Life Goes On
Its been days, weeks, months since….since it happened. Seconds, minutes and hours have passed. Life has become a ritual, the same sullen look on his face as he walks James to playgroup, the same heart racing feeling when he watches the street with people. He tells himself that one day he'll see her, he cant give up. But James has, the former little boy that used to ask when mommy was coming back has vanished, in the short time that's passed its almost like he's accepted it, forgotten that freckled brunette that tucked him in at night, kissed him when he cried.
But Sawyer clings so hard to those memories, he cant let go, they're all he has. Other than James.
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Another morning has come, another burst of unwanted sunlight coming through the bedroom window, he grumbles, groans as he reaches his hand up to the curtain and gives an almighty tug. Then its gone. Just like that. Now he's back in the comfort of the dark surroundings he's grown to love. Because this is how he feels on the inside and maybe it shows on the outside. His face is worn, like he hasn't slept in days, weeks, and its true he hasn't, this night was the first he hasn't been drunk. Because every time he closes his eyes, the unwelcome face of her is staring back. Even in the middle of the day, when he's doing something useless she's there, he can hear her speaking to him, telling him James needs him now more than ever. Alcohol is the only thing that blocks the unwanted images, words, feelings, that plague him. Then after a while, when its worn off, he thinks of James. Did he see him stumbling around? Cursing in anger at nothingness? Then he remembers, the little boy did see, just like all the other times. Was he scared? Angry? Hurt? Then he remembers his childhood, watching his father come home drunk, he didn't like it and he doesn't suppose James does. Because that isn't a father, that's a stranger, that's the person daddy becomes when he drinks that poison.
He walks over to his wardrobe, like everyday he does, whether he's just woken or not, as soon as the sun rises he opens his wardrobe and sits down on the end of the bed. Her bag. He's only opened it once, revealed what's inside. Some clothes, mainly James', toys, maps, a brush, odd bits and pieces really, but at the bottom, two letters lie, he figures she must have wrote them just before she left the motel, that long time ago. She must have never been able to give them to him. So she threw them in her bag. Maybe it was a sign that she always intended on coming back, and she did. Not for long though. There bliss was cut short.
So he looks at the bag, deciding, contemplating whether or not to reveal the words that she once has written. But he cant open the bag, not after the last time, fear has forbidden him now. Because the last time, he unzipped it, pulled back the material, the smell, her smell, rushed towards him, memories he once smiled at, he frowned at. As now they really was in the past. His eyes had burned and tears worked there way to the front, soon a sob wracked his body, and he couldn't, wouldn't cry again. Fear really had forbidden him.
So he sits and hopes that one day, sometime soon, he'll overcome the hurdle, but so far, he hasn't, he once got as close to picking up the handle of the bag, but images flashed, words were remembered, and he put it down.
But this wasn't the Halliburton case, there was no need for impact velocity. It was a stupid thing to remember, a stupid memory, but he remembered, relived that moment, and now he found he was doing it again, he heard the faint patterning of feet in the hallway that know not to bother him.
He hears the clatter of things in the kitchen and the mumble, much like his own, he doesn't bother to move, because he cant find a feeling of panic that maybe James is hurt to move himself from the bed. So he doesn't. So he sits and waits for the next movement, and sure enough, he can hear the kitchen chair being pulled across the floor and the bowl hitting the table, the spoon clattering down next to it, maybe even in it. The sound of the cereal falling into the bowl makes him ask himself whether he's hungry?
Now the TV's on and its some cartoon James likes, the patterning of feet can be heard again and he asks himself whether he should make the effort and watch it with him? But the bag, the letters, Kate. They need him more. Because this is Sawyer, he clings to the past and as everyone knows you cant break old habits.
Now he can see the shadow outside the door, and he knows that its his son, his son. Not our son, his son. He doesn't knock, shout or make any attempt to make him self acknowledged. He just waits.
Sawyer gets to his feet, opening the door, James looks up at him, frosty blue eyes, eyes that's lost there sense of child-like fun. They're empty, but not sad, just empty, unknowing. He looks down at himself and realising he's wearing yesterdays clothes. Because this is him now, this is his attitude, what's the point?
He feels words forming, James looking up at him expectantly, maybe he's thinking 'today's the day daddy comes back' because he should come back, he's already lost his mommy, so daddy needs to come back, not tomorrow, next week or next month. Today.
"Come on…." Sawyer gestures towards the door, making the first move, a few steps ahead of James. "Lets go"
And now this routine is in full motion, the bag, playgroup, new emails, busy streets, alcohol, silent glances between him and James, TV shows he watches but doesn't know or care about, story times he no longer 'does', and then the circle goes all the way back around, it always returns back to the start. The bag.
But now, today is different, his doesn't know how and he doesn't know why, but he reaches for the bag, just like before memories haunt him, but in a good way, ones that he can smile at, and he thinks that maybe this is the hurdle, the leap, jump he had to make to be able to look back and smile and grin and laugh at times they were together. But what has he done? How did he do it? Maybe its one of those things your never meant to know.
And now he's looking at James letter, his feet are moving and he doesn't know how or why, but he's going in his room and sitting in the bed next to him. James is gazing up at him, surprise passes over his face. Words are spilling from Sawyers mouth now, and he doesn't know where this sudden found strength has come from.
"….and she wrote you a letter, so….I'll read it if…if you want me too?" Sawyer doesn't know whether he understands but he nods in aggreance so he presumes maybe he does. But maybe he thinks its all a story, a fantasy and when the words stop, its all over and everything is how it began. Like that first night when he opened the battered book and read the lines that told a tale about bunnies and to him, kissing. "Dear James, my little boy….." Words fall from Sawyers mouth like a never ending waterfall, spilling over one and other, his soft southern drawl still a strong as ever, but lacking the spark, the glow, the hint of sarcasm that was once there. That was once him.
He's finished now and James' eyes are closed, he cant remember the last time he's watched him sleep, but then he takes that back. Yes he can. It was that night. Tears begin to block his vision and he curses for them to stop, this isn't him. But they've started and he's going down that road again, what if. He did it in the motel, but this times its different and he knows it, because no amount of what if's will bring her back, but he's doing it now and he cant stop them coming.
What if I'd never let you go?, what if I tried harder? what if we never got rescued?, what if I never left you?, what if she'd stayed?, what if they ran together?
He's now clinging to the fact that he couldn't change it, it wasn't possible. Was it?
He sauntering back into his room now, dropping James' letter into the bag, his is on the bed and he turns it over, one swift movement and its open, all he has to do is pull it out and read the words that she obviously, from James letter, took time to write.
"Dear Sawyer, life is" Sawyer imagined she paused here, lifted her pen and took a few seconds to think about it, her words were so carefully written, he knew it. "hard, it has up and downs and this is defiantly a down. I hope your not mad at me for telling him that you're the person he should call 'daddy' it was the right thing to do and in time I hope you come to accept that. I also hope you understand that I have to go, I run, you con, remember when you said that? But that's not important now, all that is, is James. I've told him about you. That when you get to know you, your kind and your sarcasm can actually be funny, I cant believe I said that. Well wrote that. I've told him about your tracking skills- or lack of them, and the way you always manage to make me smile and I told him that one day you'll make him smile. Lastly and most importantly I told him that you read, and after that I couldn't stop him asking when you would come and read to him. He loves it by the way, not that he ever hears much of it, he's always asleep after the first line.
And now as I'm sat out here, looking at the stars and your sleeping just inside, I imagine the cages, and when you told me you loved me and I didn't answer, I just kissed you, it was an almost I love you, but not a full one. But now after years apart, and a strange and sudden yearning for someone, for you to love me. I finally admitted to myself that I do, I do love you and with that I realised that maybe I always did, but me being me didn't want to admit it. I had to run, you had to con, it wouldn't have worked back then, but there was still love.
I probably should have told you this at the start, but this letter has one condition, that when you've read it, you cant keep it, re-read it, memorize the lines and dwell on the past, because life goes on.
Love always, your freckles."
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Tears once again burned his eyes, his heart ached for her, but now he realises that he hasn't lost her. She was never gone, he's found her and with it, his life.
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Thanks for reading, please review! This is a one-shot unless people think it could be taken further? Hope you enjoyed it :)