The Longest Road - Salvation Verse
Jan. 12th, 2010 06:37 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maygraI had a sad. I don't think this is.
SPN -- Salvation FutureVerse - Gen.
takes place Post - Time's a Comin.
The Longest Road
She thought maybe the last snow had fallen. The ground still crunched with frost beneath her boots; the air still had that frigid sharpness that turned her breath to fog; the sky was bitter bright blue, only the barest trace of dawn's rose-gold glow still lurking around the overlapping spaces between the mountains.
She pulled her left hand free of her glove, the better to feel the fading warmth in her half full coffee cup and headed toward the furthest most of the outbuildings. The household was waking up slowly; there would be people up soon, moving out to tend the livestock, gather eggs, the thousand small tasks that kept their small outpost running and its occupants fed and clothed and gave them goods to trade and some few precious dollars to buy what they couldn't grow or make.
The day was no different than any other. Not really.
She left her empty mug on the fence post outside the easternmost shed and pulled her glove back on. It took some work to pull the bolt back. Rust and ice, weathered wood swollen and scraping against itself, but it gave. Took more effort to push the door wide over the overgrown frozen grasses, but they were no higher here than around any of the other buildings.
The other door moved more easily; slight downslope and the door minutely warped. Wide open and the early morning sun washed in from her back, sparking dust motes and slivers of ice into miniature fireflies. It chased the shadows back all the way to the corners and made the black and chrome shine like silver set in fresh shiny tar.
Probably should have covered it for the winter, but she was glad they hadn't, reaching her hand out to touch the faint peak of the hood, she caught her reflection in the black finish and light-glazed windshield.
She closed her eyes and waited, hearing nothing but the faint creak of the wooden door as it swung a little on the hinge, the faint crackle of melting ice. She left her hand flat on the hood and walked right, gloved fingers leaving a faint streak along the finish, disturbing chilled metal and the faint sheen of dust.
The driver's side door opened more easily than the shed door, solid and heavy and smooth, and she slid in behind the wheel, rubbing her hand over the old worn leather, frowning a little at cracks that had appeared.
Settling in, she reached out and pulled the door closed, pulled her gloves off and settled them on the wheel.
Sun glare on the windshield obscured her vision, whiting out the view of the house and the outbuildings, the fences...but it didn't matter. She wasn't hear to see, and as much care as they'd taken keeping the chassis of the car intact, the engine had long since given up, the parts too hard to find. It didn't run, couldn't unless they could find a way to retrofit an engine and transmission. They could and had replaced the battery, enough juice to run the ancient radio and tape player. The keys hung in the ignition. She didn't touch them.
Curling her fingers around the cold wheel she leaned back and closed her eyes again. Didn't matter. She wasn't here to ride or see, she was here to listen.
It took some time. The voices here were old, faint...gaps and silences, some of it she couldn't understand but the voices were familiar. Oh, they were so so familiar and she missed them -- the sound of them against each other. The voices that had framed and shaped her childhood, shaped her life -- all their lives, even the ones yet not come into being.
Not ghosts. There weren't ghosts here, not even a little. Echoes, her father once told her. The reason she could hear, now and then, conversations long over. The reason Leigh could tell where something had been and who had held it. The reason Mary could see reflected in mirrors the aspects of people who hadn't lived for years, or who were yet to take their first breath upon the earth. The reason Charlie could find the weaker gaps in the world that let her push things in ways the touch of hands couldn't.
She missed the laughter most, enough so that when the faint whisper of it rose from the air, she had to bite her lip so as not to sob and drown it out. It was a whisper only -- but clear enough. The sudden sharp bark of her uncle's laughter, the slow build of her father's, and that let her memory supply the way he'd smile into his laughter, like he was building up to it. Uncle Dean just dived right into it - the way he'd dived into most things. But her father: those bursts of laughter were rare; always the smile first, the wonder and amusement rolling over each other building toward a laugh that had made her much younger self plot at ways to get him to let it loose. She missed her mother's laughter too, but she had laughed easier and more often. Her father's laughter had always been the rare thing -- not the smile or the affection or the soft spoken voice in her ear, but the laughter.
She pulled a hand from the wheel to cover her mouth, then wipe at her closed eyes, breathing deep and relaxing again. They'd spent hours and days and months and years combined in this car, in these seats. Nothing she ever heard here made that much sense; it wasn't a narrative of their lives she could tap into. It was as fleeting and short as the view out the side windows would be when traveling at speed.
But she could hear them, wisps of sound, a discussion here, an argument there, a bit of teasing, her uncle singing, her father reading out loud to pass the time and the miles.
She could almost feel the car moving along the road, the rush of air past the cracked-open windows, the hum of the asphalt under the tires. Voices weaving in and out of the years and days and moments. She could sit here for a year and not hear it all.
She wished she could hear them on whatever journey they were on now. Even if like here, it made no sense and was more voices than words. She'd like to be able to catch a glimmer of the conversations along that road too. Maybe some day she would.
A faint shadow across her closed eyes caused her to open them and the voices faded a little more. The shadow shifted and moved, stopped blocking the light and moved to the side. She blinked and smiled and eased the door open, rising up and out of the car.
"Cold mornin' for this, Al." Ila said and offered her a fresh hot cup of coffee and her own warmed hands to take the chill she'd barely noticed from her own.
"I know...it's okay," Allie said and sipped, making a face at Ila's indulgent smile and then leaning in to kiss her wife quickly. "Just miss 'em."
Ila nodded and leaned across the open door, sipping her own coffee. She was wrapped up in a shawl over her winter clothes, dark hair braided and wrapped around her head under her cowboy hat. "I know you do. Something trigger it, though?"
Allie shook her head and moved to close the door, accepted the extended wrap of Ila's shawl around her shoulders up to the shed doors. She stopped there and looked back a the car, reached out to touch the hood once more.
It had been seven years. Not to the day or even close. There was nothing special about the date today.
"Al?" Ila's voice was soft, slight concern but more offer to help if she could -- if there was anything to help.
Allie shook her head. "Nothing, Ila. Just miss him." She patted the hood. "Them. Wondering," she added and stepped back, reaching for the shed door to pull it closed again. Ila grabbed the second one, and they swung them both back to center.
"Wondering what?" Ila asked her, hooking her arm through Allie's as she finished setting the bolt and they gathered up the coffee cups. She grinned at Ila and fell in step with her back to the house.
"Wondering if you were gonna make biscuits this morning," she said and Ila snorted and bumped hips.
"Maybe...that's not it, Allie."
Allie nodded slowly. "Just wondering if the road ever ends," she murmured.
Behind her...she thought she heard laughter.
SPN -- Salvation FutureVerse - Gen.
takes place Post - Time's a Comin.
The Longest Road
She thought maybe the last snow had fallen. The ground still crunched with frost beneath her boots; the air still had that frigid sharpness that turned her breath to fog; the sky was bitter bright blue, only the barest trace of dawn's rose-gold glow still lurking around the overlapping spaces between the mountains.
She pulled her left hand free of her glove, the better to feel the fading warmth in her half full coffee cup and headed toward the furthest most of the outbuildings. The household was waking up slowly; there would be people up soon, moving out to tend the livestock, gather eggs, the thousand small tasks that kept their small outpost running and its occupants fed and clothed and gave them goods to trade and some few precious dollars to buy what they couldn't grow or make.
The day was no different than any other. Not really.
She left her empty mug on the fence post outside the easternmost shed and pulled her glove back on. It took some work to pull the bolt back. Rust and ice, weathered wood swollen and scraping against itself, but it gave. Took more effort to push the door wide over the overgrown frozen grasses, but they were no higher here than around any of the other buildings.
The other door moved more easily; slight downslope and the door minutely warped. Wide open and the early morning sun washed in from her back, sparking dust motes and slivers of ice into miniature fireflies. It chased the shadows back all the way to the corners and made the black and chrome shine like silver set in fresh shiny tar.
Probably should have covered it for the winter, but she was glad they hadn't, reaching her hand out to touch the faint peak of the hood, she caught her reflection in the black finish and light-glazed windshield.
She closed her eyes and waited, hearing nothing but the faint creak of the wooden door as it swung a little on the hinge, the faint crackle of melting ice. She left her hand flat on the hood and walked right, gloved fingers leaving a faint streak along the finish, disturbing chilled metal and the faint sheen of dust.
The driver's side door opened more easily than the shed door, solid and heavy and smooth, and she slid in behind the wheel, rubbing her hand over the old worn leather, frowning a little at cracks that had appeared.
Settling in, she reached out and pulled the door closed, pulled her gloves off and settled them on the wheel.
Sun glare on the windshield obscured her vision, whiting out the view of the house and the outbuildings, the fences...but it didn't matter. She wasn't hear to see, and as much care as they'd taken keeping the chassis of the car intact, the engine had long since given up, the parts too hard to find. It didn't run, couldn't unless they could find a way to retrofit an engine and transmission. They could and had replaced the battery, enough juice to run the ancient radio and tape player. The keys hung in the ignition. She didn't touch them.
Curling her fingers around the cold wheel she leaned back and closed her eyes again. Didn't matter. She wasn't here to ride or see, she was here to listen.
It took some time. The voices here were old, faint...gaps and silences, some of it she couldn't understand but the voices were familiar. Oh, they were so so familiar and she missed them -- the sound of them against each other. The voices that had framed and shaped her childhood, shaped her life -- all their lives, even the ones yet not come into being.
Not ghosts. There weren't ghosts here, not even a little. Echoes, her father once told her. The reason she could hear, now and then, conversations long over. The reason Leigh could tell where something had been and who had held it. The reason Mary could see reflected in mirrors the aspects of people who hadn't lived for years, or who were yet to take their first breath upon the earth. The reason Charlie could find the weaker gaps in the world that let her push things in ways the touch of hands couldn't.
She missed the laughter most, enough so that when the faint whisper of it rose from the air, she had to bite her lip so as not to sob and drown it out. It was a whisper only -- but clear enough. The sudden sharp bark of her uncle's laughter, the slow build of her father's, and that let her memory supply the way he'd smile into his laughter, like he was building up to it. Uncle Dean just dived right into it - the way he'd dived into most things. But her father: those bursts of laughter were rare; always the smile first, the wonder and amusement rolling over each other building toward a laugh that had made her much younger self plot at ways to get him to let it loose. She missed her mother's laughter too, but she had laughed easier and more often. Her father's laughter had always been the rare thing -- not the smile or the affection or the soft spoken voice in her ear, but the laughter.
She pulled a hand from the wheel to cover her mouth, then wipe at her closed eyes, breathing deep and relaxing again. They'd spent hours and days and months and years combined in this car, in these seats. Nothing she ever heard here made that much sense; it wasn't a narrative of their lives she could tap into. It was as fleeting and short as the view out the side windows would be when traveling at speed.
But she could hear them, wisps of sound, a discussion here, an argument there, a bit of teasing, her uncle singing, her father reading out loud to pass the time and the miles.
She could almost feel the car moving along the road, the rush of air past the cracked-open windows, the hum of the asphalt under the tires. Voices weaving in and out of the years and days and moments. She could sit here for a year and not hear it all.
She wished she could hear them on whatever journey they were on now. Even if like here, it made no sense and was more voices than words. She'd like to be able to catch a glimmer of the conversations along that road too. Maybe some day she would.
A faint shadow across her closed eyes caused her to open them and the voices faded a little more. The shadow shifted and moved, stopped blocking the light and moved to the side. She blinked and smiled and eased the door open, rising up and out of the car.
"Cold mornin' for this, Al." Ila said and offered her a fresh hot cup of coffee and her own warmed hands to take the chill she'd barely noticed from her own.
"I know...it's okay," Allie said and sipped, making a face at Ila's indulgent smile and then leaning in to kiss her wife quickly. "Just miss 'em."
Ila nodded and leaned across the open door, sipping her own coffee. She was wrapped up in a shawl over her winter clothes, dark hair braided and wrapped around her head under her cowboy hat. "I know you do. Something trigger it, though?"
Allie shook her head and moved to close the door, accepted the extended wrap of Ila's shawl around her shoulders up to the shed doors. She stopped there and looked back a the car, reached out to touch the hood once more.
It had been seven years. Not to the day or even close. There was nothing special about the date today.
"Al?" Ila's voice was soft, slight concern but more offer to help if she could -- if there was anything to help.
Allie shook her head. "Nothing, Ila. Just miss him." She patted the hood. "Them. Wondering," she added and stepped back, reaching for the shed door to pull it closed again. Ila grabbed the second one, and they swung them both back to center.
"Wondering what?" Ila asked her, hooking her arm through Allie's as she finished setting the bolt and they gathered up the coffee cups. She grinned at Ila and fell in step with her back to the house.
"Wondering if you were gonna make biscuits this morning," she said and Ila snorted and bumped hips.
"Maybe...that's not it, Allie."
Allie nodded slowly. "Just wondering if the road ever ends," she murmured.
Behind her...she thought she heard laughter.
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Date: 2010-01-13 12:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-14 05:15 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2010-01-14 05:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-13 03:13 am (UTC)That felt so good. <3<3 You always nail things dead center.
Makes me want to write more in this 'verse.
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Date: 2010-01-14 05:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-13 06:35 am (UTC)And I couldn't help but smile while I read this The sudden sharp bark of her uncle's laughter, the slow build of her father's, and that let her memory supply the way he'd smile into his laughter, like he was building up to it. Uncle Dean just dived right into it - the way he'd dived into most things. But her father: those bursts of laughter were rare; always the smile first, the wonder and amusement rolling over each other building toward a laugh.. and the tears were rolling down my cheeks after this Her father's laughter had always been the rare thing -- not the smile or the affection or the soft spoken voice in her ear, but the laughter.
This is so perfect, the way you captured all the feelings and emotions!
♥♥♥
no subject
Date: 2010-01-14 05:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-13 07:42 am (UTC)Love this!
(And you!)
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Date: 2010-01-14 05:18 pm (UTC)I want them to keep talking to me.
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Date: 2010-01-13 03:36 pm (UTC)This was lovely. An immersion into the senses with someone who loves them and misses them dearly. It both hurts and feels exactly right that the car, their home for so much of their lives, would stand as memorial to them.
aaaaand now I need to go back and start the Salvation 'verse over again to refresh my memory of it...which is never a bad thing!
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Date: 2010-01-14 05:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-13 04:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-14 05:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-13 05:46 pm (UTC)This is beautiful.
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Date: 2010-01-14 05:20 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2010-01-14 03:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-14 05:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-18 06:54 am (UTC)I get to be on so seldom right now I just found this. It was beautiful, layered, moving and made me cry but they were good tears.
I could hear the echoes of that laughter in my head as I read your wonderful words. It made me think of my older brother Jimmy and my dad, how much I miss them, how much I wish I could hear their voices again. Allie's gift is so precious to give her back even that little bit of her dad and Dean.
Thank you so much for sharing this with us, sweetie. As always.
*hugs*
no subject
Date: 2010-01-24 05:02 am (UTC)