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the previous parts are here.Lazy things.
In this bit--we make a move to the end of the matter. not super quickly, ya'll know how long winded I can be-- but we're turning the corner, sort of thing.
Clark felt hollow and sick, just…empty inside. He needed to talk to someone—someone who understood what it meant to be other, to look over the fence across that big gulf between you and the rest of the world, he thought.
He stood on the roadside and looked over the rickety fence that ran around the patch of land that was the Ross’s. Chickens scratched in the neatly swept front yard, dogs raced out to the fence barking madly at Clark. They recognized him, but it was their duty to bark, friend or foe.
The early fall sunlight made everything seem crystal clear, he could see every patch of mis-matched paint on the rough board walls of the little wooden house, he saw two of the windows panes patched with cardboard, and that the front door had no handle, and one of the wood panels were split and gapped.
A cat slithered out from under the porch, just stacked cinder blocks topped with a wooden platform, but morning glory curled around the simple wooden rails and there were pots of flowers sitting on it and on the ground near it—people who lived in that house cared. It showed in the neatly kept garden, the broom swept dirt yard. There was an outhouse, and it was covered with roses, there was a stall for the cow, and it was clean, and painted, there was a tire swing and the ground around it was clear of stones and as neatly swept as the yard.
People cared in that house, just like they cared in his.
Someone came out to the front porch, Clark could hear the dry wood creak and he looked up.
“Mr. Clark, what are you doing standing out there? Come on over here,” Bill Ross called from the porch.
Clark trotted up. How are you, Mr. Bill?”
“Fine Clark, just fine—you were at the funeral this morning? That young boy? I was sorry to hear that, “he said sadly.
Clark nodded, still to upset to speak about it. “Thank you—is Pete home yet?”
“Yes, he’s in the back working on that truck of mine--see if we can’t get a bit of life out of it yet,” he smiled.
Clark smiled back and waved as he trotted around the side of the house.
Pete was scowling at a dilapidated truck, so old that it was a miracle it lasted as long as it had.
His head snapped up and for a second he looked closed off and wary. “Oh, Clark! No wonder them fool dogs aren’t back here barking their asses off.” He smiled and it transformed his face, once again Clark admired how handsome he was and he couldn’t help but smile back at Pete.
He wiped his hand with a greasy rag and held it out to Clark, “Sorry about your friend there Clark. I heard he …died.”
Clark shook hands with Pete. “Do you have some time to talk Pete, I--I’m feeling kind of low right now.”
Pete nodded, “Sure.” They jumped up on the back of the truck and sat quietly until Clark managed to work up the nerve to talk. Pete sat in comfortable silence, kicking his feet and waiting for Clark to speak.
“Pete—what did you know about Kevin?”
“Nothing really Clark, ya’ll go your way and we go ours, you know…” Pete shrugged.
Clark did know and it made him sad. “Pete, do you think we’ll be friends forever?”
Pete looked a little leery. “Well, yeah, I guess so—much as we can.”
“Do you ever wish it were different?” Clark asked and looked at Pete.
Pete jerked his eys towards Clark—“what do you mean? Why you asking that? We’re just fine, we got no problems.” Pete looked almost angry, a look Clark really couldn’t recall seeing on Pete’s face before.
“I mean- I meant…” He took a deep breath, “You know about Kevin though, you know he was…he was a homosexual, you know that right?”
Pete looked at Clark uncertainly, “Yeah, that kind of thing gets around, I mean, was he really?”
Clark nodded, “Yeah, he was. He wasn’t the only one.” Pete’s forehead wrinkled and suddenly he held up his hand, “un-unh--” he started.
Clark blurted out, “I am too.”
Pete dropped his hand and stared at Clark. He shook his head. “Don’t say that. I don’t want to hear that.”
“Pete,” Clark started, and Pete jumped off the truck. He shook his head again. “Clark, the bible warns us about those things-- those things are things of the devil—they're of evil.”
Clark stood also, feeling his heart break. “But, but you must know how it feels--”
“I don’t know nothin’ of the sort--all I know is, I’m getting the fuck from out here—and so are you. You should go now, Clark, you talk to your pastor, maybe he can help you see the evil, maybe he can bring you back to Jesus. Go on now Clark—go home.” Pete backed away, hesitated, “You know I’m still your friend, Bible says hate the sin, not the sinner…”
“Yeah, thanks Pete,” Clark laughed bitterly, “Thanks for your friendship. Thanks for hating the sin but not me—oh by the way Pete, just so you know, the sin—it’s a part of me-- like breathing, like the color of your skin. It just is me.” He shrugged and walked away. It wasn’t until he couldn’t hear the dogs barking anymore that he let the tears fall.
It hurt so much he felt it like a ball of nails in his throat. Was this growing up—this awful pain? That’s what they say, put away childish things—and he was leaving everything of childhood behind, because he’d just lost the best piece of his childhood…Pete.
More soon! Stay tuned!
In this bit--we make a move to the end of the matter. not super quickly, ya'll know how long winded I can be-- but we're turning the corner, sort of thing.
Clark felt hollow and sick, just…empty inside. He needed to talk to someone—someone who understood what it meant to be other, to look over the fence across that big gulf between you and the rest of the world, he thought.
He stood on the roadside and looked over the rickety fence that ran around the patch of land that was the Ross’s. Chickens scratched in the neatly swept front yard, dogs raced out to the fence barking madly at Clark. They recognized him, but it was their duty to bark, friend or foe.
The early fall sunlight made everything seem crystal clear, he could see every patch of mis-matched paint on the rough board walls of the little wooden house, he saw two of the windows panes patched with cardboard, and that the front door had no handle, and one of the wood panels were split and gapped.
A cat slithered out from under the porch, just stacked cinder blocks topped with a wooden platform, but morning glory curled around the simple wooden rails and there were pots of flowers sitting on it and on the ground near it—people who lived in that house cared. It showed in the neatly kept garden, the broom swept dirt yard. There was an outhouse, and it was covered with roses, there was a stall for the cow, and it was clean, and painted, there was a tire swing and the ground around it was clear of stones and as neatly swept as the yard.
People cared in that house, just like they cared in his.
Someone came out to the front porch, Clark could hear the dry wood creak and he looked up.
“Mr. Clark, what are you doing standing out there? Come on over here,” Bill Ross called from the porch.
Clark trotted up. How are you, Mr. Bill?”
“Fine Clark, just fine—you were at the funeral this morning? That young boy? I was sorry to hear that, “he said sadly.
Clark nodded, still to upset to speak about it. “Thank you—is Pete home yet?”
“Yes, he’s in the back working on that truck of mine--see if we can’t get a bit of life out of it yet,” he smiled.
Clark smiled back and waved as he trotted around the side of the house.
Pete was scowling at a dilapidated truck, so old that it was a miracle it lasted as long as it had.
His head snapped up and for a second he looked closed off and wary. “Oh, Clark! No wonder them fool dogs aren’t back here barking their asses off.” He smiled and it transformed his face, once again Clark admired how handsome he was and he couldn’t help but smile back at Pete.
He wiped his hand with a greasy rag and held it out to Clark, “Sorry about your friend there Clark. I heard he …died.”
Clark shook hands with Pete. “Do you have some time to talk Pete, I--I’m feeling kind of low right now.”
Pete nodded, “Sure.” They jumped up on the back of the truck and sat quietly until Clark managed to work up the nerve to talk. Pete sat in comfortable silence, kicking his feet and waiting for Clark to speak.
“Pete—what did you know about Kevin?”
“Nothing really Clark, ya’ll go your way and we go ours, you know…” Pete shrugged.
Clark did know and it made him sad. “Pete, do you think we’ll be friends forever?”
Pete looked a little leery. “Well, yeah, I guess so—much as we can.”
“Do you ever wish it were different?” Clark asked and looked at Pete.
Pete jerked his eys towards Clark—“what do you mean? Why you asking that? We’re just fine, we got no problems.” Pete looked almost angry, a look Clark really couldn’t recall seeing on Pete’s face before.
“I mean- I meant…” He took a deep breath, “You know about Kevin though, you know he was…he was a homosexual, you know that right?”
Pete looked at Clark uncertainly, “Yeah, that kind of thing gets around, I mean, was he really?”
Clark nodded, “Yeah, he was. He wasn’t the only one.” Pete’s forehead wrinkled and suddenly he held up his hand, “un-unh--” he started.
Clark blurted out, “I am too.”
Pete dropped his hand and stared at Clark. He shook his head. “Don’t say that. I don’t want to hear that.”
“Pete,” Clark started, and Pete jumped off the truck. He shook his head again. “Clark, the bible warns us about those things-- those things are things of the devil—they're of evil.”
Clark stood also, feeling his heart break. “But, but you must know how it feels--”
“I don’t know nothin’ of the sort--all I know is, I’m getting the fuck from out here—and so are you. You should go now, Clark, you talk to your pastor, maybe he can help you see the evil, maybe he can bring you back to Jesus. Go on now Clark—go home.” Pete backed away, hesitated, “You know I’m still your friend, Bible says hate the sin, not the sinner…”
“Yeah, thanks Pete,” Clark laughed bitterly, “Thanks for your friendship. Thanks for hating the sin but not me—oh by the way Pete, just so you know, the sin—it’s a part of me-- like breathing, like the color of your skin. It just is me.” He shrugged and walked away. It wasn’t until he couldn’t hear the dogs barking anymore that he let the tears fall.
It hurt so much he felt it like a ball of nails in his throat. Was this growing up—this awful pain? That’s what they say, put away childish things—and he was leaving everything of childhood behind, because he’d just lost the best piece of his childhood…Pete.
More soon! Stay tuned!
no subject
It's like Pete finding out about Clarky being alien all over again!
*PAIN!!*
(and I miss Pete!)
*sniffles*
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