Nagure and Shelby

A day dream turned story I decided to work on just before thanksgiving. Drew a lot from my home town while writing this one, hoping to add some more scene’s drawing from a family gathering I’ve gone to recently. Was pondering waiting till I got those latter scene’s done to post it but since it has been a while since my last post I wanted to get something out there.

To proof this one I honestly don’t now if this one makes much sense to anyone but me. Either way, I hope you enjoy it, and if it feels weird,  intrinsically wrong, or moderately enjoyable I’d be happy to hear your thoughts about it. Peace out, Ransom.

 

A retro coke and cola sign illuminates the door step of the cafe, going through a short foyer a man and child enter into the well-lit dining hall. A bustle of old men, portly and wiry sit around a table. Chatting as the new comers enter. A man in his twenties, stands in front of a child who just entered adolescence. Black shades hang off his buzz-cut hair, his build modest but toned. The child, too old to be his son, cowers behind him.  The boys eyes nervously darting around the room as he curls himself behind the man, leaning into the small of his back. His finger’s wrap around the man’s shirt.

The older men, farmers by the looks of their olive and denim overalls, each take a pause to watch the cowering child.

The boy shrinks further behind the man his already slender physique and long silver hair making him seem more and more like a frightened girl. His tan complexion and round face, with the slightest edges, completing the picture. A young, challenged, sister hiding behind her brother. This is the picture they paint.

“Howdy ma’am,” the man says nodding to the waitress, a momma kind of girl who’s width almost made it from table to table as she scoots her way through the dinner.

“Seat yourself darlin,” she says pointing down a separate hall of tables that spread out to a salad bar with a few pressure cookers lined up behind the buffet table.

“Will do,” the man replies plucking the sunglasses from his head and ushering the boy to the nearest two seater table. Their spot sits along the second line of tables the dim light of the rest stop faint against the night sky.

The man ushers his companion to the furthest seat, pulling it out.

The boy sits down, holding his hands to his khakis as if they were a skirt on a blustery day. The man pushes his seat in. The boy’s hands fidgeting beneath the table. The young man sits himself the boy watching from beneath his bangs.

“Sweet water?” the man asks in a language that rolls its n’s and s’s along the tongue.

The boy nods barely looking up from the table.

They sat there the slip of time as the waitress made her way down stretching like an elastic band. The young man, a Lieutenant if you were to check the identification tag that hangs around his belt hoop sits across from the boy, whistling Yankee Doodle Dee, as he occasionally checks for the waitress.

The boy wriggles in his chair, fingers flexing in and out beneath the table. Looking away from the man as soon as he looks up from his silver hair, bending his fingers around themselves.

His desire was obvious to the man. If they sat together the boy would be leaning against him, one hand clutching his side as he looks around the room, watching the waitress from the safety of his side. If the boy was as bold as before he would rest his head along the man’s chest.

The feelings below these outward signs were unknown to the lieutenant.

The knot of guilt that built around the boy as he sees himself lean against the bare chest of the lieutenant, his breath hushing him to sleep. The man, whom he knew only as ‘Shelby,’ stroking his snow white hair, pulling back his ears to kiss behind them. The guilt twists around the boy repeating themselves again and again.

“Bad person,” the boy repeats to himself, his fingers pinching his thigh, “bad person,” he repeats his words only coming out as abstract mumblings to the lieutenant.

“Something wrong?” he asks watching as the boy, ‘Nagure,’ by name winces as he mumbles to himself.

The boy looks up, his hands now folding across the table, “It is nothing,” he says the reflection of his white hair spoiled by the speckles that coat the fake granite.

Nagure hides behind his bangs.

“Menu’s, darlings,” the waitress says sliding a plastic pamphlet to each of them, she stops for a moment noting the lack of anything that came from the ‘girl’, noting how her hands sat on the table not a pulse between the two of them, the women without a thought, perhaps as a mother, places her hands on his, “You’ve got some beautiful hair honey,” she says withdrawing her hand.

The soldier smiles, relived by this momma bear’s sudden kindness, “She says your hair beautiful,” he translates.

The boy nodes, “Thank you,” he replies back in English, lifting himself just enough to see her smile.

She slaps, Shelby’s shoulder, “got a good sister there…” she holds her finger to her lips, thinking, “Soldier boy?” she says leaning back, smiling as the lieutenant lets out a whistle.

“Sharp eyes,” he replies leaning back into his chair.

“Got my two baby boys in the army,” she says laying her hand across his shoulder.

The boy curls his toes.

“What can I start you with?”

“Orange soda for the boy and Coke for me,” he replies, “and we’ll take the fish fry,” he says pointing to the dry erase board that hung from the corner.

FRIDAY SPECIAL ALL YOU CAN EAT FISH

The women blinks for a second, looking again to the delicate figure that sat across the table, the shoulders though built like the thin arms of a porcine doll work their way to a face, hidden behind long white bangs, that has the slightest edges to its soft complexion.

“Well, I wish I looked half as good as he does at that age,” she whistles, “He…a new addition to the family?” she asks hesitating on the last words as she studies his tan skin that contrasts yet complements his western features.

Shelby nods, “More or less.”

“Well,” the waitress says, “I’ll leave you two brothers to some bonding,” she says recollecting her menus.

The women leaves.

“Nice lady,” Shelby says to no one in particular