AN: This was written for my English class. The project was to write a dialogue between Ralph and Jack after having bumped into each other twenty years after the events in the book. It was supposed to be a dialogue, but Ms. Vrooman said I could do it in story format (yay!). Please leave some indication that you've read this, folks; spelling errors, comments, favorite bits, whatever.
Encounter
by: Roux
***
Fire burn pain spear
ohgodohgodohgod
out must get out
the fools stupid stupid stupid
blood gash pain
away away away must get away must get must get away must get
away piggy ohgod dead all dead
flies lord of the flies kill kill kill run
lord of the flies lord of the
Ralph awoke with a start, though he didn't open his eyes. Instead he dug what was left of his chewed-up nails into the red plush armrests, using the pressured pain in his fingers as an anchor to focus on. The dream—
"Sir?" Ralph could feel something hover before his face. He cracked open an eye, and hell-o Annie-the-Flight-Attendant. "Sir?" she said, "Are you quite all right? Would you like some water?"
Ralph opened his other eye, blinked stupidly, and stretched, acknowledging the popping vertebrae in his neck and back with the grim satisfaction of one who has not slept well but is used to it. "Where are we?"
"We've landed, Mr.—?"
"Whaley." Ralph glanced around at the gaping faces of the other passengers, and began to feel very self-conscious. It was enough that airplanes made him nervous anyway, and the closeness in the cabin was very unnerving even when one hundred strangers weren't staring at you as if you'd grown an extra head. What had he done to earn such attentions?
"You were dreaming—"
Ralph ignored her as he stood up and squeezed himself out into the aisle, reaching up into the carry-on compartment and pulling out his PANAM shoulder bag. He hated flying, really he did, had since he was a kid, and now all he wanted to do was go home. The stewardess flitted about him, her hair too blonde and her blue uniform so crisply pressed that it crackled when she moved, and Ralph found it rather annoying. He appreciated her concern, he supposed, but he was fine, and he told her so, and brushed her off until he could make a clean getaway. Annie-the-Flight-Attendant stopped at the door of the plane, almost as if she didn't dare to step over the threshold after Ralph, forgetting completely to tell him thank you and to please fly PANAM on his next visit.
Ralph hoped to whatever hope that there wouldn't be another visit as he claimed the rest of his baggage. Right now he just wanted to go home.
As he walked through Heathrow Airport, he dodged many a luggage trolley and flocks of tired, unhappy children that trailed along after their flustered parents, which made Ralph eager to go home all the more. He missed Mo, and he missed his own children, though he secretly hoped Tess and Sean were nowhere near as irritable, or as soggy…
"Hey! Excuse me— pardon— watch it! Hey!"
Ralph's brow furrowed, and he looked round. Was somebody calling him?
"Oy! You there! Wait a minute! Pardon— excuse me. You there!"
There was a stumbling sound, and an 'oof!' and Ralph stopped and turned around to see a heap of what looked like paper and limbs and tweed and angry voices.
"Pardon me for saying so, madam, but you clearly ran into me."
"You weren't watching were you were going, young man—"
"I assure you, madam, I always watch where I'm going; you however—"
"Well I never!"
Ralph set down his bags and walked hurriedly over to the arguing pair, offering out a hand to the woman. "Here—"
The woman's temper failed to fully dissipate, but she thanked Ralph as he helped her to her feet and joined her in collecting all of her dropped possessions. Before she strutted away, she thanked Ralph again, gave the man on the ground a dirty look, and flounced away, muttering about the ignorance of youth.
Ralph watched her go, a half-amused look on his face, then turned to the man on the floor, who was busy retrieving and sorting the papers that had fallen from out of his briefcase. "Need any help?"
"Yeah, sure." This was accompanied by an aloof, yet inviting wave that fluttered over a shock of red hair, that Ralph couldn't help but find familiar, but he stooped anyway and the pair neatened the paper in silence. When the last sheet was safe inside the leather case, the redheaded man got to his feet with a grunt and stuck out a dry hand for Ralph to grasp, and soon enough Ralph was back on his feet, though his knees were complaining slightly.
"Where were you off to in such a hurry? Wife walk past without recognizing you? Been away that long?"
The red-haired stranger smiled oddly. "You mean you don't know me?"
"No, can't say that I d—" Ralph stopped. He took a step back and looked the man over from disheveled russet head to loafer-clad foot, and his heart began to pound. It couldn't be—could it?! "Who—"
"Oh, come off it, Ralph, how could you forget me? We only spent months together on an island without adult supervision is all."
"Jack?!"
The odd smile on Jack's face deepened, and he gave a cheeky wave. "In the flesh."
Ralph could feel his palms sweating, so he shoved his hands deep inside his coat pockets to wipe them against the fabric, and he could swear he was shaking.
Jack. Here. He'd run into Jack Merridew, out of all people, at an airport teeming with thousands of people from all over the world.
"Small world, innit?" asked Jack plainly, as if he had been reading Ralph's mind.
"Yeah," agreed Ralph weakly, " Small world." Too small, perhaps. "How did you know it was me?"
"Never forget a face, me; and besides, you were muttering to yourself on the plane."
"You were there?" And he had been talking in his sleep, something he hadn't done for a long while…
"Yeah, coming back from Hamburg on business."
"I see."
What am I going to do? thought Ralph nervously.
Moreover, said a voice, what is he going to do?
Ralph didn't answer, but began to look for an exit.
"What were you doing in Germany, Ralph?"
"What? Oh, I, uh, was at a teaching conference." Ralph picked up his bags and started towards the escalators, not bothering to ask Jack to come with him. It didn't matter, considering he trotted along beside Ralph anyway, despite the latter man's apparent dismay.
"A teaching conference! Ralph, I never took you for a teacher!"
"Never took you for a businessman." That was a blatant lie. Businessmen were tough and cruel, and inconsiderate, and as far as Ralph was concerned, Jack fit the bill like a glove. But more small talk meant more avoiding whatever Ralph felt he should be avoiding, and that was anything besides worthless chatter.
"Well, I'm a businessman, but whether I'm a good one is a whole other story." He laughed, but it didn't sound very jolly. Sounded more like a lion chasing down a maimed gazelle, a lion that knew it would win. Ralph 'mh-hmmed' off-handedly and kept walking, his hands white knuckled from clutching the handles of his suitcases. As he stepped onto the escalator, he nearly glanced back to check if Jack was still there, but the voice at his elbow confirmed that he was.
""S a ring on your finger."
Ralph looked at his left hand; sure enough, the wedding band Maureen had given him nearly ten years before was still there, and hadn't once left his finger. Ralph loved Maureen as much as anybody had ever loved anyone; she listened to his thoughts, his concerns, and his fears. She even knew about the terror that was standing behind him on the down escalator. Ralph found his voice. "Been married for a long time."
There was a pause, an uncomfortable one on Ralph's part.
"Come have a drink with me."
"What?"
"You heard what I said: Come. Have. A. Drink. With. Me. Come on! For old time's sake!"
For the life of him Ralph couldn't remember what Jack had meant by that; neither of them had ever had a drink together. They hadn't seen each other since they were twelve, for Christ's sake! Not since that day at the airport, when they'd returned home, much too caught up in the emotions of the moment, what with being back in England and seeing their parents and everything.
But perhaps—
"All right," agreed Ralph tiredly. "Where d'you want to go?"
Any kind of closure was good. Especially if Jack went away afterwards…
*~*~*
Ralph slowly nursed the Guinness stout in his hand, lukewarm and dark with a foaming head, just the way he liked it. Jack had ordered himself a Newcastle, and was sitting to Ralph's right, sipping slowly.
"How long you been a teacher?"
"Longer than I was married."
Silence.
"Got any kids?"
"Yeah."
Silence, a cough, sip, then silence again.
This went on for what seemed like ages, and truly, hours passed languorously without their knowledge of it, and soon the sky outside grew dark, their luggage cold in the trunks of their cars. Along with the daylight, the ale disappeared, but into their bodies. Ralph didn't know what Jack did when he was nervous, but if he drank to keep from talking to Ralph, well, they were in the same boat.
Ralph looked blearily at the watch on his wrist.
"What time is't?" Jack asked fuzzily.
"Time f'r me to go home," answered Ralph, his head as furred as Jack's voice sounded. "Want to surprise 'em. My family, I mean. Wasn't s'pposed to be home till next Thursday, but someone came and filled in. Want to surprise 'em," he repeated, digging about in his pocket for a few quid to pay off his bill. He looked at his watch again for a moment, and he grinned suddenly, forgetting his wariness towards Jack. "'Member the time Piggy wanted us t'make wrist-sundials with sticks?"
"You'd remember that," murmured Jack irritably. "You always liked that fat idiot."
Ralph frowned. "Hey, now, he was no more idiot than you, now shut up, I'm trying to count." He'd found a few pounds and was now counting out his tab.
Jack snorted scornfully into his glass. "Sundials…If it hadn't been for him, the island would've been a whole lot quieter! He was always whining about something or the other. Got on my nerves."
"I know," said Ralph dryly. "You let us know constantly. Why did you always have to pick on him?"
Jack shrugged moodily. "I just did, all right? Just shut up."
"That was unnecessary." Ralph frowned again, and stood up, laying the notes on the counter next to his empty glass.
"You can just shove it, you hear me? Fat lot of good that fat imbecile did us; caused all that trouble—"
"It was you that caused all the trouble. You never cooperated. Everything had to be done your way."
"As it should have been! I knew what I was doing, unlike some."
Ralph looked at Jack from the corner of his eye, still wary, and angry to boot. "If you'd had it your way, we'd all have died."
"Not true," came the stubborn reply, "I knew what we needed; we needed food and warriors and—"
"No we didn't," argued Ralph. "Well, we did need food, but that was all you thought about! You were always hunting, Jack!"
"How else were we supposed to eat? Just wait for a pub to open up on the shoreline? Tell you what; we should have eaten Piggy. Was enough meat there to feed all of us for weeks!" He guffawed thickly into his mug while Ralph attempted to keep his growing rage and horror to a minimum.
"Take it back." There were many issues Ralph was passionate about, including but not limited to equal rights and the war in 'Nam, but one that he rarely spoke about but defended wholeheartedly was Piggy. He had been Ralph's only real friend during those months on the island, though Ralph hadn't quite realized it at the time. Piggy answered almost every question Ralph had sent his way, and always came up with a sensible answer that, whether it was uplifting or not, would always give Ralph the courage to live through the next day, always some sort of raison d'être. Piggy had been unfairly treated, and Ralph had never really had the chance to make it up to him when he was yet living, so now he honored his memory by standing up for him to Piggy's worst rival, the bane of Piggy's existence on that godforsaken island.
Jack didn't answer; he'd suddenly become very interested in his cufflinks.
"I said—" Ralph pulled Jack roughly to his feet, shoving him away from the barstools "—take it back!"
"Get your hands off of me, will you!" Jack snatched himself from Ralph's grip, snarling softly. "You always stuck up for him! I never understood that! Stupid, that's what you were, and it seems much hasn't changed!"
"What do you care? You always hated him, and I never knew why!"
"Nobody liked him!"
"Except for me!"
"Except for you. You were the special one. You were chief, you'd found the conch, and you had your own personal slack-jawed slave."
Inwardly, Ralph fumed. This wasn't fair, Jack was such an idiot, saw everything in black and white, no gray, refused to see things for what they really were. He'd always done what he wanted, and somehow, he always got what he wanted. So Ralph had no idea what Merridew was complaining about.
"Did you whip him, Ralph? Did you whip your little slave? I bet you did you—"
Smack!
Jack reeled, the left side of his face throbbing steadily, feeling squishy to the touch. He swiped his the back of his hand across his mouth, and pulled it away, checking for blood, of which there was none, then shook his head as if to rid it of a tedious insect. He watched Ralph suck his own split knuckle and scowled.
"Still defending him, are you? Well—Oof!"
Once, when he was about thirteen, someone had told Ralph he should be a boxer; his build was correct, his height, his weight, everything, and at first he'd seriously considered a career in boxing. But as he thought about it, the more stupid and sick it seemed to become. Two men were getting paid to beat each other up, and people watched them fight for fun. It had then struck Ralph that he didn't really want to become a boxer.
But now he wanted to hurt Jack, he wanted to bash his head into the wall he'd thrown the redheaded man up against, he'd cherish hearing Jack's moans of pain and would wallow in his self-pity like a child wading through a stream on a hot summer day.
Ralph actually followed through with about half of that.
He shoved Jack up against a nearby wall, and Jack's head did indeed bash into the plaster, so that a white cloud settled about the pair's shoulders, rising slightly when anyone made a movement no matter how small. Unsatisfied with the lack of response, Ralph grabbed Jack's collar and shook him, causing his head to crack into the wall once more. Jack hissed with pain and tired not to inhale the frothing blood that now spilled from his nose and trickled down to his mouth in a thick vermillion stream. Ralph shoved his face into Jack's, speaking through clenched teeth.
"Shut. Up. Just shut up! You leave Piggy alone, you hear? That poor kid never even stood a chance on that island, and you just made it harder for him! He was afraid of you Jack, and that's not something to be proud of when he never did anything to you in the first damn place!" Ralph shook Jack again, eyes flashing, and ignored the surprised stare that the red-haired man gave him, probably due to this—to this outburst.
"I haven't seen you for twenty years, twenty! And I can't say I'd complain if someone said I wouldn't see you for another twenty more. In fact, don't even bother trying to run into me. It won't work again!"
Jack moaned, and looked down at Ralph through his good eye, the other having swollen shut as a result of the first punch, but the glare lacked no menace. "I'll get you someday, Ralph. You got away once, and I take it you'll do it once more, but damn me if it happens again, because it won't. Just consider that perhaps I'm letting you get away. Makes it seem more fair. And if I don't get you, I'll get someone who's close to you. How about your wife? Or your children? I will hunt down your children's children's children if I have to, so help me God!"
Ralph released Jack's collar, and took a step back, watching him with something between horror and pity. "You stay away from my family, Jack. I will tear your head off if you ever so much as breathe in my family's general direction; don't you doubt me."
Jack giggled, a scary sound coming from a man at lest thirty-five years of age. "Tear off my head, eh? That's what we were going to do t'you, Ralph! Is it a coincidence? I think not!"
Ralph was quiet for a moment, then he shook his head and walked a little unsteadily over to the coat rack, giving the barkeep an 'ok' symbol. Everything was all right, at the moment. No help was needed, not yet. "I don't ever want to see you again, Jack. Never. Not even at the airport. Goodbye, Jack." Ralph slipped on his trench coat one arm at a time, watching Jack as he leaned up against the wall, his head back, fingers pinching his nose shut in an attempt to staunch the blood flow. Ralph gave the bleeding, aching man one last look before exiting through the door, telling himself never to think on Jack Merridew again.
It wasn't until later, when he lay in bed on top of the covers holding his sleeping wife against his chest, his two children safe in their beds one room over, that he began to cry.
Fin