Chapter Text
Rex—Rex was he. And I, below him, was ceaselessly held in that position, unmoving, only the embers inside of me left to burn until the end of him and his living form. When he glowed, I withdrew, buried beneath shadows. When he sang, I had to choke out responses concealing this strange feeling that swung violently between enmity and reverence. He was the sun, with all encompassing gravity that pulls and pulls. He was a victim of nothing, lover of everything.
The words loathe and love rolled off my tongue in the same twisted wave of force—scarily intertwining during the barest of moments. My speech slurred my bitter thoughts into words of affection. At times I controlled this action, but every so often, it felt instinctive. Some primal ambition that deceives me into believing in futures so foggy. One thing was for certain, I could not let him understand me the way I understood him.
After all, we were equal on the basis of hate. What cruel desire causes a pair to grow resentful of each other? It’s easy to identify what was at the shore, an observance of an advantage over the other—who would inch closer towards superiority, often in differing ways. I knew of his trickery, his completely bona fide self. I was no genius, my brilliancy coming to be only from immense effort, but I saw right through him when no one else had. No one bothered to see him as anything but a beacon of light displaying itself so grandly on their terrible lives, doom looming over them for every sun-filled day there was during the summer.
I'd viewed it as his naturality against my calculations. He’d relied on his ability that sprung from the lack of a second thought. Sports were embedded in his DNA, so it was consequential that he excelled in them. On the contrary, I was a blank slate with no qualities poured into me prior to a full development. I created these aspects of my character, molding myself into what I am now.
Identifying yourself and knowing what you are is a dangerous thing. I didn’t know what I was, only what I wasn’t and what Phineas was.
My effort and his lack of it had landed us in around the same ballpark. And we were both silently seething. I knew we’d bleed to see the fall of one another. I knew that because I would.
It’s difficult to put Finny into words. Perhaps you can't define and limit any human to a mere few adjectives and phrases. But, he was a boundless being, stronger in all ways physical and spiritual—closer to deities than man. He was the purest form of life, embodying life itself—giving life to those whose hearts were empty, and draining the ones whose hearts were full. I’d never been full, but what had been present in me was fully depleted upon meeting him. Then a destructive desire appeared.
I went to every Suicide Society meeting there was, commencing the activities by jumping first more often than not. It’d gotten in the way of my study schedule, but it was my duty to prove I could balance this in ways Finny couldn’t. I knew he wanted to see my turmoil, but I wouldn’t let him.
The structureless summer left people wanting—needing—someone to follow. They each wished for an escape from the iminent draft, and that came in the form of a person. Silently, they settled on Phineas, not because he was the only option, it was because he was the best option. Everyone liked Brinker, his order and his rigid frame of mind. But they all loved Finny. He provided the crowd with such careless peace they wouldn’t be able to capture any place else. Selflessly, he’d brought upon victory to everyone, seemingly unable to grasp the idea of failure. They treated him like something to believe in rather than someone to know.
At a place like Devon, where every test had become a test of one’s strength and brutality as a result of the war—status measured in your devotion to the fight—these behaviors felt nothing short of a miracle. You had to be rude and vigorous to even have a name. But I guess the tide had shifted, with Finny, sticking out in soft gleams like gold. A softer approach to the tumult that was to come. And I had fallen for that miracle.
Some irresistible charm, he was magnetic.
And when he presented to me that Leper, the feeble boy he was, was going to make the plunge, I’d initially gripped my pencil harder, almost snapping it. I was sitting at my desk reviewing my notes for an upcoming French exam. We’d gone together to the library earlier in the day to prepare, but he had no motivation to actually study. I was not annoyed until a while after, once I came back to the dorm room just to realize how little work we got done. So, I tried once more, but Finny was always there to interject.
We quarreled a bit, with me ultimately giving in, because that’s how these types of interactions always ended.
***
Finny followed behind me, climbing up the mucky rungs of the tree. He’d proposed that we jump off together rather than one after the other. I obliged. My fingers dug into each ridge, indents forming on the tips of my fingers where I placed them. We’d gotten onto the limb, with me farther out. The breeze was paralyzing.
And I knew. Jumping out of the tree to mimic deserting a fallen troopship was not a preliminary act to familiarize us with situations in which we’d find ourselves in the future. It was rebellion—a mere game with no winner, as per usual with Phineas organizing them—and it was destroying all of us. While a silly notion at the surface, it was deeply and truly harmful to we boys of just sixteen. It was an overwhelmingly dangerous feat, anyhow. I was likely as stupid as he for even following his word. Freedom was produced on our own terms, something impossible in hindsight during this time. We were being dragged away from the complete absence of forgiveness in this world, one thought that Devon had pushed on all of us prior to now. He skewed our view of life and society, morphing it into a distorted version of reality.
To hell with Blitzball and the Suicide Society. We’ve lost our senses at the damned hands of Phineas! He adored the idea of sports being an absolute good because it would give him the opportunity to feel victorious in his own right for setting up that notion for everyone else. This level of control always permitted him the upper hand. He was purely hypnotic, and I hated it.
Finny inched toward me to be able to fully emulate the double jump. I flailed around a bit on the limb, purpose and reason running through me. I methodically leaned to one side, then the other, eventually flinging myself off completely and hitting the bank with an unnatural thud.
***
I awoke in the infirmary, flashes of stark white walls shooting into my eyes. The break had happened in my leg, and I had thanked god that my arms were alright. Had my fingers, hands, or wrists been fractured, I would’ve felt as much as an ounce of regret. I had lost my West Point Stride, but there were bigger issues at hand. I guessed that this orderliness would find its way to permeate through me some way else.
This was one of the best case scenarios, oddly enough, because, admittedly, damage was inevitable. It’d been a few days of endless medical related exchanges—which were all a complete blur. Time moved slower with no one around, and I was aching to know what was being said. I pondered if my fall was being perceived as an accident, painting me as some clumsy fool. That had to be the most untrue idea of all potential ones, consequently being the one I disliked the most.
Then there was the idea of Finny being the one to push me off, the culprit of the deplorable crime. I considered if anyone would ever think so low of him, or perhaps, truly see him for what he was. But it’s never impossible for one's royal subjects to turn against him. I exemplified this phenomenon. The popularity of this theory that he was at fault, I predicted, would be low, recognizing their loyalty. If I’d been the one to push Finny, I knew for a fact suspicions would arise. No one thought of me the way they thought of Finny—but really, no one thought of anybody the way they thought of Finny.
There was a hint of truth in that idea, however. It was him who caused this terror. One way or another, they will all realize.
I stared at the ceiling above me. It stretched out for meters, swallowing me up in its barren appearance—blank through and through. I’d felt sharp pains down where the injury was, but the pain had lulled. The door opened, my head jolted to the side.
“Gene!” Finny exclaimed, to which he covered his mouth briefly, believing I was asleep.
“Oh, hi, Finny. Uh—come in, it’s—it’s alright,” I stammered. It was like I didn’t know how to handle myself around him anymore.
“Sorry, I thought you were sleeping or something. You looked oddly peaceful even after such an incident.” He stepped inside fully and made his way towards me. I only laughed half-heartedly at his comment.
“Now that I’m thinking about it, it must be hard to sleep. No comfortable positions, I presume.”
“Yeah.”
“Anyhow, that was an awful fall, Gene. I’m so sorry, I should’ve caught you. But I was so stunned, I couldn’t even move. How’d it happen? You know what, I swear, I’ll cut down that tree!” he spewed. “I didn’t have it in me to continue the meetings—wasn’t the same without you. How could we go on without the both of us jumping? It wouldn’t make any sense, really.” Words spilled out of his mouth like projectile vomit.
I was close to tears. My bottom lip quivered slightly, and I averted his gaze to hide these terrible feelings. It wasn’t until I came back to my senses that I realized that what he just professed was just another one of his schemes. I tensed up.
My face fell, my expression blank. Eyes still fixed on the wall behind him, I responded.
“I just fell. I lost my balance and fell. That’s all there is to it.”
He sighed and stared at me pitifully. “Well, I’m sorry I couldn’t catch you. It’s killing me going about these days on my own. Then there’s the end of the Summer Session and all and, oh, God, I’ll miss you terribly. Maybe I'll come down and visit when you’re home.” His eyes shone like stained glass, looking up at me, full of sorrow.
Shut up, I wanted to scream. Shut up, Phineas.
“I’ll be fine,” I declared, finally.
“But I won’t be!” he wailed. “I’m going to visit again soon, and then, perhaps, again, when you’re home, before I get back to Devon for the winter session. I’m not sure. But if I don’t, you better believe that I wanted to.”
I knew he wouldn’t budge, so I resigned to that fact. “Alright then. Just—don’t worry so much about me.”
“If you say so, pal.”
Then, Dr. Stanpole came in to address something. Finny took this as his cue to leave. I faintly saw his face as he exited the room, full of disdain and hurt. I looked away, so quick I could’ve snapped my neck and ended my life. He was away at last. I’d never been so glad in my life.
—
I went back home before the Summer Session officially concluded. There wasn’t much left of it, so truly, I didn’t miss much. When I came back, my parents were unbelievably angry at me for injuring myself like this—for such a stupid reason, but I was indifferent to it. I was not glad to be home, I’d rather call it my ‘Place Of Origin’ rather than deem it to be some sort of safe haven. Me and my family refrained from going on elaborate vacations during this time. My older brother was still overseas fighting in the war, and I was hurt. So, summer lazed on in its modesty.
I would lay, languidly, in my bed, sheets slipping off the mattress. My crutches leaned against the side of my bed frame, sometimes falling and hitting me in the head in the middle of the night. I often wouldn’t be asleep during those fatal-feeling moments, a sort of insomnia closing in on me. It was a good thing—the fact that I was awake—then a good slumber wouldn’t be disturbed and broken. Not one more thing to be ruined by the incident. But, still, I knew it had to be done.
The muscles in my right leg went out of use for a long while. I was scared to see how it’d look out of the cast. I kept expecting a disfigured structure, something to shield my eyes from. Always the worst, it seemed, with me. It wasn’t even that messy of a break anyhow. Miracle.
I took on reading to pass the time at home. I’d pick up many novels at once, maybe about four, and then go about switching between them until they were finished.
My preference for what books I enjoyed and indulged in was quite unclear, but I knew for certain that I was much too picky. I’d find one title that interested me, but upon going deeper into what the contents were, I’d find that it was missing something. It could be in the author’s way of writing, or something in the characters. Instead of not giving the book the time of day, entirely, I’d pursue another that had what the previous one lacked. Then, after accumulating enough things to read, I would, collectively, have everything I needed. I would be fulfilled.
It was the same way with people. Maybe that’s why my circle of acquaintances was rather small. But it seemed to me, clear in the earlier days of the Summer Session, that Phineas had all that I wanted and all that I needed. I didn’t know whether to appreciate or resent this idea. What I did discern from it was that it’s easier to notice in his absence.
The only vivid images I could draw from this lonely period of my life were of the heavy scents of cream colored, sun-damaged pages, and dark wood planks trapping me at every angle in this house. Dust collected everywhere dust could, and I didn’t bother to clean up around here, knowing I’d be back at Devon soon enough. Home felt more temporary than the dorm I shared with Finny. And It wasn’t like I could do much cleaning, anyhow.
I sat in my room, nose shoved in a poetry collection. There was rustling in the kitchen, spilling into the living room, then to the front door. I lowered the book and opened my ears to be able to take in the slightest of noise. Then, my mother called my name, booming and clear. I made my way down the stairs without question, not an answer to be heard. Figured the metal in the crutches would make enough noise to signal my departure from my room.
The creaky, old staircase groaned under my lone working foot and the two silver sticks on either side of me. Despite having practiced this movement often, I still found myself closely watching each step, for fear that I’d miss one and come crashing down once more. My eyes were so fixed on what was below me that I didn’t notice what was in front of me—who was there waiting at the end of the stairs.
“Gene!”
Phineas.
“You’re always reminding me of what my name is. Always.” I chucked out half-heartedly.
“Well, it’s a nice one.” He shrugged.
He helped me into one of the seats, one hand holding my right, and the other planted on my back. Those parts of me burned with insistent fire even long after he lifted his palms away from me. After I was settled in, he plopped down next to me on a cushioned chair near the window.
“You flatter me too much,” I shrunk.
“Naturally, I do.” His mouth titled to the side with a sly smirk tugging on it.
I hadn’t been in the same room as him in a while, our closeness completely deserting us. But it was as if time had never passed us by in the first place, and that I’d just seen him a day or two ago. A wistful dream or gut-churning memory, I couldn’t tell what it was.
“Didn’t expect you to actually come down. Besides, it’s not like there’s much to do in a town like this. Boston seems far more interesting.”
“I mean, The Dixie isn’t too bad,” he dragged on with a shrug. The scoff that was close to coming out of my mouth was sharp and breathy.
“Spend sixteen years here and then report back,” I spat.
“Hah! I could say the same thing to you, but with Boston instead. We all want things we don't have, don’t we?” He leaned into the chair, resting his elbow and putting his chin into one of his palms.
“Something like that, I guess.” I couldn’t think of much to say.
“Enough of this aimless conversation! How’s your recovery coming along?”
“It’ll be quite a while until I’m out of this suffocating cast and off the crutches. I’ll return a bit after the new academic year begins. Perhaps around November.”
“That’s a lifetime! Jeez, what am I to do?” Exaggeratedly, he leaned forward, slapped his hand onto his forehead and pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut.
“It’ll be alright! You're one for the dramatics.”
“It’s just how I am,” he said. “It’s a shame you can't do much. You should be swimming at a lake or riding your bike down the street, it’s only right! Isn’t it?”
“It’s not as bad as you make it seem. I’m not like you, I can be content with this solitude”
“You make me look so crazed next to you.”
“Exactly, that’s my life goal: Make Finny look insane.”
“Maybe, I am losing it.” He threw himself farther back into the chair, a soft thump echoing through the room. His hair fell over his face messily, losing the order it held when he first entered. “Anyhow, that’s too much about me. I’ve got to ask you what you’ve been doing all this time.”
“Reading. So much of it, actually, it’s almost sad.”
“I’m not at all surprised. Any notable titles?”
I took a moment to recall everything I picked up over the past month. “Can’t think of any that you’d like.”
“Forget about me—which did you like?”
“I guess—” I paused, gingerly. “All Quiet On The Western Front.”
“Typical, Forrester, typical! Not to judge, though, not at all. It's like you’ve got your West Point stride back, but perhaps, in your arms” His last point was delivered with a raise of a brow, being said as more of a question. He took a moment to fully comprehend what he was trying to get at while I waited, amused. “Marching! That’s it. So angular, your walk must be, now.”
“I mean, that’s the only way I can get around. Too bad I won’t be actually marching any time soon as a real troop.”
“It’s not that awful. That war stuff is all false, anyhow.”
His body shifted toward the window the seat was propped against, his right hand bracing the sill. The sun carved soft lines against his face, catching a sharp tremor of a breath he didn’t mean to take so sharply.
Finny was never much of a realist, not like I was—but the statement was nothing short of ridiculous considering his emblem from not too long ago, celebrating the allied bombing of Central Europe. He sported the look with pride and patriotism. It was a rather odd way to display that, but nonetheless, he was recognizing the victory and the victories to come. Now, it was a complete disregard of everything that had happened up until now.
“What?” I asked.
“There isn’t any war,” he stated, blankly, as if he’d flipped a switch. That eager demeanor abandoned us, and I was left alone with this hollow mass that claimed to be Finny. He continued, “It was all made up by the fat old men above us. Don’t you see? I take it that you don’t, considering that look on your face—stupid question of mine, forget I even asked. You know, I’ve thought about it more lately, with your leg and all. It’s clear as day, as if I’ve lived your injury over and over since the day it happened,” And the words wouldn’t stop flowing. “Back to my main point, to put it simply, there were the roaring twenties, then the depression, and now—“
“I think it’s time for you to go, or at least, time for me to get back up. Leg cramps,” I spoke, frantically.
“What? Oh, right.” A distant look appeared on his face, as if shaking himself out of a stupor. He got up from the seat and came near me. “Here, I’ll help you.”
“I’m fine, i'll see you soon.”
“No, it’s no problem, really.” Finny put a hand on my back and on my right shoulder once I rose from the armchair. The burning sensation came back. I was seasick on my own feet, and I couldn’t push him overboard. Sweat built at my forehead and wherever it could seep out of my skin. Each step leading up to the second floor was heavy, both of our bodies moving in uncomfortable unison. A closed curtain of silence fell over us.
Despite the great desire for the end of the interaction, persistently, I dreaded when we’d reach the top of the stairs.
When we did, I would avoid his gaze, and he would look at me with the same sorry look he tortured me with back in the infirmary. Reluctantly—not in regards to the lack of gratitude—I would choke out the words “Thank you,” pathetically. A warm grin would spread across his face and the sharp pains in my chest would arise. He’d say to me, “Any time, pal.”
I would jaggedly whip myself around to make it to my bedroom, forgetting to say goodbye, leaving him in the hallway, alone.