Whoa, more reviews. Thanks guys! Reviews are really motivating, hehe. So,
here's the next chapter.
From the library emerged a young woman, adorned with a cerulean cotton dress, luxuriant raven black hair and rain-splattered glasses. She timidly leapt out from under the shelter of the shingled roof of the building, apparently fearing getting wet again (as it was obvious from the condition of her attire she'd already been out in the rain), hopping from foot to foot in the accumulation of water that had formed outside her door. Behind her there came another young woman with vibrant pink locks who stepped casually into the rain, a sunny disposition unclouded by the terrible weather. She unfurled an umbrella nonchalantly and held it above the aforementioned girl's head, who immediately stopped her hesitant dance and blushed slightly.
"Jack!" Cliff shrieked, bringing the farmer against the midwife's shack, shaking him to snap him out of his bedazzled state. Jack's eyes abruptly focused, and, blinking, he looked back at Cliff. "Jesus Christ..." The vagabond murmured in relief. "You scared me there for a second."
Jack gave a timid smile. "Sorry, sometimes I just sort of...blank out when I'm thinking. I did it a lot when I was a kid..." he paused. "But you were worried about me?"
Cliff scowled at the farmer's pleased expression. "Don't look so damn pleased with yourself." Releasing Jack's shoulders, Cliff inquired, "So what were you thinking about?"
The farmer stepped out from behind the midwife's shack timidly, vibrant hazel eyes glazed with a sheet of slight sadness and hesitant remembrance. Peering at the entrance of the library the two girls had already vacated, he murmured, "Nothing of concern."
The two arrived back at the farm at around 6:00 and entered Jack's shack, what flames of work they'd concocted that morning thoroughly doused by the deluge.
"Elli makes really good cakes, huh?" Jack inquired.
"Yeah...it was nice of her to give them to us for free. Must've been my manly charm that persuaded her."
"Of course."
In a state of lethargy, Cliff removed his shirt and threw it aside near a far corner of the room, then collapsed upon his accumulation of sheets, groaning as if he'd done a fair day's work. Jack followed in after him, stretching and yawning, paying no heed to the dampness of his attire as he lay upon the bed, savoring the feeling of warm cotton forming a glove to his body.
Cliff gave the farmer a sideways glance. "Do you ever take off that cap?"
"The cap is sacred." Jack murmured, his voice heavy with exhaustion.
The vagabond grinned, returning his azure eyes to the ceiling. Observing every imperfection; every groove and splinter, every improperly inserted nail...he felt suddenly content. Despite the humbleness of the shack, the furnishings...it was a home for him now. For as long as Jack was willing to keep him, this was his home. He'd never felt that solidity in his life before. Knowing there was something waiting for him at the end of the day. Cliff shifted his weight, lifting his knees upward so that they protruded upward. "Why is it everyone becomes lazy on rainy days?" He inquired.
"Rain is soothing..." Jack muttered, hardly audible as his chin was buried in his chest. Apparently the syndrome of apathy had dealt him a vehement blow. "When soothed, people are more prone to succumb to...doing nothing."
"Like you?" Cliff questioned in jest, a smirk gracing his tattered features.
A hand emerged and was extended in the vagabond's direction, a middle finger elevated, also in jest.
"Oh ho, so the bastard surfaces underneath the goody two shoes, eh?" Cliff chortled. Jack smiled.
"What're you going to do about your lady friend?" The farmer asked absently after a period of silence.
"Ann? Well..." Cliff sat up and peered down at his crossed feet. "I was thinking about...getting to know her...going to Green Ranch and just...striking up conversation, but I've never been good with that. I always shit myself down a river whenever I try to talk to women..."
"You could always do the guinea pig card."
"What?"
Jack mimicked Cliff's movements, altering his position to that of a sitting one, pulling down the bill of his cap to fix its disheveled placement on his head. "I'm your guinea pig; I find out things about her, what she likes, her birthday, things like that and I relay them back to you. Then you can approach her with more of an idea of what she's like and, therefore, have a better chance of wooing her."
"...You've done this before, haven't you?"
"Well, no...not really. I've seen some guys do it for their friends. Like I said, I'm not much of a matchmaker."
"Did it work for them?"
"Sometimes."
"Would you be willing...?" Cliff inquired.
"If I wasn't willing, I wouldn't have suggested it."
"...Thanks, Jack."
"While you're gathering stuff tomorrow I'll head over to Green Ranch, ok?"
"Yeah, ok."
There was a lull in conversation. Cliff's shoulders had tightened in apprehension of something unknown to the farmer, his eyes construing skepticism and unaltered fear. Jack assumed the vagabond had never taken something so abrupt so seriously before; one who has no commitments or responsibilities...one who knows no one he can return home to, who he feels the need to please, who he wishes would enjoy his company...
Jack had known Cliff was that kind of person the moment he met him. Though a modest man, the farmer credited himself loosely with having the ability of analyzing people fairly well by examining their physical attributes; the set of their pupils, the positioning of their mouth and lips...if they have dark circles or intricately deepened laugh lines about their eyes. All these traits attributed to the personality and the experiences of the man or woman inside of the external appearance. And Cliff had the look of a man who was incessantly suspicious. His lips, dried and thin, slightly inward as if his teeth were gnawing them away; the chin tight and square, uncomplimentary to the rest of his features. At first sight, Jack had taken account of Cliff's eyes...their deep cyan, penetrating with a cold suspicion, shadowed by doubt and internal conflict. The latter had been ever so evident when Cliff was battling with the notion of staying at Jack's. And when the farmer had seen him the following morning, it had dissipated, replaced with uncertainty and foreboding.
The farmer, at a young age, had accumulated this extraordinary "insight" talent by people watching. Unlike Cliff, his silence and detachment wasn't due to past turmoil...just that he was generally timid when it came to social confrontations. Jack was still friendly if spoken to and humorous if the occasion was appropriate...but as a boy, he found most pleasure in sitting in a shady spot, observing people pass by. A stern man would saunter by him, with bulky, well built shoulders and a jaunt face...but there would be lengthy lines stemming from the corners of his eyes, leeching outward almost to his ears it seemed. So defined were these marks that Jack knew instantly he wasn't introverted or hot-tempered at all. Those lines showed he'd lived a life of laughter.
So, while the other villagers would pass by him without a glance or peer at him oddly due to his intimidating frame...Jack would smile. And when that man caught his smile, he would return it. And his eyes would squint. And his mouth would become agape, showcasing rows of gloriously white teeth.
After that, that man was no longer frightening. He was like a child, just like Jack. It was amazing to the farmer, at that age, how a smile or a nod or some other friendly gesture could change the entire disposition of a person. Likewise, he'd tested it on favorable looking people, finding that they would ignore him or even glare if they were irritable enough. And Jack would've had a theory about their reaction before he caught their attention. Normally, he was right.
What intrigued Jack about the people in this town, however, was how unpredictable they were. Even though the farmer could read some of Cliff's feelings, and create ideas on what might've happened in his past...that morning when Jack woke to see the vagabond clearing his fields without being prompted to was completely stunning. And upon seeing that woman in the tavern, Karen...her demeanor and smug grin was almost favorable until she erupted on him.
Each person he'd come in contact with had changed abruptly from what his hypotheses concluded. It was actually rather frustrating.
"Hey Jack?"
Cliff's voice broke Jack's contemplation. He responded with a simple,
"Hmm?"
"What really happened today? When you...blanked out?"
The farmer paused. "I remembered something...faintly..." He murmured. "I have so many memories of visiting this town in the summer. The whole appearance of things...the trees, the grass, the flowers. But I could vaguely remember any of the people. It was like...I don't know; it was like a cigarette burn in a photo album. The one portion of that picture you want to see is burned away, and you can't get it back. But when I saw that library...something...came to me."
"What did?"
"...A little girl's voice. And my mother's...but I couldn't see anything. Couldn't see the little girl or my mom."
Cliff looked through the window at the storm. He felt an abrupt sense of loneliness in the pit of his stomach.
"I can't remember anything about this village either..." He trailed off. "All I remember is...playing with Karen sometimes. And I remember her father yelling at us one day for getting too close to a wild animal..." He chuckled. "Why can you never recall the things that matter?"
Jack shook his head, shrugging. "I just know that conversation I remembered is going to be bugging the hell out of me all night..." He peered at the clock on his bedside table. It read 8:30. "We'd better get to bed. Another day tomorrow."
"Yeah..." Cliff murmured.
"Good night, Cliff." Jack called, turning out the light.
"Good night...Jack..."
From the library emerged a young woman, adorned with a cerulean cotton dress, luxuriant raven black hair and rain-splattered glasses. She timidly leapt out from under the shelter of the shingled roof of the building, apparently fearing getting wet again (as it was obvious from the condition of her attire she'd already been out in the rain), hopping from foot to foot in the accumulation of water that had formed outside her door. Behind her there came another young woman with vibrant pink locks who stepped casually into the rain, a sunny disposition unclouded by the terrible weather. She unfurled an umbrella nonchalantly and held it above the aforementioned girl's head, who immediately stopped her hesitant dance and blushed slightly.
"Jack!" Cliff shrieked, bringing the farmer against the midwife's shack, shaking him to snap him out of his bedazzled state. Jack's eyes abruptly focused, and, blinking, he looked back at Cliff. "Jesus Christ..." The vagabond murmured in relief. "You scared me there for a second."
Jack gave a timid smile. "Sorry, sometimes I just sort of...blank out when I'm thinking. I did it a lot when I was a kid..." he paused. "But you were worried about me?"
Cliff scowled at the farmer's pleased expression. "Don't look so damn pleased with yourself." Releasing Jack's shoulders, Cliff inquired, "So what were you thinking about?"
The farmer stepped out from behind the midwife's shack timidly, vibrant hazel eyes glazed with a sheet of slight sadness and hesitant remembrance. Peering at the entrance of the library the two girls had already vacated, he murmured, "Nothing of concern."
The two arrived back at the farm at around 6:00 and entered Jack's shack, what flames of work they'd concocted that morning thoroughly doused by the deluge.
"Elli makes really good cakes, huh?" Jack inquired.
"Yeah...it was nice of her to give them to us for free. Must've been my manly charm that persuaded her."
"Of course."
In a state of lethargy, Cliff removed his shirt and threw it aside near a far corner of the room, then collapsed upon his accumulation of sheets, groaning as if he'd done a fair day's work. Jack followed in after him, stretching and yawning, paying no heed to the dampness of his attire as he lay upon the bed, savoring the feeling of warm cotton forming a glove to his body.
Cliff gave the farmer a sideways glance. "Do you ever take off that cap?"
"The cap is sacred." Jack murmured, his voice heavy with exhaustion.
The vagabond grinned, returning his azure eyes to the ceiling. Observing every imperfection; every groove and splinter, every improperly inserted nail...he felt suddenly content. Despite the humbleness of the shack, the furnishings...it was a home for him now. For as long as Jack was willing to keep him, this was his home. He'd never felt that solidity in his life before. Knowing there was something waiting for him at the end of the day. Cliff shifted his weight, lifting his knees upward so that they protruded upward. "Why is it everyone becomes lazy on rainy days?" He inquired.
"Rain is soothing..." Jack muttered, hardly audible as his chin was buried in his chest. Apparently the syndrome of apathy had dealt him a vehement blow. "When soothed, people are more prone to succumb to...doing nothing."
"Like you?" Cliff questioned in jest, a smirk gracing his tattered features.
A hand emerged and was extended in the vagabond's direction, a middle finger elevated, also in jest.
"Oh ho, so the bastard surfaces underneath the goody two shoes, eh?" Cliff chortled. Jack smiled.
"What're you going to do about your lady friend?" The farmer asked absently after a period of silence.
"Ann? Well..." Cliff sat up and peered down at his crossed feet. "I was thinking about...getting to know her...going to Green Ranch and just...striking up conversation, but I've never been good with that. I always shit myself down a river whenever I try to talk to women..."
"You could always do the guinea pig card."
"What?"
Jack mimicked Cliff's movements, altering his position to that of a sitting one, pulling down the bill of his cap to fix its disheveled placement on his head. "I'm your guinea pig; I find out things about her, what she likes, her birthday, things like that and I relay them back to you. Then you can approach her with more of an idea of what she's like and, therefore, have a better chance of wooing her."
"...You've done this before, haven't you?"
"Well, no...not really. I've seen some guys do it for their friends. Like I said, I'm not much of a matchmaker."
"Did it work for them?"
"Sometimes."
"Would you be willing...?" Cliff inquired.
"If I wasn't willing, I wouldn't have suggested it."
"...Thanks, Jack."
"While you're gathering stuff tomorrow I'll head over to Green Ranch, ok?"
"Yeah, ok."
There was a lull in conversation. Cliff's shoulders had tightened in apprehension of something unknown to the farmer, his eyes construing skepticism and unaltered fear. Jack assumed the vagabond had never taken something so abrupt so seriously before; one who has no commitments or responsibilities...one who knows no one he can return home to, who he feels the need to please, who he wishes would enjoy his company...
Jack had known Cliff was that kind of person the moment he met him. Though a modest man, the farmer credited himself loosely with having the ability of analyzing people fairly well by examining their physical attributes; the set of their pupils, the positioning of their mouth and lips...if they have dark circles or intricately deepened laugh lines about their eyes. All these traits attributed to the personality and the experiences of the man or woman inside of the external appearance. And Cliff had the look of a man who was incessantly suspicious. His lips, dried and thin, slightly inward as if his teeth were gnawing them away; the chin tight and square, uncomplimentary to the rest of his features. At first sight, Jack had taken account of Cliff's eyes...their deep cyan, penetrating with a cold suspicion, shadowed by doubt and internal conflict. The latter had been ever so evident when Cliff was battling with the notion of staying at Jack's. And when the farmer had seen him the following morning, it had dissipated, replaced with uncertainty and foreboding.
The farmer, at a young age, had accumulated this extraordinary "insight" talent by people watching. Unlike Cliff, his silence and detachment wasn't due to past turmoil...just that he was generally timid when it came to social confrontations. Jack was still friendly if spoken to and humorous if the occasion was appropriate...but as a boy, he found most pleasure in sitting in a shady spot, observing people pass by. A stern man would saunter by him, with bulky, well built shoulders and a jaunt face...but there would be lengthy lines stemming from the corners of his eyes, leeching outward almost to his ears it seemed. So defined were these marks that Jack knew instantly he wasn't introverted or hot-tempered at all. Those lines showed he'd lived a life of laughter.
So, while the other villagers would pass by him without a glance or peer at him oddly due to his intimidating frame...Jack would smile. And when that man caught his smile, he would return it. And his eyes would squint. And his mouth would become agape, showcasing rows of gloriously white teeth.
After that, that man was no longer frightening. He was like a child, just like Jack. It was amazing to the farmer, at that age, how a smile or a nod or some other friendly gesture could change the entire disposition of a person. Likewise, he'd tested it on favorable looking people, finding that they would ignore him or even glare if they were irritable enough. And Jack would've had a theory about their reaction before he caught their attention. Normally, he was right.
What intrigued Jack about the people in this town, however, was how unpredictable they were. Even though the farmer could read some of Cliff's feelings, and create ideas on what might've happened in his past...that morning when Jack woke to see the vagabond clearing his fields without being prompted to was completely stunning. And upon seeing that woman in the tavern, Karen...her demeanor and smug grin was almost favorable until she erupted on him.
Each person he'd come in contact with had changed abruptly from what his hypotheses concluded. It was actually rather frustrating.
"Hey Jack?"
Cliff's voice broke Jack's contemplation. He responded with a simple,
"Hmm?"
"What really happened today? When you...blanked out?"
The farmer paused. "I remembered something...faintly..." He murmured. "I have so many memories of visiting this town in the summer. The whole appearance of things...the trees, the grass, the flowers. But I could vaguely remember any of the people. It was like...I don't know; it was like a cigarette burn in a photo album. The one portion of that picture you want to see is burned away, and you can't get it back. But when I saw that library...something...came to me."
"What did?"
"...A little girl's voice. And my mother's...but I couldn't see anything. Couldn't see the little girl or my mom."
Cliff looked through the window at the storm. He felt an abrupt sense of loneliness in the pit of his stomach.
"I can't remember anything about this village either..." He trailed off. "All I remember is...playing with Karen sometimes. And I remember her father yelling at us one day for getting too close to a wild animal..." He chuckled. "Why can you never recall the things that matter?"
Jack shook his head, shrugging. "I just know that conversation I remembered is going to be bugging the hell out of me all night..." He peered at the clock on his bedside table. It read 8:30. "We'd better get to bed. Another day tomorrow."
"Yeah..." Cliff murmured.
"Good night, Cliff." Jack called, turning out the light.
"Good night...Jack..."