Silent, Lifting Mind
#18 of Free Association
Two conversations, one coon... ? 3508 words.
Hey everybody. My profuse and emphatic apologies for the delay in publishing this episode... internet is back up, after quite the battle with the Interdeath Monster.
_ Sunday. _
Bwing!
Jonathon blinked at the sudden noise, and clicked over to the tab that was now flashing. A message?
Facebleh. He probably shouldn't keep it up in the background like that, it was all sorts of terrible for getting homework done... but now, someone had messaged him, so he couldn't just close it, that would be rude. Even though it probably wasn't someone he really wanted to talk -
'Bradley Wilson: hey there'
'Jonathon Howard: :D hi!!!'
Buoyant, the raccoon clicked back to his online homework, stared at it for a second... and then shook his head, and clicked the X button. Later! He probably ought to start getting ready to visit Greyson anyway; it was cold out, and he was hanging around in shorts and a t-shirt like usual.
'Bradley Wilson: hows my fuzzball'
'Jonathon Howard: good :) was doing homework until about ten seconds ago now i'm not even pretending :)'
'Bradley Wilson: hahaha bad coon'
'Jonathon Howard: i know i'm terrible it's not due until wednesday though'
'Bradley Wilson: well thats good'
'Jonathon Howard: how bout you? how's my hunkcube?'
'Bradley Wilson: lol good. hanging around in my underwear with the roomie watching bad horror movies. sunday = best day!'
'Jonathon Howard: you are pantsless with another guy not sure how i feel about that >:( jk :)'
'Bradley Wilson: you can come join if you want ;) our apartment has a dress code of "very very informal, outerwear optional"'
'Jonathon Howard: haha you would have to put on pants to come pick me up'
'Bradley Wilson: if anyone looks inside my car they will be equally horrified whether im wearing pants or not... vinyl seats...'
'Jonathon Howard: but you will get cold! i have a responsibility to keep the contents of my boyfriend's pants warm'
'Bradley Wilson: lol'
Reluctantly, the raccoon hopped up from his laptop, and grabbed some pants himself. Nothing too formal; going to hang out with Greyson was not quite like going to hang out with this new wolf guy at a nice restaurant, as he'd done last week.
'Jonathon Howard: you don't mind if I say stuff like that right?'
'Bradley Wilson: course not why would i'
'Jonathon Howard: well, i mean, after last friday and all'
Oooh, you don __e it now! Br_ ing_ up the awkward topic why doncha! Jonathon snorted a little, pulling his shorts off (Riley was out doing who-knew-what) and attired himself in some nice comfy track pants. In spite of his overly dramatic mental narration, he couldn't dispute being a bit nervous to hear the wolf's response.
'Bradley Wilson: oh gee of course not. last friday does not mean you dont get bradley brand "junk food" warming rights silly because there is still next friday and a buncha fridays after, and heck tuesdays too. you okay? :/'
'Jonathon Howard: yeah i'm fine. :) just feel kinda dumb about it now that it's been a few days'
Socks! Sooooocks... Go grab some socks. There. Socks. And shoes, get the shoes too while you're up, silly coon.
'Bradley Wilson: well tbh ive been thinking about it too and im kinda glad friday went the way it did now. i want to take this whole thing with you really seriously and i dont want to go too fast. even if you were okay with stuff friday it still would have been going too fast and i dont know what that would do to things down the road'
Hm. Jonathon wasn't sure what to say to that. After a moment, 'Bradley Wilson is typing...' popped up again, so the raccoon left him to it.
'Bradley Wilson: ive had a couple of relationships that turned out really badly so i really wanna take this seriously and make it work. i mean we could just bang and hell we could even just be fuck buddies if we wanted but youre a nice guy and i really like you. monogamy is a really important special thing for me because of some things that happened and i think you deserve it and i just hope im worth the awkwardness and the other crap'
Aww.
'Jonathon Howard: you must be on sale because you're worth way more than all that :)'
'Bradley Wilson: im not sure if that was a corny pickup line or a hallmark moment lol'
'Jonathon Howard: can't it be both? :) :)'
'Bradley Wilson: apparently'
'Jonathon Howard: tear in your eye?'
'Bradley Wilson: little one :,] i guess im just trying to say that ill go as slow as you want and i really want this to work out and you dont have to worry about last friday okay?'
'Jonathon Howard: okay'
Such a sweet wuff. One wouldn't think it to look at him. Big scary guy, not all that muscular, but... looming, one could say. All scowls and glares for strangers, but once he let you in...
'Jonathon Howard: wish i could give you a hug after all that you make me feel like such a special coon'
'Bradley Wilson: special with sparkles?'
'Jonathon Howard: of course :)'
'Bradley Wilson: i always have to keep going until there are sparkles ;]'
Really, it was amazing he'd manage to stumble his way past the wolf's scratchy outside and into his soft, warm heart. Seriously. He tripped the guy. And spilled his coffee. Jonathon would never forgive anyone who spilled his coffee, let alone make out with them, take them on a date, and start a relationship with them; what kind of a coffee-masochist was he romancing, anyway?
'Jonathon Howard: hehe i hope being with me is better than whatever you went through before...'
'Bradley Wilson: well theyre always good until theyre bad you know? i just hope this one stays good because its really really good'
'Jonathon Howard: i think so too yay!'
'Bradley Wilson: haha you been with anybody before?'
'Jonathon Howard: well nothing serious. dated a girl in high school for a bit before it quite registered that coonboy was full of swishy but i think that's the only other time i've been a boyfriend. i'm like best friends with her now she was really great about the whole thing.'
'Bradley Wilson: aww. no cute boys for the cute coon?'
'Jonathon Howard: not exactly, almost hooked up with this rabbit guy once but nothing formal... i tend to get crushes on straight guys and become awkwardly close but awkwardly nonromantic friends with them...'
'Bradley Wilson: oh gosh i know that kind... ive taken to just ignoring most guys except in gay bars and stuff cause it sucks so much finding out theyre straight one after the next'
'Jonathon Howard: haha yeah. i was so damn sure you were straight when i met you'
'Bradley Wilson: oh really?'
'Jonathon Howard: yeah it was depressing cause you were so hot but you just do not show up on gaydars. i think it's the tough macho guy thing.'
'Bradley Wilson: actually its top secret CIA gear but dont tell anyone'
'Jonathon Howard: lol'
He did, too. The coon chuckled to himself. His boyfriend was a jokester, and there wasn't a thing about it that Jonathon didn't thoroughly appreciate.
Shirt! Gotta change the shirt, he'd worn this one yesterday too. Jonathon slapped on deodorant and pulled out another t-shirt. Greyson was almost worth a shower, but he didn't smell bad, and besides, his friend liked the way coons smelled, he'd said it before.
'Bradley Wilson: yeah well normally i wouldntve hit on you either. i really dont know what got into me that night, i musta been extra lonely or somethin'
'Jonathon Howard: aww. well i'm glad you did so now i can keep you not lonely :)'
'Bradley Wilson: yay :]'
'Jonathon Howard: in retrospect i bet it would have been funny to anyone else... you were just like "mwah" out of nowhere, and I was just like "mmmm nice", and we both had no idea until right then, haha'
'Bradley Wilson: yup it was pretty silly looking back on it'
Jonathon glanced at the clock in his taskbar. 3:56 PM.
'Jonathon Howard: yup hehe okay i have to go. gonna go hang out with a friend'
'Bradley Wilson: one of your awkward close straight friends? lol'
In spite of the three-letter postscript implying it was in jest, the raccoon felt a little burst of nervousness at the statement.
'Jonathon Howard: no lol'
He wasn't awkward with Greyson at all. There, it wasn't a lie. The raccoon grimaced.
'Bradley Wilson: okay well have fun text me later'
'Jonathon Howard: will do wuffyboy <3 kbai'
'Bradley Wilson: :] c ya'
Jonathon closed the browser and told his computer to shut down, and then stood, stretching. He'd need a jacket, probably. There, than one didn't match his pants, but it didn't clash horribly like the other one. The raccoon wasn't the sort of guy who paid too much attention to whether his clothes clashed, but you had to at least keep the forest green away from the army green, right?
The raccoon left his dorm room and locked the door behind him, since Riley wasn't back yet; he hoped the fox hadn't forgotten his keys again. The last time that had happened, his roommate had been stuck outside for twenty minutes in nothing but a t-shirt, until someone had happened along to let him into the building; Jonathon had fortunately been over in Mitch's room so his roommate didn't have to sit out in the hall after getting in.
Down the stairs, into the parking lot, and there was already a cream-colored, early 90s Taurus sedan sitting idling in one of the loading parking spots. Jonathon hoped he hadn't been waiting long.
The driver's door opened, and a skinny rodent got out. He was taller than Jonathon, but he would have been shorter than Brad. His headfur was short and somewhat darker than the rest of his fur, which was a rich sandy gold touched with white. His eyes were large and angular, a hue so dark brown that it was difficult to tell where his iris ended and his pupil began. His muzzle was pointed and delicate, his cheekbones high and refined; in a classical, statuesque way, he was handsome. He was smiling, and it was a rich, warm smile, that touched his eyes and ears and tail.
Jonathon paced up to him quickly and wrapped his arms around the rat's chest. "I haven't seen you in forever..."
The rat chuckled a bit in his chest; Jonathon heard it rumbling. It hadn't really been that long, a few months, maybe.
The raccoon pulled back, and cast his gaze up to look into the rodent's eyes. Greyson looked back, friendly and welcoming and just himself, and Jonathon considered for a moment...
Yeah. It was still there.
The raccoon looked down with a faint blush, hesitated a moment, and then made his way around the car to the passenger door. Greyson climbed back in. His car had a bench seat. Great for cuddling. Jonathon sat on the passenger side this time, though, and buckled his seat belt.
"How've you been?" he asked.
The rat opened his mouth, seemed to hesitate, and then spoke. "G-good." His voice was a cool, firm bass that fit his patrician countenance naturally; it was the voice of an actor or a charismatic politician. He backed out of the parking space and began driving.
"Work going okay?"
The rodent nodded, articulating his mouth carefully and speaking slowly. "Y-yeah, mmmy boss s-says I, I - " his voice caught; it took a moment to force the next syllable out. " - d-do a g-g-good job. An', an', an' er-rbody likes-s me."
Jonathon smiled. "That's good."
"I... I l-like work'n on c-c... c-cars. 'T does-sn' take s... ssso much t - talk'n." He chuckled a bit. "Jus... 't-tr... trans...'" He took a breath. "'trans-MIS-sh-shun-n's broke', or s-someth'n, heh. 'N-new ak-sel', heh. I get... get g-get all d-dirty, though... oil'n s-s-soot'n st-tuff." He twisted the wheel and merged onto the highway.
"Aww, that's a shame," Jonathon murmured, glancing at the rodent's pretty fur.
"H-haffa t-take a sh... show-wer erry d-day af-ffer w-work... An' m' a-arms hurt from... lif... lif... ff... f-fuck... lif-t-nng stuff. 'M on mmmy b-back all d-day h-hold'n a d - d-drill ov'r m' h-head, heh. But, but... 's... ffff... fun."
"That's good. It's a good thing you got into that trade school program in high school." The raccoon watched houses and cars pass.
"Y-yeah... more fun'n s-sit... t-tn' in sp-pecial ed all d-d-day..." The rat gained a bitter, resentful look on his expressive face.
"I still don't understand why they stuck you there," the raccoon grumbled. "You're not stupid."
"'S n-not a th-thin-ng f'r st-tupid peop... peop-le," the rat stammered (not that Jonathon had ever heard him talk any other way). "Jus' f'r... people wh... who n-n-need t-t - ta l-learn a difffffrent w-way." He grinned a little. "An' I'm n-no g... good't math'r sc-cience'r anyth'n. I, I... n-n-needed it-t."
"You've got a hell of a way with words, though, and you know it. You shouldn't've been lumped in with people reading at a second grade level, that was idiotic."
"M-mayb-be." Greyson shrugged.
There was silence for a moment, before Jonathon began speaking with a bit of a theatrical intonation.
"Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue
I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace.
Where never lark, or even eagle flew --
And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
- Put out my hand, and touched the face of God."
Greyson was smiling. "I t-taught you th-th-that one."
Jonathon grinned. "You did."
"Ir-ronic, 's'n i... i-it?"
"Hm?"
"It-d prob-llll... l-y t-t-take me'a h-half hour t' rrrrr-rec-cite it." Greyson giggled and snorted at that, and Jonathon smiled a little and shook his head, though he didn't find it quite as funny.
The car vrred and vmmed along valleys and viaducts. Greyson lived on the other side of town, in an apartment in the suburbs. Not a particularly nice one, either, but considering the trouble he'd had holding a job in the past, it meant a good deal to the rat to be paying for his own place. Soon, they were pulling off the highway onto an artery road.
"How are medical things?" Jonathon asked, after a while.
"Ok-kay. I... wen' t-t-to the h-hospital l-last-t monnn... monnnth."
"What for this time?" Jonathon asked, looking at him in alarm.
"Ff... fergot m' i-i-insul-lin ag-gain..." the rat mumbled, looking ashamed of himself. "An' a-ate... prr... rrrob'ly t-too much fff, ff... ff... d-dammit... fff... fff, ff-att-ty stuffs'n stuffs... a-an', an' b-bam! N... n-next thin'ya kn-now... g-gaspin' f-ff'r air'n all'at..." He gave a nervous laugh, all the syllables at the end running together, so that Jonathon had to furrow his brow to separate them. Greyson had gotten a lot better about that with therapy. He'd once had the bad habit of mushing things together so as not to stammer them as much, but it was easier to understand the choppy, halting version.
"Oh, Greyson..." the raccoon murmured, one paw rubbing his muzzle.
"Don'... don', don' star-rrrt th-that th... thing you d-do..." the rat protested.
"What? Worrying about you?" Jonathon scoffed.
"...W-well..."
"I asked you if you wanted to live together while I was in college so I could keep track of things like this, and you said no, so I have the right to do some worrying!" the raccoon objected, tone sharp.
"Y'w-wouldn'a llll... l-liked l-ll-livin' w-with me a-an-n-nyway..." the rat mumbled.
Jonathon's tone softened a little. "Why do you say that?"
"Y'w-w-wwould'a... b-been sad..."
Jonathon was quiet, expression withdrawn, at that remark. It was probably true. Greyson's expression was guilty and uncomfortable.
"You have enough going on that you can't control, and that already makes me worry plenty..." the raccoon said, after a bit. They turned onto a smaller street, drove past a gas station. "This is the one thing you can control, and... Well, I'd be willing to be a little sad to keep it off the list of things that I worry about you for."
Greyson didn't say anything to that, but that wasn't too unusual when someone wasn't asking him a direct question. Less work that way for everyone involved, he'd once said.
"How's the liver?" Jonathon asked next, mentally moving down the aforementioned list.
"Oh! O... ok-kay... th-they ch... ch - " He hung up, face contorting badly. "...t... tch... g-goddammit... th-thhhey l-looked at it w-when I was, w-was in th-therrr-rre..."
For whatever reason, 'ch' sounds at the beginning of words tended to cause the most problems... closely followed by 'f', or, as Greyson called it, 'that damn letter!'. He would often just abort and find another word, whenever he hit a ch, which was unusual with any other sound following all the therapy he'd gotten in high school.
"And?" Jonathon asked, tensely.
"'S ok-kay. 'S st-till all ff... ff-ffucked up, I m-mean, but, but, but... th... th-they said pr... rrrob'ly i's h-helpin' 'at I sss-stopped dr-r-rinkin'n'all..."
Jonathon nodded; the rat's epic liver scarring hadn't been caused by drinking, but his liking of alcohol certainly hadn't contributed to his hepatic health, particularly since he turned twenty-one almost two years ago. "So they still haven't decided to put you on the transplant list?"
"Nn, nnope, th'doc ss-said prol'ly ok-kay ffer'now an' j-jus k... k-keep an eye on-n... onnn it." Greyson shrugged. "It s-still work-kssss... an'all..."
The raccoon grimaced. He'd rather the guy had a liver that wasn't teetering on the edge of spontaneously combusting (or however liver failure worked; in Jonathon's head it was fairly spectacular)... but, he'd 'rather' a lot of things, when it came to Greyson.
The Ford pulled into the parking lot of a small, humble apartment complex - not as dodgy-looking as Brad's, but about as run-down. And, to be fair, Greyson's neighborhood was probably worse than Brad's; it was part of the reason he'd been able to afford the place even when he kept losing jobs. Appearances and their deceiving nature.
Jonathon smiled a little, when that thought occurred to him. It applied to a lot of the other aspects of his best friend's life, too.
They parked, and the two young men got out of the car. Greyson took the lead, stride confident, the cold air sweeping his darkish headfur about between his round ears. Just an unusually attractive rodent guy, suave, handsome, and silent. His tail flicked gently behind him; he looked left for approaching cars, then right, crossed, and pulled out his keys (which he kept on a lanyard under his shirt, due to being the forgetful sort). The outer door opened into a hallway that smelled of cats and cigars; they took the stairs up three half-flights, and came to his apartment, between a noisy badger couple and someone who apparently used a lot of air freshener, which only mostly covered up the hint of marijuana. Greyson opened the door, and they entered.
The rat's apartment was small and tidy. A little couch, across from a CRT television. A tiny kitchenette and a two-person dining table. A hallway barely big enough for two people to stand, a bathroom even smaller, and two bedrooms, both large enough for a bed and not much else. Greyson kept his bed in one of the two, and his dresser in the other, along with his desk and computer.
Beside the TV, as well as crammed in behind the couch, and on the far wall of the kitchenette... in both bedrooms, and even in the closet at the end of the hallway... were books. Most of them on bookshelves, the cheap pop-up kind, filled and groaning with books. Tolstoy was in the kitchen; Tolkien in the bedroom. Darwin on the left side of the TV, Danté on the right. Romantic Fantasy was in the study, while Robert Frost had an entire shelf to himself behind the couch. Greyson had a well-used library card, of course, but ever since he'd received his first book (The Wind in the Willows, incidentally, an old copy given to him by his grandfather - it was in the bedroom, right next to the bed), he'd felt an inescapable passion to own books. Not all of them... just the best ones. The ones that, once you read them... stayed with you, whether you bought them or not. Greyson bought those. And, in the interest of keeping his collection a manageable size, he also gave them away... though, by his own admission, often books were better than one remembered once one reread them, and thus it was difficult to part with very many.
Greyson shut the door, and hung his jacket up on the hook beside it; he took Jonathon's from him and did the same, and then stuck his paws in his pockets, and gave the raccoon a smile. Just a cute, nice rat dude.
Jonathon smiled back, a little wistfully. He opened his mouth, hesitated...
"I love you..." he said, slowly.
The poetry is from High Flight, by John Gillespie Magee, Jr. - you've probably heard it quoted by the first and last lines only ("Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of earth - put out my hand, and touched the face of God"), Reagan quoted it that way most famously in the address he gave immedately following the Challenger disaster. But that cuts out some of the most beautiful and moving lines, in my opinion.
Poor John had quite the tragic story - he was a trainee pilot in the RAF, only 19, and the only way his poetry survived was through his mailing it home to his family. He was killed in an accident; High Flight is the only piece of his work to become in any way famous, and it's awful to think what incredible things he might have done had he lived longer. He wrote so little, and yet it was so beautiful... Quite a shame.
Being as this is Greyson's big debut, I'm curious to know what people think of him. Putting on my Doylist hat for a moment, I will disclose that I thought long and hard about what speech impediment to give him - I'm a linguistics student, so some of the problems people encounter with speech are fascinating to me. I wanted to address one that I could portray well in text, but that would still be fairly legible to readers. I settled on stammering because it is a poorly understood and very complicated one, as much psychology as anything else, and it fit the other criteria - I would remark that Greyson's case is worse than 95% of stammerers, and that I had to take some creative liberties in expressing the speech patterns and features in text... but, nevertheless, I think it is fairly legible and yet still fairly accurate.
Also I don't like the term 'stutter', if you haven't noticed; I tend to use 'stammer'. Technically, they're slightly different - a stutter is repetition of a ind-d-dividual phoneme, while a stammer is repetition of a syl-syl-syllable or phoneme gr-gr-group... but they occur together so often that they are generally used interchangeably, with 'stutter' being more common in the US and 'stammer' more common in the UK. My word choice is just stylistic, not significant.