Optional
Chris Chambers . Gordie Lachance
PG
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The woods are quiet around them, fire embers dying out quietly where Vern and Teddy lie sleeping. The tree is rough against his back, arms folding over bent knees reflecting Chris's stature, chilly wind brushing against uncovered skin. He thinks about moving closer toward Chris, two together equals greater warmth after all, but he stays in position only letting right arm occasionally touch against Chris's left.
Gordie tells Chris that college courses for him would be a good investment, even though half of him doesn't believe the fallen words. As the topic turns upon Chris's family, Chris lets the defenses slip, anger and sadness edging around sentences of old lady Simons until tears fall free and this Chris. This Chris startles him because Chris Chambers, Eyeball Chamber's kid brother, wasn't supposed to cry. Not supposed to show this type of emotion and all he could think of doing was to place a hand on the cooled skin, periodically squeezing between deep sobs.
"I just wish that I could go someplace where nobody knows me," he pauses, head dipping into the crest between knees and chest where the noises are momentarily muffled before looking back in his direction. "I guess I'm just a pussy, huh?"
"No way, man. No way." Eyes bright in the fire glow and Chris's lips curl upward a bit even though Gordie knows that he's only smiling for Gordie's benefit because most possibly, it's freaking them both the hell out. Gordie shifts closer, right arm wrapping more firmly around Chris's shoulders. He doesn't think really about what the reaction would be nor what would happen if Vern or Teddy awoke, but he leans forward, brushing lips against the pallor of his cheek, quick and swift. His mind races. Surely he crossed a buddy to buddy line where boys like them shouldn't do that with each other - whether one's crying or not. What would suffice would have been a "you'll be okay, man. You'll see" and goodnight thankyouverymuch.
The silence thickens and Gordie lets words tumble outward in an alien jumble that smudges together and sounds like a high pitched child. He tells him, fuck them and fuck old lady Simons. They don't know what he's capable of achieving and that he does have full belief in him. After all, not everyone from the Chambers clan has to be the same. You're not your brother. Remember that, because you aren't no matter what townspeople say. Chris doesn't move, eyes still focused in the short distance, occasionally wiping drying tears and Gordie lets his arm slip free from the shoulders and re-wraps them around his bent knees. Coyotes send up their distant cries in the east, shivering him further than the cold. Chris hands slick against the metal of the pistol, before nudging Gordie's hand to accept the weapon.
"Your turn for watch, Gordie." Standing, his arms curl toward the night sky as he yawns. "Tired as shit." His eyes linger on him, hands jammed in jean pockets as he rocks lightly on heels and a whispered, "thanks, man" floats to Gordie's ears.
"No problem. Get some sleep." He watches as Chris offers him a half smile before making his way back toward the campsite turning down the sleeping bag. Gordie leans his head back against the tree bark, eyes closing listening to the owl hoot and crickets rub legs together. Behind closed eyes, visions of Denny's funeral haunt and he reopens fearing that Denny would be there, agreeing with their father with an accusing finger that he should be the one dead instead of him. The favorable son over the weird that spends most time with objectionable people and writes outlandish tales. Shifting the gun over in hands, eyes pierce through the darkness and he thinks, that perhaps he'll never close his eyes again without seeing nightmares.