead weight at my sides. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. Glass from the imploded windshield was sticking from my chest at odd angles, the shards that should have been inches long only clearing my skin by centimeters. The wounds were deep. Blood was streaming from my mouth, my head, places I didn’t even know about. The pain was going fuzzy at the edges, blending into a numbing void.

            The protective shock your body goes into after massive trauma. I was bleeding from an inoperable chest wound. I was a living corpse, a jumble of failing vitals and faltering respiration. I had taken a fatal blow. I would not make it.

            The world went black around me, dimming and shivering until all I could make out was Noah’s face in the photo. His smile seemed reassuring now. Sleep.

            The picture shuddered in the breeze stirring through the cab, and gently slipped forward until it brushed against Jessie’s fingers.

 

Part Six: Tetelestai. It Is Finished.

 

            Noah slammed his suitcase closed, flicking the clasps into place. More force than strictly necessary, maybe, but it felt good to slam something around. After everything that had happened in this house, after all that he’d been through, this was it.

            It was over.

            It had ended months ago. The day Jess drove away trailing his heart behind the truck. His death had been the final curtain call. The last bows for the last scene, to the applause of the audience. Bravo, bravo.

            He was a magnificent actor, it even surprised himself.

            But it had gotten him nowhere. Nothing.

            An unmendable heart? A lifetime of grief? It wasn’t worth it.

            He threw the suitcase into his truck bed, and slid into the driver’s seat.

            It was time to go.

 

Author's Note

i tentatively call it finished. something i've been playing with for practically a year, on and off.