Chapter Seven of Summer Story :part 1
3/15/05 03:57 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyThe Previous Parts are here, wondering why you won't let them talk to your boyfriend.It's not like they don't mind sharing...
Here is the next installment on this thing that will eventually be called the Boys Of Summer...'cause I like that--and because it's changed a whole lot since I started. Wow--talk about losing control! I've learned a little more working on this, and that's great, there are great big chunks that don't make me want to gouge my eyes out and that makes me happy--there are bits that make me go--OOoo! not bad! And that makes me really happy!
Now, I have an idea I want to try out, I'm kind of looking forward to working on it. I'll tell you all about it! But first--
Sam walked around the apartment trying to think clearly. It felt like his head was stuffed with cotton, as though he were walking through a dream-- nothing felt real.
He looked at the open suitcase on the couch, and marveled how little space was required to pack away his life here. Boxes had been sent home a week ago, and he was damn grateful Abbie and Bill had agreed to him staying temporarily with them. Big capital T on the temporary, he smiled to himself. He hoped they weren’t going to have a major fit when he told them about his plans.
Then again, they might like having a son who owned a print shop slash gallery…or sandwich shop slash gallery—maybe a titty-bar slash gallery, he thought and made himself laugh out loud, picturing everyone’s face—a what bar? In Smallville?
He tossed a framed picture of the folks in his bag and glanced around again. Pretty much it.
Everything that had belonged to him in this place fit into a couple of cardboard boxes and two suitcases. He slipped a pair of shoes in a canvas bag and tucked them down inside the suitcase. He picked up a small box full of pictures from the coffee table and tossed it into the case too. Before he zipped up the bag, he opened the box and sighed. The first picture on top was a picture of Whit, one that had been taken last summer. He was looking into the camera, a little defensive, a little lost and sad. Shit, he used to look like that all the time--until he made friends with that marine. Friends.
Sam felt a hot flash of fury sweep through him, and instantly felt like a jerk. Why be mad because the kid found someone who brought him some happiness? Was he supposed to go on feeling like shit because Sam felt like shit?
Mike came up behind him and pulled the snapshot out of his hand, glanced at it and tossed it back in the box.
“Hey!” Sam protested and Mike squeezed his shoulder before moving to the suitcase.
“Look, I’m thinking you’re going home with this idea of him--” he jerked his head at the box of pictures, “--like he used to be, and that things are going to be just rosy from here on out. Man, that kid who hero-worshipped you and thought you walked on water doesn’t exist anymore. From where I’m standing the boy don’t hardly even like your ass no more. Can’t say I blame him, either.”
Sam looked at his brother and frowned. “Tell me again why I asked you to help me instead of Matt?”
“Because Matt would call you a steaming pile of Kansas cowpats and leave your sorry ass right here. Plus, he wouldn’t be luggin’ no thousand pound suitcases down the stairs.”
“Elevator? Have you ever heard of them?”
“Doesn’t sound as dramatic” Mike grinned briefly before continuing. “Really, Sam, you can’t step in and screw Whit’s life up again--I think he’s finally at a point where there’s a chance he’s going to be…okay. You know? Don’t think he’s some kind of magic…something, charm-- that’s going to make your life better when he’s *just* beginning to get his own shit together. Don’t screw his shit up.”
Sam made an impatient gesture and spoke rapidly; it was obvious to Mike that he’d upset him. “Look,” Sam said, “I’m not coming home for that, okay? I know I screwed up once already—a lot of times, shut up motherfucker—but I’m coming back to make things better for me. Unless I’m happy with myself I can’t make anyone else happy can I?” he dragged a hand though his hair and stared at Mike.
Mike shrugged and sat on the arm of the couch. “Go 'head Oprah—I think you’re getting smarter in your old age.” Mike refused to be moved by the hurt and confusion swimming in Sam’s eyes. He was not going to get trapped into shouldering Sam’s troubles for him. Again.
All their young lives, Mike had looked out for Sam, tried to smooth the way for him. He felt like he’d spent his teen years apologizing and explaining Sam’s behavior to their parents and siblings, he’d worked hard to make sure Pete only saw cool guy Sam, smooth and in control, and not fucked up barely able to put two and two together Sam…and it was past time for him to get his shit together—hell, if an eighteen year old kid could recognize he needed help, so Sam, right?
“Man, fuck you man—have I told you how much I hate you?" Sam sighed and dropped his eyes. “I am hearing you, Mike. I understand what you’re saying. When I decided I had to stop trying to make everyone else happy, I took a good hard look at myself and it was pretty damn ugly. I know where I fucked up, I know what I did to Whit.”
“Bruh, that’s not even the main point. I hear you say you’re not living your life for others now—cool, but I hope you’re done *using* us too.” Mike couldn’t help the flare of anger he felt. As much as he loved his little brother—and he’d never admit out loud he loved him more then anyone else in the world--he was angry at him too, at his selfishness, at his constant search for love that dragged everyone with him into hell. He prayed that Sam was right, that he knew now what he wanted and how to get it. He hoped Whit was it for him, he really did. He wanted to see the both of these guys happy, at long last. But he wasn’t willing to sacrifice Whit so that Sam could feel good about himself.
“I know it was entirely selfish.” Sam want on, not noticing how deep in thought Mike was. “But you have no idea what it feels like to have someone worship you like that—I know, I know--it sounds awful, but I loved it, I got off on it. He acted like he thought the sun rose and set on my ass. I liked having him think that. I fed into it, you know? All knowing, all powerful big brother…and then it got to be that it wasn’t enough, I wanted more from him…because I’m a selfish ass-hole.”
Mike looked at him in surprise. “Well. Aren’t we really being fucking Oprah today. Look like we did trip over some truth somewhere in our strange journey. I’m telling you, just take your time. Learn patience, and you might see a whole new world is out there for you, just don’t push it…. and don’t be so hard on yourself as far as Whit’s concerned, I don’t think he knew that about you.”
Mike thought to himself, and lucky for you too--if the boy had known, Whit probably woulda chewed him up and spit him out. He hadn’t been a totally defenseless little kid. Mike shook his head. Drama.
“Hey, I understand what you’re telling me, okay? You don’t have to rub my nose in it every five minutes—Sam Ross is *not* on Whitney Fordmans list of good guys--”Sam grimaced; “So do you want to just stand there and make me feel even more like shit or are you going to help with the rest of this stuff? Wait, I know what would be fun—let’s hang out here ‘til Sheryl gets back and then the both of you can have fun feasting on my balls.”
Mike laughed, closed and zipped the suitcase. He grabbed the case and Sam grabbed the other and they walked out of the apartment.
Sam locked the door and pocketed the key. “I hope I never have to come back here ever again.” He spoke with bitterness, and Mike cut his eyes toward him.
“It’s not entirely her fault. You knew when you married her--”
“Oh, my god! Can you get the fuck off my case for one second?” Sam growled and punched the elevator button so hard he was afraid for a moment his finger would go right through the plastic.
The temper tantrum made him grin but Mike figured it was a long ride back to Smallville and as funny as Sam was when he was irritated, it might not be so funny a couple of hours down the road.
“Well, the split didn’t end up as bad as I thought it was going to, good for you, hunh? I thought she was going to take your ass to the cleaners, her and Mommy and Daddy Lawyer... how’d you get her to step off anyway?”
Sam looked at him and sighed, “A lot of crying, a whole lot of crying like a bitch.”
Mike grimaced and laughed a little. “So—she got--” Mike jerked his thumb at Sam’s crotch and he grinned and bent a little with a pained grimace.
“Yeah, boy…they’re in a box in her room.”
Mike laughed, “What ever it takes, by any means necessary.” They walked out into the lobby of the building, walked across squares of light cast on the gleaming tiles from the big lobby windows and with every step towards the doors Sam’s heart grew lighter, his step a little bouncier, until he stopped and dropped his suitcase, heads jerked around and people stared at him.
Sam raised a fist and in a dramatic tone said, “Tell our enemy that she may take away my testicles, but she'll never take... MY FREEDOM!”
Mike stopped and looked at Sam in admiration and in an awed voice said, “Damn. That is the worst motherfucking “Braveheart” imitation I’ve ever heard. Now if you’re done being insane up in here--”
Sam bowed and swept his hand out before him. “You first, oh brother mine.”
“Thank you kindly--raving ass-hole.” Eyes followed them out the doors—Sam felt it was one of the best exits he’d ever made.
They were still chuckling together as they loaded the car, and pulled out on the journey back to Smallville.
tbc!
Here is the next installment on this thing that will eventually be called the Boys Of Summer...'cause I like that--and because it's changed a whole lot since I started. Wow--talk about losing control! I've learned a little more working on this, and that's great, there are great big chunks that don't make me want to gouge my eyes out and that makes me happy--there are bits that make me go--OOoo! not bad! And that makes me really happy!
Now, I have an idea I want to try out, I'm kind of looking forward to working on it. I'll tell you all about it! But first--
Sam walked around the apartment trying to think clearly. It felt like his head was stuffed with cotton, as though he were walking through a dream-- nothing felt real.
He looked at the open suitcase on the couch, and marveled how little space was required to pack away his life here. Boxes had been sent home a week ago, and he was damn grateful Abbie and Bill had agreed to him staying temporarily with them. Big capital T on the temporary, he smiled to himself. He hoped they weren’t going to have a major fit when he told them about his plans.
Then again, they might like having a son who owned a print shop slash gallery…or sandwich shop slash gallery—maybe a titty-bar slash gallery, he thought and made himself laugh out loud, picturing everyone’s face—a what bar? In Smallville?
He tossed a framed picture of the folks in his bag and glanced around again. Pretty much it.
Everything that had belonged to him in this place fit into a couple of cardboard boxes and two suitcases. He slipped a pair of shoes in a canvas bag and tucked them down inside the suitcase. He picked up a small box full of pictures from the coffee table and tossed it into the case too. Before he zipped up the bag, he opened the box and sighed. The first picture on top was a picture of Whit, one that had been taken last summer. He was looking into the camera, a little defensive, a little lost and sad. Shit, he used to look like that all the time--until he made friends with that marine. Friends.
Sam felt a hot flash of fury sweep through him, and instantly felt like a jerk. Why be mad because the kid found someone who brought him some happiness? Was he supposed to go on feeling like shit because Sam felt like shit?
Mike came up behind him and pulled the snapshot out of his hand, glanced at it and tossed it back in the box.
“Hey!” Sam protested and Mike squeezed his shoulder before moving to the suitcase.
“Look, I’m thinking you’re going home with this idea of him--” he jerked his head at the box of pictures, “--like he used to be, and that things are going to be just rosy from here on out. Man, that kid who hero-worshipped you and thought you walked on water doesn’t exist anymore. From where I’m standing the boy don’t hardly even like your ass no more. Can’t say I blame him, either.”
Sam looked at his brother and frowned. “Tell me again why I asked you to help me instead of Matt?”
“Because Matt would call you a steaming pile of Kansas cowpats and leave your sorry ass right here. Plus, he wouldn’t be luggin’ no thousand pound suitcases down the stairs.”
“Elevator? Have you ever heard of them?”
“Doesn’t sound as dramatic” Mike grinned briefly before continuing. “Really, Sam, you can’t step in and screw Whit’s life up again--I think he’s finally at a point where there’s a chance he’s going to be…okay. You know? Don’t think he’s some kind of magic…something, charm-- that’s going to make your life better when he’s *just* beginning to get his own shit together. Don’t screw his shit up.”
Sam made an impatient gesture and spoke rapidly; it was obvious to Mike that he’d upset him. “Look,” Sam said, “I’m not coming home for that, okay? I know I screwed up once already—a lot of times, shut up motherfucker—but I’m coming back to make things better for me. Unless I’m happy with myself I can’t make anyone else happy can I?” he dragged a hand though his hair and stared at Mike.
Mike shrugged and sat on the arm of the couch. “Go 'head Oprah—I think you’re getting smarter in your old age.” Mike refused to be moved by the hurt and confusion swimming in Sam’s eyes. He was not going to get trapped into shouldering Sam’s troubles for him. Again.
All their young lives, Mike had looked out for Sam, tried to smooth the way for him. He felt like he’d spent his teen years apologizing and explaining Sam’s behavior to their parents and siblings, he’d worked hard to make sure Pete only saw cool guy Sam, smooth and in control, and not fucked up barely able to put two and two together Sam…and it was past time for him to get his shit together—hell, if an eighteen year old kid could recognize he needed help, so Sam, right?
“Man, fuck you man—have I told you how much I hate you?" Sam sighed and dropped his eyes. “I am hearing you, Mike. I understand what you’re saying. When I decided I had to stop trying to make everyone else happy, I took a good hard look at myself and it was pretty damn ugly. I know where I fucked up, I know what I did to Whit.”
“Bruh, that’s not even the main point. I hear you say you’re not living your life for others now—cool, but I hope you’re done *using* us too.” Mike couldn’t help the flare of anger he felt. As much as he loved his little brother—and he’d never admit out loud he loved him more then anyone else in the world--he was angry at him too, at his selfishness, at his constant search for love that dragged everyone with him into hell. He prayed that Sam was right, that he knew now what he wanted and how to get it. He hoped Whit was it for him, he really did. He wanted to see the both of these guys happy, at long last. But he wasn’t willing to sacrifice Whit so that Sam could feel good about himself.
“I know it was entirely selfish.” Sam want on, not noticing how deep in thought Mike was. “But you have no idea what it feels like to have someone worship you like that—I know, I know--it sounds awful, but I loved it, I got off on it. He acted like he thought the sun rose and set on my ass. I liked having him think that. I fed into it, you know? All knowing, all powerful big brother…and then it got to be that it wasn’t enough, I wanted more from him…because I’m a selfish ass-hole.”
Mike looked at him in surprise. “Well. Aren’t we really being fucking Oprah today. Look like we did trip over some truth somewhere in our strange journey. I’m telling you, just take your time. Learn patience, and you might see a whole new world is out there for you, just don’t push it…. and don’t be so hard on yourself as far as Whit’s concerned, I don’t think he knew that about you.”
Mike thought to himself, and lucky for you too--if the boy had known, Whit probably woulda chewed him up and spit him out. He hadn’t been a totally defenseless little kid. Mike shook his head. Drama.
“Hey, I understand what you’re telling me, okay? You don’t have to rub my nose in it every five minutes—Sam Ross is *not* on Whitney Fordmans list of good guys--”Sam grimaced; “So do you want to just stand there and make me feel even more like shit or are you going to help with the rest of this stuff? Wait, I know what would be fun—let’s hang out here ‘til Sheryl gets back and then the both of you can have fun feasting on my balls.”
Mike laughed, closed and zipped the suitcase. He grabbed the case and Sam grabbed the other and they walked out of the apartment.
Sam locked the door and pocketed the key. “I hope I never have to come back here ever again.” He spoke with bitterness, and Mike cut his eyes toward him.
“It’s not entirely her fault. You knew when you married her--”
“Oh, my god! Can you get the fuck off my case for one second?” Sam growled and punched the elevator button so hard he was afraid for a moment his finger would go right through the plastic.
The temper tantrum made him grin but Mike figured it was a long ride back to Smallville and as funny as Sam was when he was irritated, it might not be so funny a couple of hours down the road.
“Well, the split didn’t end up as bad as I thought it was going to, good for you, hunh? I thought she was going to take your ass to the cleaners, her and Mommy and Daddy Lawyer... how’d you get her to step off anyway?”
Sam looked at him and sighed, “A lot of crying, a whole lot of crying like a bitch.”
Mike grimaced and laughed a little. “So—she got--” Mike jerked his thumb at Sam’s crotch and he grinned and bent a little with a pained grimace.
“Yeah, boy…they’re in a box in her room.”
Mike laughed, “What ever it takes, by any means necessary.” They walked out into the lobby of the building, walked across squares of light cast on the gleaming tiles from the big lobby windows and with every step towards the doors Sam’s heart grew lighter, his step a little bouncier, until he stopped and dropped his suitcase, heads jerked around and people stared at him.
Sam raised a fist and in a dramatic tone said, “Tell our enemy that she may take away my testicles, but she'll never take... MY FREEDOM!”
Mike stopped and looked at Sam in admiration and in an awed voice said, “Damn. That is the worst motherfucking “Braveheart” imitation I’ve ever heard. Now if you’re done being insane up in here--”
Sam bowed and swept his hand out before him. “You first, oh brother mine.”
“Thank you kindly--raving ass-hole.” Eyes followed them out the doors—Sam felt it was one of the best exits he’d ever made.
They were still chuckling together as they loaded the car, and pulled out on the journey back to Smallville.
tbc!
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Re: It's Sam!!!!
3/16/05 01:05 am (UTC)