The Growing
It probably seemed strange to other kids his age, but for August there was nothing better than aching muscles after a long day of work. He loved the feeling of his heart hammering rapidly against his chest and even how his throat burned from lack of water. It was such a great feeling that sometimes he traveled on his own feet.
It was good he liked it so much, because he was needing to do it more often these days. He found it harder to sneak onto the back of trucks unnoticed, and though he didn't get as many curious gazes on the bus he didn't want to spend his money on tickets.
August also noticed the troubling fact that people weren't stopping by his puppet shows anymore. It was one thing to watch a cute kid putting on a show, but apparently people no longer saw him as cute or a kid. When did that happen? He grew so gradually he didn't even notice until those around him started reacting. They even stopped asking him where his parents were.
He should've been relieved at the change, but instead he felt lost. The label of "child" took him so far. What did they see him as now?
August's heart was just starting to slow in his chest. He stared at the others in the car but they didn't seem interested in him. One of them was even asleep. This was by far August's least favorite form of travel. The train car was dark and hot, and felt incredibly cramped with other bodies taking up space. August wouldn't have jumped in if there were any other choices.
Unfortunately he was getting low on money and his shoes were so worn he could've done better going barefoot. The others in the car with him didn't look much better; maybe that was why they didn't ask too many questions. It was a relief to not make up a story.
His puppets no longer brought in crowds but August wanted to keep the skill fresh in his mind. Whenever he found a useful block of wood he started carving. Whales, donkeys, crickets, little wooden boys… He couldn't stand looking at them but couldn't bring himself to throw them away, either. So he did the next best thing.
"You want to sell these?" The storekeeper offered him an endearing smile. "Well, aren't you a little entrepreneur. How old are you, anyway?"
"Ummm." That was a good question. He remembered being asked that when he brought Emma to the diner. He gave an answer then, but he grew so much since then he doubted the same answer would work this time.
"You look about the same age as my son. He's twelve." All August could do was nod his head. The word "son" brought a painful tug at his heart. The storekeeper ended up buying all this carvings and even offered an old pair of his son's shoes. But that word stuck with him; he couldn't shake it for a long time.
Son… When was the last time he saw his father? If he really did look twelve, that made it five years. Giving it a number made it feel longer, like August could see all the years separating them.
If he kept growing, maybe one day he would grow fully away from that old life. He could be completely August and all those lingering pieces wouldn't mean a thing.