There's Things Half in Shadow, Half Way in Light
Hawkeye rubbed Jen's back and held his hair. The boy had been hunched over the toilet for twenty minutes. He hated being sick. It showed weakness and Jen hated looking weak. He took in a gasp of air and... that was all of the torment his body could give him. Jen leaned up against the bathtub and managed to sit. "I bet you're enjoying this," he said to Hawkeye, breathing raggedly.
Hawk gave Jen a wet washcloth. "Watching people throw up—the stuff of dreams."
The boy wiped his mouth. "You like seeing others vulnerability. You feed on it. You're like those cult-leaders who take advantage of little girls. You're a skinny, little creep."
Hawkeye sat down level to Jen. "You sound just like your father. All conspiracy theories and degeneration."
"There you go again. Jabbing me where it hurts."
"You're smart, Douglas. You could have been a great psychiatrist if you wouldn't have taken an extended vacation on cloud nine."
"Do you enjoy proving my point?"
"Immensely."
"Do you always push people away like this?"
"Like how?"
"Using your intelligence to belittle people or your cynicism to higher yourself?"
Hawkeye walked into the hallway, Jen followed.
"Your father was the same way. When something bad happened he would joke over it. When your mother died, that's what he did. When the doctors found the cancer, he made some snide remark about the decline of bed-side manner."
Hawk turned and pressed Jen against the wall. "Listen, you perverted, little snot, you may have more neurosis theories than Freud, but don't you ever bring my father into it."
The doctor walked away, but Jen stayed at the wall. "You can dish it out, yet you can't take it," he called.
"It's you I can't take," Hawkeye yelled from the kitchen table.
Jen entered the room. "You don't like me."
"Ding, ding, ding. We've got a winner."
Jen grinned. "I'm your foil."
"Is this some hippy fencing metaphor I don't understand?"
"I am at an equal intellectual level to that of you."
Hawkeye guffawed. "You think you are as smart as me?"
"Yes."
"Surely, you jest."
"I jest at scars that never felt a wound, but not at this. I have bested you in arguments and you have bested me."
"What are you implying? A stalemate?"
"Exactly. We are unfortunately sequestered in close contact for some time. I think we should make the best of it."
"Are you suggesting friendship?"
"I'm suggesting not verbally decapitating each other."
"A fine proposal, young man."
And at that they shook hands.
The phone ringing broke the clasp. "B.F. Pierce, Country Doctor and official mortician. Oh, Louise!"
Jen sighed and slumped into a chair.
"He's doing good. Medically?" Hawk paused. "He's thin. And he needs a trip to the dentist. But as far as I can see, he's fine. Do you wanna? Are you sure you want to talk to him? No, I don't mean to be a tease. Serious psychological studies have been made about this. If someone present at the time of the runaway contacts him, he's ten times more likely to run again. Yeah. Freud. I thought so, too. But he's German. All right. You try calling him again. Bye. Bye-bye. Take care. See ya."
Hawkeye slouched into his chair. "Man, she is a piece of work."
Jen nodded. "Why am I not chatting with her?"
"You're not ready yet."
"When do I have to go back?"
"I don't know. Your mom hasn't been able to contact Frank, and you can't move without both of their consent."
"So, I'm stuck here forever."
"Until they decide what to do."
"This blows."
"It certainly does. But you're welcome to anything in the interim."
Jen stared at his hands. "Thanks."
"She really shook you up."
The boy didn't move.
"Well." Hawkeye coughed and looked at his watch. "I've got maternity check- up with Mrs. Lucas. Twins. I'll be back around two. There's cold cuts in the fridge."
"How do you know I won't leave?"
"Where are you gonna go?"
---
When Hawkeye came back, Jen was sitting on the couch, watching the television. He looked numb.
"Casualties mount overseas," the TV sounded, "and a small orphanage run by Andrea Craddy was overtaken by—"
Hawk turned of the set. "You don't need to hear this." He sat next to Jen. "Did she call again?"
"No," he muttered weakly.
"Did you have lunch?"
"Don't have much of an appetite."
"You're gonna eat. C'mon." He pulled Jen off the sofa and into the kitchen. "Many studies have shown that chicken noodle soup increases—"
"Hawkeye," Jen mumbled. "Can you look at this?"
Pierce turned around. Jen lifted his hand from his elbow crook. A dark red splotch stained his sleeve.
"Jesus, kid."
Jen sank to the floor. "I'm a jackass."
Hawkeye joined him. "No. You're the product of a fucked-up divorce."
"I'm the cause of a fucked-up divorce."
"I have an innate feeling that your father's latent homosexuality was the cause."
Jen chortled.
"Why'd you do it, Doug?"
"I thought it would feel good. Like a hypodermic needle going through the skin."
"You didn't want to die?"
He shook his head.
"When most people do it, they're trying to kill themselves."
"I'm not suicidal." Jen spat defensively. "That's fucking pathetic, man. Only kamikazes and psychopaths off themselves." The boy stormed out so quickly, he didn't notice Hawkeye examining his own self-induced cuts.
Hawkeye rubbed Jen's back and held his hair. The boy had been hunched over the toilet for twenty minutes. He hated being sick. It showed weakness and Jen hated looking weak. He took in a gasp of air and... that was all of the torment his body could give him. Jen leaned up against the bathtub and managed to sit. "I bet you're enjoying this," he said to Hawkeye, breathing raggedly.
Hawk gave Jen a wet washcloth. "Watching people throw up—the stuff of dreams."
The boy wiped his mouth. "You like seeing others vulnerability. You feed on it. You're like those cult-leaders who take advantage of little girls. You're a skinny, little creep."
Hawkeye sat down level to Jen. "You sound just like your father. All conspiracy theories and degeneration."
"There you go again. Jabbing me where it hurts."
"You're smart, Douglas. You could have been a great psychiatrist if you wouldn't have taken an extended vacation on cloud nine."
"Do you enjoy proving my point?"
"Immensely."
"Do you always push people away like this?"
"Like how?"
"Using your intelligence to belittle people or your cynicism to higher yourself?"
Hawkeye walked into the hallway, Jen followed.
"Your father was the same way. When something bad happened he would joke over it. When your mother died, that's what he did. When the doctors found the cancer, he made some snide remark about the decline of bed-side manner."
Hawk turned and pressed Jen against the wall. "Listen, you perverted, little snot, you may have more neurosis theories than Freud, but don't you ever bring my father into it."
The doctor walked away, but Jen stayed at the wall. "You can dish it out, yet you can't take it," he called.
"It's you I can't take," Hawkeye yelled from the kitchen table.
Jen entered the room. "You don't like me."
"Ding, ding, ding. We've got a winner."
Jen grinned. "I'm your foil."
"Is this some hippy fencing metaphor I don't understand?"
"I am at an equal intellectual level to that of you."
Hawkeye guffawed. "You think you are as smart as me?"
"Yes."
"Surely, you jest."
"I jest at scars that never felt a wound, but not at this. I have bested you in arguments and you have bested me."
"What are you implying? A stalemate?"
"Exactly. We are unfortunately sequestered in close contact for some time. I think we should make the best of it."
"Are you suggesting friendship?"
"I'm suggesting not verbally decapitating each other."
"A fine proposal, young man."
And at that they shook hands.
The phone ringing broke the clasp. "B.F. Pierce, Country Doctor and official mortician. Oh, Louise!"
Jen sighed and slumped into a chair.
"He's doing good. Medically?" Hawk paused. "He's thin. And he needs a trip to the dentist. But as far as I can see, he's fine. Do you wanna? Are you sure you want to talk to him? No, I don't mean to be a tease. Serious psychological studies have been made about this. If someone present at the time of the runaway contacts him, he's ten times more likely to run again. Yeah. Freud. I thought so, too. But he's German. All right. You try calling him again. Bye. Bye-bye. Take care. See ya."
Hawkeye slouched into his chair. "Man, she is a piece of work."
Jen nodded. "Why am I not chatting with her?"
"You're not ready yet."
"When do I have to go back?"
"I don't know. Your mom hasn't been able to contact Frank, and you can't move without both of their consent."
"So, I'm stuck here forever."
"Until they decide what to do."
"This blows."
"It certainly does. But you're welcome to anything in the interim."
Jen stared at his hands. "Thanks."
"She really shook you up."
The boy didn't move.
"Well." Hawkeye coughed and looked at his watch. "I've got maternity check- up with Mrs. Lucas. Twins. I'll be back around two. There's cold cuts in the fridge."
"How do you know I won't leave?"
"Where are you gonna go?"
---
When Hawkeye came back, Jen was sitting on the couch, watching the television. He looked numb.
"Casualties mount overseas," the TV sounded, "and a small orphanage run by Andrea Craddy was overtaken by—"
Hawk turned of the set. "You don't need to hear this." He sat next to Jen. "Did she call again?"
"No," he muttered weakly.
"Did you have lunch?"
"Don't have much of an appetite."
"You're gonna eat. C'mon." He pulled Jen off the sofa and into the kitchen. "Many studies have shown that chicken noodle soup increases—"
"Hawkeye," Jen mumbled. "Can you look at this?"
Pierce turned around. Jen lifted his hand from his elbow crook. A dark red splotch stained his sleeve.
"Jesus, kid."
Jen sank to the floor. "I'm a jackass."
Hawkeye joined him. "No. You're the product of a fucked-up divorce."
"I'm the cause of a fucked-up divorce."
"I have an innate feeling that your father's latent homosexuality was the cause."
Jen chortled.
"Why'd you do it, Doug?"
"I thought it would feel good. Like a hypodermic needle going through the skin."
"You didn't want to die?"
He shook his head.
"When most people do it, they're trying to kill themselves."
"I'm not suicidal." Jen spat defensively. "That's fucking pathetic, man. Only kamikazes and psychopaths off themselves." The boy stormed out so quickly, he didn't notice Hawkeye examining his own self-induced cuts.