Chapter 7: Tré
#7 of Paul and Jamie's Story
Wow, it's actually less than a year between chapter posts! Significantly less! This chapter's mostly new, maybe written entirely in 2011! Wow... I really enjoyed writing this one, and I hope you enjoy reading. This chapter roughly overlaps the chapter involving difficulties with Paul's father. It occurs on the same day, and focuses on what our other fox friend is going through...
Chapter 7: Tré by Nathaniel Nocturne
A lone figure stood on a hill, the spring wind flowing all around him. The fox's eyes were closed, wet from crying. He inhaled deeply, catching whiffs of wet earth, young flowers, and pine trees. All of the aromas delicately melded together, breathing forth in an inexplicably simple but entirely unique bouquet that wafted in the breeze. He let out the breath, and it shook, accompanied by more tears. Each tear symbolized loss, lonliness, heartbreak; but each tear also whispered of healing and acceptance. Breathe in, breathe out.
Tré had been coming to the hilltop for years. It had become dear to him almost immediately. Now, it was almost sacred. The hill was his shrine, the hill was his sanctuary. Tré stood atop the hill at least once a week. He felt incomplete if he missed his theraputic time of solitude. Sometimes tears were shed, other times not (and even sometimes something aside from tears was shed upon the hill.) But the hill had always helped him, channeling a silent, secret healing force. Tré loved his special place, and felt certain that a hidden sentience loved him back.
The sun was hanging lower in the sky, half-blanketed by clouds. The sky performed a visual symphony that evening. Whiskery Cirrus whisps existing impossibly high, while fluffier, friendlier clouds floated by beneath the thick, yet perforated, blanket that rhythmically hid and revealed the bleeding sun. The breeze blew through again, chillier than expected, causing Tré to shiver. He lowered himself to the ground into a cross-legged position, wishing, not for the first time, that he wasn't on the hill alone. The shivering wasn't completely due to the wind, much of the cold was actually coming from the inside.
"Paul... Take care of him..." Tré cried softly; tears continued to flow. He had imagined himself with Jamie, he had imagined himself fulfilled and loved. Tré knew his friends cared for him, but it wasn't the same. It wasn't what he needed, what his heart needed. The fox wanted real love. He didn't want to be alone anymore.
Time after time Tré replayed in his head all the missed opportunities he faltered at, every single time that he could have admitted his affection for Jamie, but didn't. He remembered when he had first seen Jamie's cycle into depression, and how it had pained him so greatly that his dear friend was suffering. All those times, all those misses.
"Jamie..." Tré sobbed. Uncrossing his legs, he buried his face in his hands. It killed him to know that he cared for his friend so much more than Jamie ever would for him. "I'm so fucking sick of being lonely... I hate never feeling happy, I hate the way I can't h-have anyone! GODDAMMIT!" Tré shouted to the world; only the hill, the fields, and the wind could hear him. Shuddering, he wiped his eyes dry. His attempts were futile, however, and his eyes kept leaking tears. He felt the infinitely immense void returning, deep within, stealing everything good within him. The tears no longer promised the healing they had whispered of only moments ago. Short of the agony, there was nothing to feel. Except hatred. He hated the complete lack of happiness and contentment, and the hate only perpetuated the miserable cycle. Hatred, misery. Misery, hatred. All the same, and all the worse. Tré flung himself to the ground, grasping at the grass, groping for rocks, seeking anything to grip, to hold. Anything.
Tré knew it was unrealistic, and knew it likely wouldn't happen any time soon, but that didn't help his desire at all. He wanted love. Deep, unconditional, compassionate, carefree, affectionate, understanding, perfect love. He wanted to meet the perfect, quirky guy that hangs around the book store or the coffee shop. He wanted the first awkward greetings and small talk, the fumbled exchange of numbers. He wanted the perfect first date, the one that goes amazingly in every way, beyond a shadow of a doubt. He wanted every date after that, and the eventual connection that would be born of them. But most of all, Tré wanted to be held. Nothing could possibly be more perfect than a guy that would cuddle him for hours on end, or ask to be held by him for an equally infinite amount of time. To walk in the rain, holding hands, to curl up and watch a movie together, to lay on the grass together and stare at the stars. That's what the fox truly wished for. Some sense of completion.
Gasping, he tried to pull himself together. He wiped his eyes and dusted the front of his shirt. Pebbles clicked and plunked quietly as they fell from his front, and dirt wheezed from the fabric in little clouds. He stood up slowly, sniffing. Evening was approaching, and Tré knew he had to return to the world sometime. With a sigh, he patted the tree, whispering "good-bye," and began walking the barely-there trail back to civilization, eyes still wet.
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The walk wasn't more than a mile and a half. The woods that descended from the mountains spread around several of the neighborhoods; however, not all of the woods were thick. While the forest behind Jamie's house would eventually lead one to their highland home (after quite some trek,) the trees that grew nearer Tré's neighborood merely separated the houses from the seemingly endless plains to the South. That's where his hill resided; it was out far enough to avoid nearly all contact with people, but close enough to be easily visited. Tré made his way through the trees, breaking through and finding a paved road.
'This is Melvin Avenue, so...' He thought to himself. He didn't really need to check, he knew exactly how to get home. Home was another quarter-mile of walking though some pretty nice houses; most were developed in the last 10 years, intended for upper-middle class families. However, home wasn't Tré's intended destination. It had taken all of his strength to get up and leave his clock-watching to visit his hill, and he didn't feel very much like returning to the solitude of his room. He'd had enugh of that. Downtown wasn't too far away, and he knew some pretty good coffee places that would still be open. Streetlights were suddenly lit, Tré realized; twilight had set in, painting everything in shades of blue and purple. It was a stark contrast to the harsh, orange light from the street lamps.
Tré seemed to be the only one out and about. Aside from the insistant buzz from the occasional flickering lamp, the secretive and whispering breeze, and Tré's own footsteps, the world seemed entirely quiet. He only encountered some very light traffic when he finally reached downtown, but even then it was never more than two at a time. Even cars seemed to be avoiding the evening. Tré took a right and ended up on Willam Street; it was a little busier here. Here and there, at least, strolled the intermittent pedestrian. He already knew where he wanted to go. After only a block Tré was greeted by a hand-painted sign that simply read "Maggie's Place." The glowing "open" sign didn't match it at all. Upon pushing the door open, he heard a bell tinkling overhead, one of the many little things that made the place one of his favorites.
The business was, in fact, opened only a few years prior, but the building containing it was far older. Maggie, the owner, a cat now in her thirties, had preserved the unique charm, leaving the exposed brick walls and worn hardwood floors. It was a coffee shop, and beloved by the community, famous for its personal and welcoming feel. Maggie herself ran the counter a few days out of the week; she prefered to stay connected and familiar with her customers. She even acted as a waitress, despite having hired a few. The ceiling, decorated with elaborate, antique moldings, rose high towards the front of the store to accomodate the large windows on either side of the door; however, it lowered by a few large, inverse terraces towards the back. The comfier booths were situated there, the lighting lower and softer.
The place was pretty empty. A couple, a stallion and mare, occupied one of the tables towards the front, a trio had a booth nearer the back, and one guy, wearing a teal, zippered hoodie, was working intently on his laptop at the long counter that ran the right side of the place, perched on a stool. He glanced up at Tré as the fox headed for the back before returning to his work; he was a golden retriever, on the slim side. His rectangular glasses seemed intent on leaving his face, so he was frequently pushing them back into place before his eyes. Tré took a small booth at the very back, and waited for someone to serve him. His head rested on his left hand while the fingers of his right drummed quiet non-rhythms on the tabletop.
By this point, Tré felt marginally better. Something was definitely still missing, but his negative feelings were subdued. He wasn't about to break down in the middle of a coffee shop, at least. His thoughts wandered. Jamie drifted in and out of his head, Paul, too. He could pick up snippets of conversation from the three at the booth farther up. They seemed to be vehemently discussing a recent sci-fi flick. A green-haired, gangly wolf seemed to be the critic of the bunch, pointing out every single plot hole or whatever else was wrong with the movie. The bear, who was fairly large in girth, as well as height, was defending the film, and, as it seemed, was losing badly. The third member, a mole, was sitting quietly and sipping something hot, a look of mild amusement on his face.
The couple at the front had since left, but the computer guy was still there. Tré kept trailing his gaze across the retriever; he was pretty cute, Tré had to admit. He looked like a teenager, sixteen or seventeen, Tré figured. His hair, a little darker than his coat, was shaggy, falling almost into his eyes. Tré had almost completely forgotten what he'd been going through, Jamie, Paul, all of that.
The computer guy leaned back in his stool, head thrown back, eyes closed, as if tired. Suddenly, he panicked; he'd leaned to far back by accident and was starting to fall. Pinwheeling his arms frantically he tried to stop the fall, but it was no use. With a crash and a thud, the retriever was laid out flat on his back, struggling to breathe. Tré, concerned, immediately got up and ran over to the poor guy. Kneeling by his side, he helped him sit up.
"Jeez, are you alright?" Tré asked worriedly.
"I...I think... I just had the wi-wind knocked out of me...thanks." He wheezed a few times, but managed to catch his breath. "Ah..." He gingerly felt the back of his head. He'd smacked it against the floor, and was already feeling an ugly bump forming. "Could you...get me some ice, please...?" The retriever started to stand up. He felt jarred, but it didn't feel like anything serious.
"Sure thing." Tré went to the counter. "Could I get some--" Maggie was already standing there, smiling, holding a small bag of ice. "Thanks." Tré smiled.
"Of course. Do you need anything else? Should I call someone for you?" She raised her voice, talking to the recouperating dog.
"Thanks, but I think I'm alright. Thank you." He smiled as Tré handed him the ice. He rested the ice against the bump, wincing. "And thanks for helping me up. And you are...?"
"I'm Tré." The fox smiled. "You want to sit down?"
"Sure. I'm Gordon," he said, grabbing his laptop and coffee before joining Tré in the booth. "Thanks again."
"Don't mention it. Is your head feeling alright?"
"I think so. Doesn't feel like a concussion." He reapplied the ice, and felt the pain almost disappear. He looked up at his rescuer and really noticed him for the first time. 'Oh...my God...' Immediate crush. Gordon felt his jaw fall open slightly before he clamped it shut. Gordon was rather fond of leaner guys, like himself, and Tré certainly fit that description. The fox's close-fitting, black-and-grey striped shirt only contributed to the image. 'No need to completely make an ass out of myself.' He immediately blushed and felt as though he had no idea to act. All social skills were immediately out the window. 'Not that I was ever too good at talking to people in the first place...' he tormented himself.
"Well, that's good." Tré smiled, hoping to smooth things over; Gordon was acting really strange all of a sudden. 'When he looked at me...' Tré thought. 'He probably caught me staring... Fuck, I hope I didn't freak him out or anything! I can't help it if he's adorable!' "Uh... Do you want anything, Gordon? I haven't ordered yet."
"No, thanks. I've already had like three coffees in the last hour, so I probably shouldn't have anymore." He chuckled weakly. 'Why'd you laugh, you idiot?' Gordon scolded himself. 'Not funny, not funny, not funny...'
Maggie walked hurriedly from behind the counter, writing pad in hand. "So, what'll it be?" She asked Tré.
"Uh, I'll have a mocha, venti, double shot."
"Alright..." she mumbled absentmindedly as she scribbled the order down. "Will that be all?"
"Yep, nothing else, thanks."
"It'll be ready in a couple minutes." She was already bustling away before Tré could respond. Now it was just him and Gordon again. Tré resumed drumming his fingers on the table. Gordon looked up at him and grinned awkwardly, making Tré laugh a little.
"So, what were you working on before your little spill?" Tré asked the dog.
"Well, I was finishing up a report for my English class. But I got bored with that, it's pretty lame. So I've just been working on this short story I've been writing for a while."
"Really? That's pretty cool. What's it about?"
'Oh, shit...' Gordon hadn't anticipated that. "It's nothing, really. I'm not a great writer." Gordon pulled the ice away from the bump; it was getting too cold. "You'd laugh at me."
"Why would I do that? C'mon, what's it about? I promise I won't laugh."
"Fine... It's... Well, it's sort of a romance story. I started it when I was feeling kind of down, just to make myself feel better. But I liked where it went, so I kind of stuck with it."
"That's really nice. Could I... Maybe I could read some of it? I'm a sucker for a good story."
"Uh..." 'Goddamn it... Why'd he have to ask me THAT?' "I don't think you'd like this one very much..."
"Why not?" Tré had encountered people that were really sensative about their work. He was like that sometimes, too. But his interest was piqued, he wanted to know. "If you think I'd be weirded out, don't worry. I'm pretty much chill with anything."
"Still, I don't think..." Gordon figured, 'may as well tell him the truth...' "It's not-- Er, it's about a couple guys..." Gordon prepared himself for the inevitable response. Disgust, confusion, discomfort. He wouldn't be surprised if it were a combination of them.
"Oh, I see." Tré was silently cheering. 'THAT explains it all. Thank God...' "So, they're gay then, right? That's cool." Tré smiled.
"Wait, what?" Gordon's eyes widened. He was shocked. "You...don't care? Really? That's kind of why I don't let anyone read my work... It's brought some...unpleasantness in the past."
"I'm sorry to hear that, man. And if anything, it just makes me want to read it more!" Tré grinned pleasantly. 'No need to hide it, apparently. I hope he likes me...'
Gordon pushed his glasses back up with an index finger. He didn't expect this at all. Blushing again, he gave a small smile. Things were going far better here than he could have imagined. He leaned back in his seat, arms folded, his head tilted slightly. Nervousness still tingled within him, but he felt some sense of control; he wasn't afraid, now. "So, does that mean that you're gay, then, too?" He giggled Tré's jump, who was apparently startled by the forwardness of the question. 'Guess he's better at dishing it out than taking it,' Gordon thought to himself, amused.
"Uh, yeah, actually." Now it was Tré's turn to blush.
"Really?!" Gordon exclaimed; he quickly composed himself, slightly embarrassed. "I mean, I wasn't really expecting this. I was kind of hoping that you would be, to be perfectly honest." Gordon laughed, feeling oddly sure of himself. He was never this comfortable and confident around strangers. He was still fairly jittery from their mutual coming-out, he often felt like that whenever he did, but it was different, this time. It was so much more pleasant.
"Uh, ditto, actually." Tré rubbed the back of his neck. "When I first saw you sitting there, I thought you were really cute." His voice wavered a bit as he finished his sentence. "I hope that wasn't too forward, I'm sorry. This is all really new ground for me..." Tré withdrew a little.
Gordon giggled. "Not at all! People don't usually compliment me like that. I'm really flattered!" He grinned. His eyes trailed down to his watch. "Oh, jeez, it's that late already? Sorry, Tré, I gotta go." Gordon packed up his laptop and stood up to leave. "Oh, before I leave, could I get your number?"
"My number?" Tré asked dumbly.
"Yeah, so I can call you sometime!" Gordon grinned.
"Oh, right, of course!" Gordon giggled. "God, I feel stupid..." Tré muttered quietly as he fished a pen out of his pocket and copied down his cell number onto an unused napkin. "Here you go."
"Cool. So, would you want to grab coffee again sometime this weekend, preferably without the falling part?"
"Absolutely! I'd really like that." Tré smiled.
Gordon had gathered his things and packed them away into a laptop bag designed to look like a military surplus satchel. "I'll call you sometime this week, then!" Gordon smiled warmly as he stood. "It was nice meeting you!"
"Nice meeting you, too, Gordon!" Tré waved as Gordon turned to leave.
"Bye!"
"Bye!" Tré slouched in the booth, letting out a long breath. It closing in on 9:00, he would head for home soon. His lips seemed permanently tugged upwards, he couldn't stop smiling. With a sigh, he thought, 'wow, he just asked me out. Wow...' He felt his eyes well up, and a tear rolled down his cheek; this time, a tear of elation, not of depression. Tré hadn't felt this good in a long time.