Eulogy
Day At The River
While the gentle rocking of the caravan traveling along the long bumpy road to nowhere usually allowed me to fall into a deep and undisturbed sleep, that day, I couldn't sleep. I was exhausted, both physically and mentally – my eyes drooping, my mind wandering far into a dreamy, oblivious state – but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't. I just couldn't.
About ninety-nine point nine percent of my consciousness was busy doing nothing. The other point one percent, however, would stay on one topic… On one face… On one memory…
"I want to travel with you, Evra," he says, his clear, innocent eyes wide. "Forever."
The water in the bowl before me sloshed around gently with the rocking of the caravan, making a soft little sound against the glass edges. My reflection danced along the ripples, a disjointed splash of greens and yellows.
Except for my snake, who was sleeping peacefully in the hammock Truska had allowed me to hang up, I was alone.
While the Cirque was on the road, the tents were packed away into trailers, so most of those without caravans had to 'bunk up' with those who did have one. I usually shared with Truska, Darren, and another boy, a human who helped to cook.
But now, the others were gone – Truska was being taught how to drive by Cormac, the other boy somewhere, and Darren –
"I'm sorry, Evra," Mr. Tall says, softly, carefully. He doesn't want to hurt me. I can see it in his eyes. "He's…"
I bit my tongue, willing the physical pain to choke back the tears that threatened to come flooding out. It worked. Barely.
I dipped my hands into the warm water in the bowl, upsetting the surface even further, pushing the liquid out and away. Within microseconds, the water had rushed back, encircling my hands with its purifying touch. I cupped my hands, making my reflection clearer. I stared back at me - a sad, quiet, serpentine gaze.
"The world is a strange place," he was saying, poking a leaf with the stick he held in his hands. "Society encourages you to be individualistic and your own person, yet, at the same time, they demand that you be confined by laws and, essentially, what society thinks is 'right'…They want you to conform and be just like everyone else."
I couldn't help but stare at him, amused by his insightfulness. He looks up at me, and smiles that sweet, innocent little smile of his.
"Or so my parents say."
A tear snuck passed my barrier of pain and crept down my cheek. It landed with a small splash onto the desk, a wet smudge on the dark wood. That single tear's escape gave hope and strength to the others – soon, more were pushing against my tear ducts, and before I could stop them, they overcame me, coming down in torrents. A moan escaped my throat, my knees threatening to collapse as the pain that was called heartache gripped my chest.
He was…
sam
He was…
"…He's dead…"
Bringing my cupped hands out of the bowl, streams of water escaping through the small gaps between my fingers, I splashed my face in hopes of washing away the tears. But it didn't work. More and more, they came, becoming vicious in their want to free themselves. Another moan – I ran my wet hands through my hair, leaving a trail of water in it.
It hurt.
The small crack in my heart was agonizingly painful, like nothing I had ever felt before.
Oh, how it hurt.
"Evra," he whispers softly. I turn slightly to look towards him, Darren too far away to hear, busying himself by having a one-sided conversation with Lefty. "I…I think I like you…"
Sam. Sam Grest. Even thinking the name hurt. I had only known him for no more than a week, and yet, I missed him like I had never missed before. I wanted nothing more than to be able to touch him, to hold his hand, to feel his warm little body wrapped in my arms in an even warmer embrace…
It was as if he was like Darren – a teenager trapped in a boy's body. However, unlike Darren, Sam was different. Sam was mature. He was aged beyond his years, knowing things that kids of the tender age of eleven didn't, or shouldn't, know. When you looked at him, you could tell – behind the innocence in his eyes was an ancient… wisdom.
There was only one other man who I knew like that.
It was ironic, really. Was I fated to fall for the sad, wise ones?
I guess so.
He is the one that makes the first move. It is soft, quick, a light pattering of butterfly wings on my lips. He has to stand on his tip toes to reach, but he does – his hands clutching each other behind his back, his eyes shut, a little blush staining his cheeks. And then he teeters, and falls forward, forcing me to catch him. Another small, shy smile.
"I fell," he states, matter-of-factly. I just smile back.
Plunge my hands into the bowl.
I drew out another handful of water, and, tilting my head back, I splashed it over my face, wetting the front of my bare chest. Droplets ran through my hair and hit the ground, drip, drip, dripping away.
Like blood.
The water raced down my face, down my neck, over my bony collar bone and down my chest, leaving wet trails. Just like the tears had, moments before.
Before I can stop him, he takes his shirt of and jumps into the water, more a child than ever.
"Sam!" I cry. Moments later, his head breaks through the waters surface, and he laughs.
"Come on, Evra!" He shouts, waving at me. "The water's nice!"
At one point in time, the caravan had stopped moving. I didn't notice it – which is funny, seeing as how I should have noticed the sudden lack of rhythmic swaying. I sighed. Someone must have a flat tyre somewhere. Or maybe Truska ran into a tree.
"Why do you eat them?" I ask, pulling a face as Sam pops another pickled onion into his mouth. He grins, his cheek bulging slightly as he pushes the onion to the side of his mouth.
"Cause I like them!"
The door opened.
"Hey, Evra, do we have any pickled onions anywhere?"
I turned slowly towards the doorway. Darren stood there, closing the door behind him. But I didn't see Darren. I saw Sam. Sam was standing there, shutting the door, a smile on his clear, innocent face.
"Sam…" I moaned, stepping forward, my hands reaching towards him. He took an unsure step back. As I moved, I bumped the table the bowl sat on, making it fall. It crashed to the ground, splintering into millions of tiny shards, the water splashing everywhere.
"Evra!" Darren – no, Sam – cried, stepping back into the door. My arms snaked around him, encircling his small, warm body. I heard him gasp – start to struggle – but I latched on, the tears still streaming down my face.
And then we slid to the side, falling to the floor with a thump. He let out a cry – but I didn't hear him. All I heard was Sam, whispering to me softly, telling me what we were going to do, telling me of our future together.
"Evra…!"
No – that wasn't Darren. It was Sam, Sam, my Sam, and we were going to be together forever, and there was nothing that was going to stop us, so kiss me, kiss me now…
"Evra, no, stop, stop it...!"
I pressed my lips to Sam's. Flicked my tongue through his lips. Keeping one hand wrapped around him, the other went down to his pants, tugging at them softly.
"Evra!"
"It's all right, Sam," I whispered, my eyes closed. "It won't hurt…"
"Evra! Snap out of it!"
My hand tugged, trying to get his pants undone. Sam wasn't being any help. He was squirming. I shut my eyes tighter, clutching him closer to me.
"Stop it, Sam! Please!"
"I'm Darren, not Sam!"
But I didn't hear him. I didn't want to hear him. I wanted him so much to be Sam, so much for Sam to be the one wrapped in my arms…
Another set of hands rested on my elbows. They were long, thin – a man's hands.
"Evra…" a voice whispered in my ear, softly, lovingly. "Let Darren go. He won't bring Sam back…"
I opened my eyes, turning around. I found myself looking into the face of another.
Mr Tall.
"He's gone, Evra," he whispered to me, one of his long musician hands stroking my face. Behind me, Darren scrambled away, crouching in the corner, hugging his legs. "He's gone, and there's nothing you can do. I'm sorry."
Tears threatened. My face crumbled. Then, with a loud, uncontrollable wail, I wrapped my arms around Mr Tall's neck and sobbed into his chest. Gently, with a strength that belied his appearance, he picked me up, cradling me like a child.
"Shh," he whispered into my ear. "It's all right, Evra. I'm here now."
He continued to whisper soft reassurances into my ear as he walked me from my caravan to his.
There, he comforted me.
In ways only Mr Tall was able to.
A/N I apologise for the crappiness. As usual. Sigh. hits Darren Stupid child.