Team Ryan: All is Fair in Love and War
Closer



He doesn’t belong here. And yet he stays, he keeps moving. One day he’ll disappear—transparent, ghostly into the dust. He’ll blend so deeply with the barren landscape that his ruffled brown hair becomes the strangled attempts at vegetation. His soft, pale skin becomes the barren ground, dirt packed by so many weary travelers. One day he’ll leave. Real things stay. Real things don’t have halos.

~ ~ ~

Lucky me, I didn’t have much. I couldn’t have much. If I did, there’d be no point. People don’t go out West for nothing. I had my little knapsack on my back: a blanket, extra trousers, my mother’s necklace. Thank god for the Johnsons, letting me travel with them and their group. Can’t afford a wagon myself and somebody else would’ve made me pay and catch my own food to boot.

I caught sight of them in the distance, the early sun spraying cheery beams across their eager faces. Little Sue caught sight of me first, waving and hollering. The rest of them joined in—Mr. and Mrs. Johnson, the oldest Anne, Mary Lou, Christopher, even baby Thomas. Lord knows, they’re brave for bringing a child that young—boy’s just barely seen two years. The odds for a healthy adult traveling by wagon are bad enough, never mind the little ones. They smiled and clapped me on the back when I walked up, getting my stuff settled in the wagon.

A strange skeleton lurked beside the wagon, pressing up against the canvas as though to blend in, make himself invisible.

“Who’s he?” I whispered in Mr. Johnson’s ear, nodding towards the scared wisp of a boy.

“Boy’s name is Ryan Ross. Poor kid lost his folks to illness, so I helped him out. They was good friends ‘a mine. Thing’s too frail to work—like a damn girl—but he wanted t' come out with us.” Johnson hung his head and sighed, touching his hat, “Doubt the boy’ll make it through. His chances ’re worse’n Tommy’s.”

‘He’s like me,’ I thought, emotion wringing my insides. No. He wasn’t like me at all. I was strong. I could work. I had hope. This boy couldn’t support himself, much less a family or anything. But he looked so lonely and afraid, off in the shadows.

“Here we go!” a voice called out. The wagons started up, whips cracking, and everyone started up moving.

I looked up. Johnson had gone up front and everything was moving. I looked back to the side of the wagon, but the boy was gone.

“C’mon, silly.” I looked down to Sue, linking her arm in mine and pulling. “S’time to go.”

~ ~ ~

While we were moving I looked all around our wagon, circling it 50 times probably. never once did I see that boy.

“Lord’a mercy!” Mrs. Johnson called out from the back of the wagon. “You’re gonna wear yourself out walkin’ ‘round like that.”

I laughed. “Don’ worry, ma’am. I’se gots plenty ‘a energy. I’ll be fine.”

She shook her head and went back in. The sun was starting to come up more and I was sweating. I could feel the back of my neck burning. It’d be red tomorrow, for sure.

‘Plenty more where that came from. You’ve got months to go now.’

Months. I shivered. Maybe I was making a mistake. Maybe I should turn back… To what? An empty little cabin with a leaky old roof and drafts every which way? Not so bad in the summer, but a death sentence in the cold. Drink had taken my father and my poor mother, god rest her soul, hadn’t been able to cope. She was gone within a summer of his passing. I’d been 15. Mr. Johnson had given me work for a while in his little shop. I found odd jobs around town after that. But town kept getting bigger and bigger. Soon there was no place for Mr. Johnson’s little shop anymore. There were no more jobs for a scruffy orphan with not a penny to his name.

And so I had to keep going.

~ ~ ~

It’d been a month. The traveling was life. It was less new, more routine. We came up alongside a little stream—almost big enough to be called a river, but not quite fierce enough. Everyone drank and bathed. Women and children went first, then men. I’d only seen quick flashes and glimpses of the ghost boy. He didn’t bathe with everyone else. He didn’t talk to anyone, although once I did see him whispering with little Sue. I asked her about it later.

“He tells me secrets. I can’t tell anybody else, though, ‘cause good friends don’t tell secrets. That’s what we are. He’s my friend.”

That night I couldn’t sleep. I tried everything: I counted sheep, tried to turn daydreams into real ones, I even sang to myself a little bit like my ma used to. Nothing worked. I threw off my blanket in frustration and stood up, careful not to disturb the men sleeping around me. I weaved through them and went to sit against the side of one of the wagons, facing the stream. The moon was full and bright, filled with nooks and crannies that made it look almost like there was a face smiling down at you. Watching you. I felt a bit uncomfortable at that idea.

A rustling caught my attention. I pressed myself into the shadow of the wagon, holding my breath. The ghost boy walked over to the river, his eyes darting nervously from side to side like a mouse. I stayed quiet.

He walked up to the edge of the stream and peeled off his shirt and trousers. I should’ve told him I was there, should’ve closed my eyes or run away. I couldn’t. I was frozen to the spot.

He squatted down and dipped his hand in the water, as though testing the heat of a bath. His pale skin glowed brilliantly and he himself seemed to be giving off light. I traced the small, delicate bumps of his spine with my eyes and watched his shoulder blades move fluidly, shadows pooling in the hollows they created with their movements. I saw the minute flexes of the thin, wiry muscles in his arms and back. All of a sudden I had the overpowering urge to get up. My legs ached to stretch and walk over to him. My fingertips itched with the desire to skim themselves along that angelic, white skin.

He stood and stepped delicately out of his knickers. A small gasp forced its way into my lungs. He froze like a rabbit, listening. I silently clapped my hands over my mouth, cursing myself. We remained like that for what must’ve been five or ten minutes before he relaxed and resumed, stepping into the stream. He traced patterns on the surface of the gentle current and a smile spread across his face as he began to enjoy himself. He submerged his entire body for longer than I’d have thought possible and then broke through, his teeth gleaming in the glow as drops of water ran in delicious rivulets down his face and bony chest, his wet hair plastered to his forehead and slightly masking his eyes.

I bit my lip and smiled, a strange warmth gushing through my entire body as I watched him float blissfully on his back. I knew that I would sell my soul just to see him like this again—so happy and care-free, his timidity gone. This was almost a different boy. It was as though the water washed away not just a week of grime and sweat, but all of his fears and inhibitions as well. It was heaven on earth.

He finished far too quickly and slipped his clothing back on. He began to walk away, but turned and once again bent down to dip his hand in the water, as though caressing the stream goodbye. He stood back up and walked away, but I stayed where I was. I wanted to know this boy. I needed to know him. This went beyond mere interest. This was… hunger. A gentle hunger, but present.

Eventually, I stood and walked back to where my blanket was. I felt light and yet heavy. I felt poetic. I felt as though I could write a novel, compose a symphony. Never mind that I didn’t know how, I could. I felt indescribable. Beautiful. It hurt somehow, but it was the most gorgeous pain I’d ever felt. I lay there, wrapped up in my blanket. I let the images and feelings consume me. I didn’t fall asleep—I know that—and yet I found myself being shook awake.

“Time t' move, Jon,” Mr. Johnson said, smiling.

“You seen Ryan?”

He laughed. “That’s the first thing you ask? Well, no, can’t say I have. Why d’ya ask?”

“Oh, nothin’,” I muttered, blushing a bit. “Jus’ haven’t really seen ‘im round s’all.”

“Strange boy, he is.” he shook his head. “Well git up. We’re movin’.”

~ ~ ~

I spent that whole day looking for him. You’d think that in such a small group—we only had three wagons—it’d be easy to find somebody. Not Ryan. He stuck to the back, stayed in the shadows. He constantly moved around, weaving in and out of people. He was seemingly restless. It finally occurred to me to ask Sue. She’d know.

“He doesn’ like talkin’ to people.”

“Sue, please. Jus’ tell me where ya last saw ‘im. I-I need to ask ‘im somethin’. Import’nt.”

“He thinks you’re nice,” she whispered before withdrawing inside the wagon and holding the flaps closed.

“Sue? Sue?!” She refused to come back out. I stopped walking and threw down my handkerchief, grinding it under my foot.

“Dammit,” I growled through gritted teeth. I squinted my eyes shut and they began to tear up from the dust.

I opened them just a bit, the dirt still stinging. The wagons were a good ways ahead. Ihunkered down and ran, but as I reached the group, everyone was stopping. I overheard snippets of conversation.

“…’sa river up yonder…”

“…s’too deep ta ford.”

“I ain’t payin’ fer no damn fairy!”

“…caulk it an’…”

“…dump some a the food ‘n…”

I walked up behind Mr. Johnson. “What’re they talkin’ ‘bout?” I whispered in his ear.

“River up ahead.” His voice was gruff. “Prob’ly gonna hafta float it.”

My stomach dropped. Floating was risky. For all of us to fit in the wagons, we’d have to dump food and supplies. Mr. Johnson joined the discussion. I probably could’ve—I was close enough to a man, 17 and I could grow a decent beard—but I was scared. I didn’t want the burden of manhood. Not yet.

I walked over to Mrs. Johnson where she rested in the shade of the wagon.

“Don’cha wanta sit down, ma’am?”

“No,” she said fanning herself. “I think if I’se ta sit right now, I wouldn’t be able ta git back up. We gon’ be movin’ soon, don’chu worry.”

Sure enough, we were. We reached the river half an hour later. The men unhitched the oxen and began taking off the wheels.

I helped lift out the food and supplies, giant containers of flour and meat. I licked the salty sweat from my lips. Men had begun taking their shirts off and I followed suit. The old, dingy fabric peeled reluctantly from my hot, moist skin and as soon as it was off, the hot sun bit into my back. It was liberating. I could feel nothing but the pain and strain of labor. The delicious feel of my skin burning and my muscles aching blocked out everything else. We put down a layer of tar all around the inside of the wagon so it would be waterproof. The smell of it boiled in my nose. When we finished, we loaded as much as we could back in while leaving room for us and the oxen. Not very much fit.

As we herded the oxen into the carts, I felt a pair of eyes on my back. My first intinct was to spin and stare whoever it was in the face. I stopped myself—I didn’t want to scare them. I looked to the side casually, as though someone had called my name. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him. Ryan Ross. His brown doe eyes were wide, following my every move. His mouth hung open ever so slightly.

I couldn’t stop the smile from screaming across my face. I felt like a child, bouncing and light. No, like a bubble. Or perhaps a squirrel, gliding effortlessly higher and higher through the trees.

“Why’re you smilin’ so big?” One of the men asked, laughing.

“’Cause soon this whole damn thing’s gon’ be over with.” I laughed. Thank go the sun had gotten to my cheeks first—Lord knows, he would’ve given me a harder time if he’d seen that blood in my cheeks.

The oxen got in and we began loading the women and children first. Only children really were the Johnsons’, and only the other two wagon owners had wives. I helped them all into the wagon and Ryan came up behind them.

“Y’need help, too?” I offered him my arm as I had the others.

He looked at his feet. “N-naw, m’fine.” I’d never heard him speak before but his voice was beautiful. Poetic and fluid and thick like wine. I couldn’t imagine an angel with a sweeter voice. Honey with gravel that rubbed your soul raw.

He tried to lift himself up into the wagon, but I could tell he was struggling. I reached out an arm and he took it, using it to pull himself up. I savored the feel of his hand gripping my arm, rolling it around in my mind as one would food in a mouth. It was surprisingly strong, much firmer than I'd expected. As soon as he was up, he dropped it like my arm was on fire.

“Thanks,” he muttered, looking down.

“Not a prob’lem at all.” I smiled wide at him, willing his gaze back to me again. His eyes darted up but he looked back down just as quickly. I realized I still hadn’t put my shirt back on. I pulled it from where I’d tucked it into the back of my trousers and pulled it on.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” I laughed while mentally slapping myself. I just stood there grinnin’ like an idiot with no shirt on, sweating everywhere. No wonder he didn’t want to touch me.

“S’okay,” he muttered. He moved over to where Sue was and squeezed into a small spot next to her, holding her hand. She whispered into his ear, and he in turn whispered in hers. What I wouldn’tve given to be her. To have that strong grip wrapped around my arm again and that honey-sweet voice blowing into my ear…

“Time to move."

The gruff voice shook me from inside my mind and cruelly dumped me back into the real world. I was one of the few that were strong enough to swim across. I was one of the ones who got to pull the wagon across. Lucky me.

I stripped off my shirt again and threw it into the back of the wagon. I didn't have many of them and there was no sense in getting this one all wet and grimy.

I threw one last glance at him before walking with the other men and wading into the water. A rope was thrust into my hand and I gripped it firmly before ducking down into the icy river. By the second stroke of my arm, my entire body'd gone numb. How on earth could it be so hot and the water still so cold? I tried to block out the physical aspect of it, focusing entirely on reaching the other side. The hot air burned my nostrils when I inhaled. I could feel my arm heavy, pushing up. It broke the surface and flew for a split second, so light, before crashing back down into the water, sinking. It wasn't until my kicks hit mud that I stopped and stood up. A couple of men were already sitting on the bank while a most still swam. I trudged up to join them, the soaked fabric hanging heavy on my now-weary legs.

The last few men reached the shore and we all prepared to pull the wagons across, standing in a line. A few men on the other side pushed her off before climbing quickly in the back. We heaved, using all our weight to slowly ease them across. One other man was on my rope, the one for my wagon, the wagon with Ryan in it. The coarse material burned my hands raw as I strained—one hand in front of the other, pulling, always pulling.

My eyes were squeezed tight. I didn't need to see the progress of the wagon. It'd only distract me, make me relax when I needed to work. Instead I kept to the steady rhythm in my head. Pull, pause, grab, pull pause, grab… I stepped back and leaned against it a bit more when I felt it grow harder, the wagon resisting solid land, but still kept repeating my mantra. 'Pull, pause, grab'. It became more and more difficult. Soon, the man in front of me exhaled in relief and dropped the rope. Only then did I open my eyes. Everyone had made it across safely, the other wagons, too. I laughed and dropped the rope, immediately regretting it. The second my muscles relaxed, I felt them burn from the stretching and strain. I felt lightheaded and my vision blurred a bit as I smiled and laughed happily with the others. When did everyone get out?

"You did good, son. Go rest a bit. Y'look tired."

I nodded and my legs carried me seemingly of their own accord to the wagon bed. I climbed up and laid down to let the world go black.

~ ~ ~

I sat up with a gasp, my body covered in a light sheen of sweat. The dream had been so vivid. His skin was soft, just like it looked. It was hot and moist, pressed against mine. His tongue had been sweet, unlike the taste of anything else. I shuddered. I'd never had a dream like that, not about a man. I didn't even want to see the state of my trousers. A groan escaped my mouth and I ran a hand through my hair. Best go out and wash up now, before anyone sees. I had to go to the bathroom pretty badly, too.

I stood and peered out of the wagon. Everyone looked to be sleeping. The wagons were circled and the fire was out. How long'd I been asleep, anyway? I climbed stealthily out. My joints protested against the stretching with popping noises. My muscles ached. But none of that mattered with the way my bladder had begun to press itself against my lower abdomen.

I half-ran away from everyone until I found a small grouping of sparse trees. It wasn't perfect, but it'd do fine. I pulled my trousers down and sighed as the pressure decreased. Much better. I'd been right before, though; I was a mess. No place to clean up now. I pulled my pants back up and wiped my hand on the meager wet grass, just enough to erase the evidence.

About halfway to the wagons I heard something. I crouched down, creeping toward the source more carefully. They were human noises, angry noises. As I neared I could pick out words.

"…caught this one eyin' me up. One of those types. A freak." He spat the word, venom flowing freely through his voice.

I heard scuffling and cries of pain.

"Please stop. Please. I didn't mean anythin' by it, honest. I wasn't—" Another cry of pain.

I knew that voice. Ryan. My Ryan.

I didn't hold back now, and sprinted openly toward them.

"What the hell d'you think you're doin'?!?" My voice boomed angrily and they all froze for a split second. There were three of them, all men I recognized. The leader, the one who had spoken before, was the quickest to recover.

"You protectin' 'im? Oh, he's yours, ain't 'e? I bet ya'll have lots of fun together, your litt'le slave."

My face burned hot and I couldn't stop my fist from slamming into his cheek. The man was caught off guard; he fell to the ground, landing on his back.

"Don'chyou dare call him that."

The man quickly stood up. "So's a fight you want?" He slammed a fist into my stomach.

The force hit me first, then the pain, exploding through me. I doubled over.

"Not so tough now, are ya?" He kicked my shin.

My mouth opened in a silent scream of pain as I continued to clutch at my stomach. I forced myself up, the wince still on my face.

He laughed and moved toward me, probably intending to shove me down to the ground, kill me even. I didn't doubt he was capable of it. Not anymore. Before he could, my arms shot out, thrusting him away. His balance must've been really bad that moment, because what happened next was pure luck—good or bad, I'm still not sure.

He stumbled back, struggling to regain his footing. The friends who'd had him before were mysteriously far away from him, unmoving and not close enough to help if they'd tried. He stepped back once, twice, three times before falling backwards. He should've been fine, but it was obvious by the limp sway of his head that he wasn't. His eyes had rolled back into his head. His friends rushed to his side, lifting him up slightly.

"Oh god. OH GOD!" Their concern turned quickly to panic. The one who'd held his head jumped up and held his hand away from his body as though it were diseased. Even I could see the blood on it. his eyes were wide and he turned to sprint toward the wagons, the other trailing close behind.

'I'm a murderer…'

I turned at the sound of a small whimper behind me. Ryan, sweet Ryan Ross was crouched on the ground—his eyes were wide like a deer's and his entire body shook. I could see the red spots and blood from where they'd beat him. A few bruises were even beginning to form.

I reached my hand out gently to comfort him, but he scooted away, frightened. Of course he was scared—I must've looked like a monster.

"Ryan, wait. I… I…"

He hopped to his feet and ran away; away from the wagons, away from me, away from everything. My heart hurt worse than anything else as I watched him go. I couldn't chase after him, not when he saw me as a beast.

"M'sorry," I whispered into the wind before sitting down next to the man I'd just killed and waiting for the rest to come back.

Return to LJ and vote/review