Post by shinigami on Sept 21, 2008 1:06:40 GMT -8
Everyone's a pacifist between wars. It's like being a vegetarian between meals.
--Colman McCarthy
"Do we have to move to Las Vegas?" Aidan had his forehead pressed against the window. There were two Aidans; the flesh and blood teenage boy, his hair so dark a red, his eyes so pale a gray, his mouth so plush; the surreal light and shadow duplicate of a boy, transparent but otherwise exact. He hadn't said a word for miles of interstate, but they were almost at the next rest stop. The rest stops were creepy; sometimes there'd be a lot of trucks, just hanging out, truckers asleep inside; sometimes there'd be a car here, a truck there; it was all just so quiet, all just so - in the middle of nowhere.
"We don't have to," his mother drawled. Her voice was pure South; accent as thick as a good slice of bread from a freshbaked loaf. All twang. All country. "But we're gonna. Honey, don't be so concerned; you'll like Las Vegas. Plenty to do in Las Vegas."
"If you're over twenty one," Aidan said.
"Didn't think those're the kindsa things my boy wanted to do," she said, arcing her eyebrows as she stopped their truck. It was a big ol' rented U-Haul. It was also just Aidan and his mom, instead of his six older brothers. Aidan was there for manual labor, and the others were already in Las Vegas -- or living their life, free of the nest. Or as free as any Alexander ever really got.
His mouth curved into a (smolder, now) sullen smile, there and then gone. "Yeah, guess not." Then he sighed, shifted position and opened his book again. The book quickly absorbed his attention. It wasn't a story. It was a book on how to make a violin.
---
The rest stop turned out to be one of the largest they'd stopped at yet.
Bathrooms, empty lot, empty lot, one flickering light amid a series of half-lit lights. Shadows, eerieness, emptiness, except the rest stop wasn't just their U-haul -- there were a couple of trucks, clustered in a group, on the other side. While Aidan took a piss, he stared at the window, but he couldn't make out the shape of a sleeping person. He finally figured that he was being creepy, and should just get on with sleeping. He ate the last of some McDonalds, then climbed back into the truck. His mom smiled, and got out to go to the bathroom.
Aidan watched the sky, counted the stars just over the scraggly line of pines at the very far end of the rest stop -- the only trees for miles, it felt like -- until his thick lashes touched each other and he was almost -- almost -- okay, he was asleep.
The sound of his mom arguing is what woke him.
His neck was cramped, and his breath fogged the window; as he sat up, he cracked his neck and winced. Then he opened the door and jumped to the ground. "Mama?"
The arguing broke off for a moment. His mother said: "You just get back in the truck, honey. Mama's got this one." Then a man's voice said: "Damn straight mama's got this one." There was a leer in the voice. Unmistakable. "That's sick. Why don't y'all just take that half-a-handful you've got there and - " That was his mother, again. They were around the back of the truck, and Aidan pushed his too-long hair out of his face and, cautious, listening, cunning, circled around the truck. " - cain'chta see you're a moron or d'you need me to point it out to you?"
It was his mother, who was a formidable woman, and four big n' mean n' unhappy men. Aidan didn't know who started it (although he could know, if he wanted to; he could see that he could look, and he blinked to clear his head; it was the kind of knowledge he didn't need) and Aidan didn't care who started it.
He held up his hands and said, "Hey, whoa guys, can't we just talk this over? What's going on Mama? You didn't siphon their gas, did you?"
--Colman McCarthy
"Do we have to move to Las Vegas?" Aidan had his forehead pressed against the window. There were two Aidans; the flesh and blood teenage boy, his hair so dark a red, his eyes so pale a gray, his mouth so plush; the surreal light and shadow duplicate of a boy, transparent but otherwise exact. He hadn't said a word for miles of interstate, but they were almost at the next rest stop. The rest stops were creepy; sometimes there'd be a lot of trucks, just hanging out, truckers asleep inside; sometimes there'd be a car here, a truck there; it was all just so quiet, all just so - in the middle of nowhere.
"We don't have to," his mother drawled. Her voice was pure South; accent as thick as a good slice of bread from a freshbaked loaf. All twang. All country. "But we're gonna. Honey, don't be so concerned; you'll like Las Vegas. Plenty to do in Las Vegas."
"If you're over twenty one," Aidan said.
"Didn't think those're the kindsa things my boy wanted to do," she said, arcing her eyebrows as she stopped their truck. It was a big ol' rented U-Haul. It was also just Aidan and his mom, instead of his six older brothers. Aidan was there for manual labor, and the others were already in Las Vegas -- or living their life, free of the nest. Or as free as any Alexander ever really got.
His mouth curved into a (smolder, now) sullen smile, there and then gone. "Yeah, guess not." Then he sighed, shifted position and opened his book again. The book quickly absorbed his attention. It wasn't a story. It was a book on how to make a violin.
---
The rest stop turned out to be one of the largest they'd stopped at yet.
Bathrooms, empty lot, empty lot, one flickering light amid a series of half-lit lights. Shadows, eerieness, emptiness, except the rest stop wasn't just their U-haul -- there were a couple of trucks, clustered in a group, on the other side. While Aidan took a piss, he stared at the window, but he couldn't make out the shape of a sleeping person. He finally figured that he was being creepy, and should just get on with sleeping. He ate the last of some McDonalds, then climbed back into the truck. His mom smiled, and got out to go to the bathroom.
Aidan watched the sky, counted the stars just over the scraggly line of pines at the very far end of the rest stop -- the only trees for miles, it felt like -- until his thick lashes touched each other and he was almost -- almost -- okay, he was asleep.
The sound of his mom arguing is what woke him.
His neck was cramped, and his breath fogged the window; as he sat up, he cracked his neck and winced. Then he opened the door and jumped to the ground. "Mama?"
The arguing broke off for a moment. His mother said: "You just get back in the truck, honey. Mama's got this one." Then a man's voice said: "Damn straight mama's got this one." There was a leer in the voice. Unmistakable. "That's sick. Why don't y'all just take that half-a-handful you've got there and - " That was his mother, again. They were around the back of the truck, and Aidan pushed his too-long hair out of his face and, cautious, listening, cunning, circled around the truck. " - cain'chta see you're a moron or d'you need me to point it out to you?"
It was his mother, who was a formidable woman, and four big n' mean n' unhappy men. Aidan didn't know who started it (although he could know, if he wanted to; he could see that he could look, and he blinked to clear his head; it was the kind of knowledge he didn't need) and Aidan didn't care who started it.
He held up his hands and said, "Hey, whoa guys, can't we just talk this over? What's going on Mama? You didn't siphon their gas, did you?"
