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“So. The missing extra novel I wrote last December, or ok ¾ novel. It…”
wow i forgot how good this was!
aw thanks.
I had definitely built it up in my head into more / other than it was.
Looking at it again, though, if i scraped off the ending where I attempted to develop the plot, and filed off the serial numbers and changed a bunch of details, I could maybe make it into something interesting. (I dunno, maybe I’m just less despair-y tonight, or maybe it’s that I’ve despaired so long and hard I now no longer know what “good” even means anymore.)
Also– for what it’s worth, the thing wasn’t finished, but it also did not contain a romantic relationship; the main pairing was a platonic one. I don’t know if I can manage a whole novel like that, but it is interesting to note. If I redo the plot and change the Steve/Peggy characters… I don’t want Angie to be an eternally chaste lesbian though. Whatever her name winds up being. Hm….
She didn’t want to spook him. She knew how scared he was, of everything. But she had to talk to him.
She went to the gas station. She knew at least part of his schedule because his truck trundled by the diner on his way to and from. So she showed up just at the end of his Tuesday morning shift, just as he was coming out.
He was wearing the hoodie he always wore, but he had the hood down, and his hair was long but well-groomed, pulled neatly back. She’d parked next to his truck and was leaning against her car, so he saw her instantly, and he went on high alert like a wild animal.
“Hey,” she said. “I just wanted to say thanks. For— sticking up for me on Saturday.”
He looked alarmed, then made a wry face and shook his head. “I know,” she said. “But it helped me a lot.” She smiled at him. “I know you’re kind of a shy person but I just thought I should say I consider you a friend, and I don’t have a lot of friends in this town, and it means a lot, okay?”
He looked totally dumbfounded by that, and stared at her as if she’d said something truly astonishing. Angie had considered this beforehand, had thought he might be alarmed by it, so this didn’t take her totally by surprise.
“I don’t need anything else from you,” she said, “I’m not asking you to do more than you have. I just thought I’d tell you that. I wanted you to know. That’s all.”
He looked at her like he was investigating her. He was different, out here, she noticed; in neutral territory, or possibly his territory, he didn’t look like he was ready to flee. He looked bigger, more confident, less tense. She really, really hadn’t realized before how big he was; he was at least six feet tall, and had shoulders like a football player.
“I also figure I ought to tell you that,” she said, and it was hard to say the next bit. “That they were right. I am– a lesbian. A dyke. So uh. I’m not– trying to hit on you. You know?”
He tilted his head a little, like the dinosaur in Jurassic Park, like he was hunting, but he didn’t come closer. He looked like he was considering it.
“So uh,” she made herself go on, “it’s okay if you think that’s gross and don’t want to come around anymore. I’m— I’m used to that. Kind of thing. I just. I wanted to tell you because I’m sick of lying.”
Alarm crossed his features briefly, wide-eyed alarm, and then he made a face and stepped closer. His mouth moved, like he wanted to talk. She knew he could, now. “Angie,” he said, and it was a hoarse croak, no real voice. He leaned in and she stared at him in shock– he’d said her name. He pointed at his chest, put his right hand against it, tapped twice, and said, “Faggot,” and his face twisted up a little.
“Oh,” she said, and before she could think better of it she leaned forward and threw her arms around him and hugged him. “Oh James! Oh, James.” That would be why he was so upset. If people had treated him like that. She remembered his hands shaking.
He put his right arm around her; he was tense, stiff as a board, but didn’t push her away.
“Angie,” he croaked again. She leaned her head against his shoulder and hung on. He was thinner than he looked, her arms fit around his waist easily. After a moment he awkwardly petted her hair, and she wondered when the last time was that somebody had touched him.
Not like a lot of people touched her anymore.
She let go of him and stepped back to look up at him. “So,” she said, “you too, huh?”
His mouth pulled sideways and he shrugged, then nodded slightly.
“Us queers gotta stick together,” she said.
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