Chapter #15The Glove by: Seuzz   "Happy birthday, buddy," Frank says, and slaps you on the back. You stumble forward a few steps. "Sorry," he adds, and grasps you to stop you falling face-forward into the cake. Rosalie suppresses a laugh.
"Well, thanks," you mutter. "It is a surprise, since it's not my birthday."
"Oh come on," Joe chortles. "It's got to be someone's birthday in there." He pokes you in the chest; you look down, and he flicks his finger up to catch your nose.
"Then how old am I supposed to be," you retort. You look at the candles on the cake. You can't take in their number at a glance, and you keep losing track as you try to count them, for there always seems to be more of them.
"You're only as old as you feel," Frank says, and kneads the back of your neck. "But that doesn't answer the question, does it?"
It's only the four of you up in the little cabin by the lake. You're glad Frank suggested the getaway, for you've been feeling restless. He'd driven, and you'd taken the passenger seat of the Range Rover, which left Joe free to whoop and holler in the back; when he wasn't whooping and hollering you'd resisted turning around to see what he was doing, for Rosalie was back there with him. You'd fished and done a little wildlife tracking and spent the night, and done some more fishing and hunting the next day with Frank while the other two kept with each other somewhere else. At some point, though, Joe and Rosalie had apparently broken off what Father Ed calls "shenanigans" and run into the little nearby town to pick up a cake. It is a nice surprise, and you appreciate the improvisation.
You lean forward and blow out the candles. They smoke for a second, and then relight. "Oh, very funny, Joe," you exclaim as he bends in half, cackling. You blow them out again, and this time he leaves them out.
It's dessert first with slices passed around, and then Frank goes outside to grill the trout you'd caught. Joe joins him a minute later, but you stay inside. Rosalie sits in the low armchair, crosses her legs, and smiles at you. Even when she's relaxed, she has a certain queenly air, and you feel like you should stand. She notices, and with a gentle movement of her hand bids you sit. Stiffly, you perch on the edge of the sofa. "Happy birthday, Will," she says quietly.
"Thank you," you repeat. "Though it isn't."
"I know. But Joe just got back after missing my last birthday party, and you and I share a birthday, so--" She shrugs.
"Then this is all for you?"
"It's for both of us." She smiles. "I told them that could their present to me."
You rub at a temple. "Well, thanks."
A long silence ensues as you feel her gaze on you. "What's wrong, Will? You've been out of sorts for a few days now. Bored?"
"No. Maybe. I don't know. I'm sure it's just a temporary thing."
"A little eclipse?"
"Maybe. Is that what you call them?" She shrugs lightly. "I don't know. Maybe I do feel a little bit like disappearing."
She jogs her foot. "Like you want to disappear, or like you are disappearing?"
"A little of both?" You fold your hands and lean forward. "Charles hasn't been riding me, exactly, about choosing a second ousiarch," you say in a very quiet voice. "But he's been getting a little more serious when he asks me."
"Why are you putting it off?"
"Who says I am?" You look up at her sharply. "It's a big question. It's not something that most of us have to do, you know?" You hunch forward a little more. "Everyone else is born with two of them. I was, too. But one of mine--" A hard knot forms in your throat. "It got stolen."
"You can get it back."
"I was fucking raped, Rosalie," you say with sudden anger. "What can you get back after you're raped?"
"I'm sorry, Will. That was tactless of me."
Shame washes over you. "No, I'm sorry. That was a tasteless metaphor."
"But apt."
"No, I shouldn't complain to a ... woman about rape."
"Why? Because you're looking like a man at the moment? And it can happen to them, too."
"Well--" You jerk your shoulders in a shrug. "Well, it's all kind of arbitrary for me, isn't it? I'm not even looking like myself tonight, and it's supposedly my birthday. Except I am looking like myself. I always look like myself, no matter what I look like. And at the same time, I never do."
"You are feeling a little bit of an eclipse, aren't you?"
You glance out the window, to where the brothers are. Frank's back is to you; Joe is in profile, and his smile is wide and easy. "I'm wobbling," you say in a whisper. "Nash warned me of that, that I'm unbalanced. But this is more. I feel like a marble, rolling around on the floor. I have no groove, no path, no orbit." You stare hard at Frank and Joe, and your eyes begin to ache and water. "I mean, look at them. They've got each other, and they always will. The natural bond between brothers." The wetness stabs into tears. "I had a brother, you know. I still do, but he hasn't got one, and he'll never have one again, which means I won't either."
She glances out the window. "Except that's not real brotherhood either. They're not related."
"Accident of blood. They grew up together. And in the real blood they are brothers. Stellae blood brothers."
"You have it too, Will. You're just as much Joe's brother as Frank is, and just as much Frank's brother as Joe is. And you and I aren't just related as Stellae. We do have a blood relationship."
"I know." You look at her. "I don't think I've told you, really, how glad I am that you're with us. I am. Very much."
Her eyes fall, and she you think there's a little paleness behind her small smile. "Thank you, Will," she says in a very quiet voice. "You have shown me. But a girl likes to hear it," she adds.
You deliberately veer away from the shadow of the past. "Does Joe tell you? With poetry and stuff? Being Viritrilbian and all."
"Well, he shows it. Right now I think we're just having fun." She lowers her eyes and picks at an invisible thread on her knee.
She is suddenly looking very pretty and abashed, not at all queenly, so you can't resist. "And how is he? I mean, how quick can a Viritrilbian be?"
She gives you a look, but laughs. "Time stands still," she says through narrowed eyes.
You give a low whistle. "I'm glad for you."
There's silence for a moment before she speaks again. "If I had to say anything, Will, I'd say you sound lonely."
You chew at a fingernail and don't meet her eyes. "I do, don't I?"
"You like Joe, don't you?"
You sigh deeply. "Yes I do. I like Frank too."
"I won't get in your way."
You flinch back. "I-- I don't need--"
"No, I'm the one who doesn't need anything. Not at present. You do."
You hunch forward some more. "You don't think it's funny, do you," you ask in a pained voice. "Me talking about Joe and Frank this way? I mean, I could talk about you this way--"
"But you don't."
"No." You hang your head. "We don't have the history. And you're very pretty, and when I first saw you in Saratoga Falls--" You trail off awkwardly.
"But it's the history that counts," she says for you. "Like it counts between them. Because the other--" Her lips twitch. "No, I don't think it's funny, the idea of you and-- Well, whichever. Because the other thing is arbitrary with you. You can look at them with any set of eyes. You don't see boys and girls. You see them."
You close your eyes, and your head hurts as the blood rushes to it. "Do you think they'd think it's funny?" you whisper.
You can sense the gentle smile on her lips. "Joe thinks everything is funny. Frank thinks nothing is funny. You're safe either way with either one."
"Mm," you sigh softly. "Thanks, Rosalie. You're going to be good at your job when the time comes."
She gives a little gasp. "Nothing is settled, Will," she says. "And it won't be for a good long time, I hope. But thank you for the compliment."
Another long silence.
"I am enough of a little girl, though," she says, "that I'd love to know which way you feel like you're leaning."
You're saved by the back door opening, and the boys returning with a platter of fragrant fish. Rosalie becomes merry, and you feel sufficiently better from your talk that she can sweep you along. There's much laughter over dinner, though you burn your tongue on the fish.
There is only one gift. "From Nash," Frank says as he hands the little box over.
Inside, you find some slim white gloves. "What do they do?" you ask, for you know anything from Nash is not just for show.
"He rigged them up special for your sigils," Joe says, and he's very serious suddenly. "Put them on when you unlock one."
"I'm not unlocking any more," you insist.
"So you always say. But if you unlock one while wearing these, you'll only be able to use it while wearing them."
You feel the stoniness in your eyes. "Is this so people will know they can trust me?"
"No," says Frank. "And if you say that again I'll slap the silly idea right out of your head. It's so you'll know that you can trust yourself."
Trust yourself? That's not enough. You need a tether.
You look at Frank and Joe. A tether and a ring. Your heart flips at that last word.
To wake from this reverie: "The Boy from Before Everything, Part 2"  | Members who added to this interactive
story also contributed to these: |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Get MORE!
Shop Memberships
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
