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Because she seemed to be constantly shrinking inward, Cole was always shocked at how heavy his mom really was. Trying to be gentle and avoid waking her up wasn’t getting him anywhere, and he was starting to wonder if there was any point in being that cautious. She wouldn’t wake up from having her shoulder shaken. She wouldn’t wake up from having her name called, wouldn’t wake up from any insistent tugging on her chilly fingertips. Every trick in the book that used to rouse her was useless, but Cole didn’t want to drag and throw her around like she was some kind of meat slab getting laid out over a chopping block.
His mom’s body didn’t budge at all when he tried to push her shoulders up, nor was he able to throw enough weight into wrenching her backwards. His dad, burly as his arms were, could probably do it easily. Though, the thought of waking up his dad for such a simple task made his face burn with shame. And what would his dad even say? The last time he asked for help with tucking his mom in properly, it was “a Sisyphean job” and “not something you need to worry about.”
The Khans were a tough bunch. They were mostly used to sleeping on the ground. His parents, carrying grim auras that could move tumbleweeds, had endured things Cole didn’t have the courage to ask about. Passing a cold night folded over like the blanket you were supposed to be cosied under wasn’t such a terrible thing.
Still, his mom looked so uncomfortable. She must have fallen asleep sitting up, torso inevitably tipping over her loosely crossed legs once her chin fell to her chest. It couldn’t be a good way to sleep. Her snores had been hitting his ears as wheezes and gasps for a long while. When he gave up on blocking the noise out and finally opened his eyes, he saw the ridges of her spine pressing out like a gecko’s crest.
He wondered if he could find his friend. Surely, their combined strength could do the job. They’d managed to carry a whole mole rat home a few weeks ago, and it didn’t touch the ground once on the long trip back. Along the way, his friend described the easiest way to cut its head off with one strike, so easy they could do it themselves. Cole wondered how it was possible to know where to strike just by looking at its thick, wrinkled neck.
“The spine’s got all these gaps. Touch your back and you’ll feel it.” he could almost hear his friend explain to him again, whispering low this time because neither of them were supposed to be up.
The fog of sleepiness conjured the terrifying image of his mom’s spine bursting out from the stretched-thin skin of her back.
Cole squeezed his eyes shut for a second, rubbed them until they started to water, and went back to trying on his own. There wasn’t anything else to do but keep trying. Just like how his mom, after so many tries at singing him lullabies, would have to call his dad over to get him to settle down once and for all. His dad was just a couple of steps away, but it was probably asking too much if he already said no before.
A familiar lump started to gather in Cole’s throat. An indescribable pressure built up in his head, a beeping charge sending sparks of energy through him to warn him into action. He crouched behind his mom, wedged his hands under her armpits until his fingers could brush the point where her collarbones met her shoulders, and wrenched her shoulders away from her knees with all his strength.
It worked as much as it needed to. Once she was sitting upright, it was just a matter of setting her down smoothly and making sure her head was firmly planted into her pillow After dragging her blanket up to her chin, Cole double-checked his work.
His dad, unable to get any meaningful height, always flopped her onto her bedroll like a carcass whenever she was splayed out on the dusty floor. Compared to that, Cole was sure he did a better job, and she would wake up in a good mood. She hated to sleep not facing the door. Even if all she had to do was turn her head, waking up to anything else put her in a bad mood. If her head was propped up by her pillow, even if she opened her eyes and saw the ceiling, the door would be at the very bottom of her sight. Cole remembered testing it out for himself and lumping other miscellaneous things under her pillow to make extra sure.
His mom looked exhausted, even as she was sleeping. Cole felt his heart sink when he stared at her face. A heavy quiet fell over the space now that his mom’s wheezes subsided. There was the rhythmic breathing of his parents, out of sync with each other, and nothing else. The gap between cloth and door was still dark as night, and there were no sound beyond the walls that hinted at signs of life.
It wasn’t morning yet.
It wasn’t morning yet, but Cole couldn’t stop kicking his legs into the darkness, rolling onto one side and then the other in his fruitless search to decide which side was more comfortable to doze off on.
The charge in his head hadn’t fizzled out, but the flame wasn’t travelling any further up the fuse. It was a feeling that made him want to shoot up to his feet and sprint outside. He could wake his friend up and they’d race each other to the sunrise until their lungs burned and their eyes watered.
The thought was nice, but he knew better.
His mom used to be a lighter sleeper, but she only seemed to sleep lightly when he needed to sneak out to use the outhouse now. If she woke up and fell asleep in that same folded position, it would undo all of his work. His friend would probably go along with him, but they’d both get in trouble for it. And they’d punish themselves first. They’d have to hobble back with jellied legs and pounding headaches as the full glory of the morning sun humbled them.
The longer he struggled to relax, the more his parents’ peaceful sleep filled him with bitter envy. It was enough to make his eyes burn and his teeth gnash. A spiteful voice in his head demanded, “it’s their fault, so they should be awake with you”. It was his own voice, but the mischievous suggestion sounded like an idea straight from his friend’s brain. Would it really be funny? Would it really pay off?
Cole had his doubts.
He didn’t have the heart to throw a fit at the dead of night, and he didn’t think he had the energy to sustain that kind of outburst either. He was sure that, the moment his parents set eyes on him, all of his energy would evaporate on the spot, unable to endure the white heat of guilt. They wouldn’t have to say anything. Just seeing the bags under their eyes and their imploring looks, gazes watery with the silent plea— Don’t be like this right now— would be enough to make him try to shrink smaller than a grain of sand.
Helplessly stranded at an hour where nobody else would find him, Cole pushed his face into his pillow and yanked his blanket closer to his chest. He crumpled the fabric in his fist and pulled it until it was taut against his back, smooth as a cocoon. Frustration pricked at his eyes, his lips trembled, corners pulling themselves down down to the point of soreness, but he still couldn’t dislodge the sound trapped in the back of his throat.
Four blurry dots entered Cole’s vision. Dull grey spots that moved hypnotically, like an optical illusion, growing bigger and fuzzier until—
“Ow!”
He jerked his head back, even though the sensation of four prongs pressing into his brow didn’t really hurt. The sensation was an unpleasant surprise that left his heart hammering. Wasn’t that way too close to his eye?
When he turned to look at his friend, all he saw was the grinning face of an imp.
“You look deader than the mystery meat,” his friend joked, prodding at the food on his plate with the fork that nearly poked blinded him.
Breakfast was a clump of pinkish meat dug out of a rectangular tin, for the fourth day in a row. Cole left his half-finished, but his friend’s small serving looked mostly untouched. He couldn’t blame his friend. It was saltier than the past few times he’d eaten it, and some of the parts that were pressed against the can felt slimy against his tongue. The leap from playing with your own food to making a mess of someone else’s plate was a large one, but he couldn’t say his friend wouldn’t take it.
“Didn’t sleep,” Cole muttered quietly. His stomach felt heavy even before he started eating. He wasn’t hungry, but he wondered if his mom would be when she finally got up. Even heavier were his eyelids. Just blinking made him feel like he was leaning forward again, probably into his friend’s fork again.
“Don’t fall into your food. It’s not gonna help you if it’s in your hair,” his friend warned.
Something about those words created a powerful image behing Cole's eyes. He wanted to see it in front of him. Irritation buzzed in his head, a relentless swarm of tiny thoughts, and impulse moved his hands before he really understood what he was doing.
He heard the legs of his friend’s chair scrape against the floor, saw the vague shape of arms flailing and swiping through the air, and the sound of a plate clattering. With another slow blink, the blobby shadows and swirling colours sharpened. His friend didn’t make a sound, but the queasy plops of soggy meat being flicked onto the table and ground was enough to know the plate didn’t miss.
They were sitting next to each other. It would be impossible to miss, but Cole didn’t really think about aiming in the first place.
Most of the adults were muttering to each other, some quietly chuckling to themselves, all of them looking at the pair through the corners of their eyes. Cole tried to avoid meeting anyone’s gaze, but a loud slam forced him to look up. His friend’s head swivelled to the source too, flinging small bits of meat around in the process. As Cole reached up remove a piece that formed itself into a narrow strip after the first comb-through, Regis’ voice corrected him.
“Cole, switch seats with Lainey,” he ordered. His voice was steady and calm, that intimidating coolness that dared you to try something and suffer the consequences. Cole slid out of his seat without a word, picked his plate off the floor, and made the long, shameful trip to the other side of the table. His tongue swelled in his mouth under the pressure Regis exuded. He couldn’t even look at his friend as Regis’ attention shifted. In the same heavy tone, Regis addressed the other party. “Sid, go clean yourself up and come back. You will leave Cole alone when you get back.”
Cole’s ears burned hot enough to make a fuzzy ringing noise in his head. His teeth ground together, and as Anders transferred half a mount of mystery meat onto his plate, he felt like he’d have to pry his teeth apart using his fork as a wrench just to get through the rest of breakfast.
Whenever it was just him and his friend getting chewed out, it was easy to meet each other’s eyes and find some funny joke in it all. Stifled laughter, barely contained grins, a shared sigh of relief once the cloud of authority finally passed over them and let them burst out laughing. Regis managed to find the perfect way to make things stick, or maybe Cole walked into it by being stupid.
He still wasn’t sure why he decided to throw his plate at his friend’s head. He didn’t get the chance to make fun of the situation, and the thought didn’t even cross his mind once he crossed that bridge. He could already see himself meticulously cleaning the table and floor, wiping the entire incident away until the sun could make the surfaces shine again.
Anders nudged him with an elbow. Just like an annoying older brother who thinks he knows better, he bent to lean into Cole’s field of vision even as Cole kept his gaze glued to his plate and said, “Don’t take it too hard. We know you’re just worn out, but fair’s fair and all that.”
The grip he kept on his fork tightened just a little. His teeth clicked against the rusted prongs. The taste of the mystery meat overtook his awareness of everything else around him. Saliva pooled under his tongue as a sick feeling turned in his stomach.
What would his dad say? Would anyone tell his parents about the dumb outburst he had? Would they bring it up to him when it was bedtime? Would they brush it under the rug? Would they blame his friend? Would they be mad? Disappointed? Annoyed?
The chair across him scraped along the ground again, not a single word for greeting. Cole only acknowledged his friend’s return with a secretive glance through his lashes. When he finished his plate, he didn’t dare leave the table without being dismissed, but Regis had nothing else to say to him.
It took until the sun cast shadows straight down until Cole’s stomach settled. As he served food to his mom, still in that perpetually groggy state hours after waking, he couldn’t meet her eyes. Funnily enough, she seemed to keep her face turned away from him as well, and they put their quiet words into the spaces beside themselves.
“What are you up to today?” she asked, as she always did.
“Nothing,” Cole responded curtly, his default answer when he thought she wouldn’t like the real one.
“Of course,” she sighed, that usual resigned sigh. She had to have known something, intuitively or from hearing other peoples’ chatter, but she didn’t say what. The dread of getting chewed out for wasting food was replaced by the sinking feeling of everyone knowing and nobody saying anything to him about it. He was left with the slightest hints of what they thought about it, but his mom was completely unreadable, having secluded herself to that unreachable, far away island again.
It was dead quiet when he entered. His dad’s eyes burned against the side of his face, but there were no words of reprimand. The air was heavy from the strictly enforced silence between them, so tense that Cole felt obliged to hold his breath to avoid stirring the pot.
His mom dutifully polished away the portion saved for her from breakfast. She left the plate cleaner than the dogs would have, and Cole felt a pang of guilt again. It was getting harder to scrounge up food, so they’d have to get moving soon. He wasted their reserves, for no good reason, and that food didn’t even serve to fill a dog’s stomach. His mom sighed again. Cole braced himself for a scolding, but all she said was, “I’m sorry I couldn’t eat breakfast with you,” as she tucked his loose bangs behind his ear.
“We are,” his dad asserted firmly. It was the kind of intrusion that made his mother’s eyes narrow ever so slightly. The air got thicker.
His parents’ sentiment was nice, but the apology scraped Cole’s eardrums and left a ringing dissonance behind. He shook his head and put on the biggest smile he could give without it looking like he was being forced into it. It wasn’t big enough to reach his eyes.
“I’m fine. You looked out of it last night,” he scanned both parents’ faces for a reaction, and they shot a glance to each other in turn. That overly cautious atmosphere was more obvious than ever. Like residual gas from a blown out pipe, everybody was trying not to reignite that invisible miasma. “I hope you feel better today, and… I’m going out now, so…”
Cole took his mom’s plate and left with his head bowed. The suffocating pressure of his tent was replaced by the overwhelming pressure of the sun, but the air was dry and light.
A small procession of dogs trailed Cole’s friend through camp. Everybody watched with mild amusement, but nobody stopped to ask why, because his friend looked too annoyed by the tag-alongs to be plotting anything strange. When he stepped in front of his friend’s brisk walk, he caught the unmistakably salty smell off breakfast as the wind blew through their hair. Just like that, Cole burst out laughing.
It was only after pinching pain travelled down his sides that he remembered he should apologise. His friend dismissed it, as he expected, along with the rest of the morning’s events, and only made a fuss about the aftermath.
“They think I got stuff for them,” his friend complained, presenting empty palms to the panting pack of mutts to prove a point. Though there was nothing there, the dogs licked like they’d be able to strip some residual flavour from the skin. “They won’t get off my back and it’s fuckin’ annoying!”
In all honesty, Cole had trouble understanding what the big deal was. The dogs seemed to be the only thing his friend got along with, after all. Some of them were a little stinky, and some of them would put themselves right under your feet as you tried to walk, but they were good companions. He scratched the small grey patch of fur at the base of the nearest one’s tail and snorted as its tail started to wag faster, “I thought you liked dogs more than you liked people.”
“Dogs’re easier to deal with… most of the time!” his friend clarified, hands balling back into fists. Somehow, the motion seemed to excite the pack more. Just like psyching a dog up by pretending to throw their stick. Cole was sure they’d get bored at some point, but his friend was already over it. He pushed his way past the furry wall to stand next to his friend like some kind of scarecrow.
Putting his hands on their muzzles and gently trying to push their snouts away, he urged, “Nothing for you! Go on, shoo!”
It was an exercise in futility. It felt more like he was training them how to walk in circles. Some of them were already trained to roll over on command, offer their paws, and to drop or carry things in their mouths. He wondered whether “chase your tail” was a command they’d learned too.
Their wet noses were surprisingly cold against his palms. He tried not to grab their snouts too hard, still skittish of their sharp teeth. He knew what they could do, and he didn’t like putting his fingers close to them. His friend’s arm bore the aftermath of a dog’s bite; the tears were healed, but the marks were still deep and dark long after the incident. The camp’s dogs were nice though. They liked everyone, until they were told otherwise, so Cole couldn’t find any good reasons to be anxious about them.
A strange, sour smell hit his nose as he failed to redirect the fifth and final dog away. Something sticky wrapped around the bottom half of his face, slowly ruffled through his hair. Briefly frozen in shock, Cole’s eyes darted around to find that his friend was no longer in his periphery, but he could feel arms pressing into his shoulders.
Dog slobber. His friend was rubbing dog slobber into his hair and over his mouth, and he could practically feel the triumphant, shit-eating grin on the back of his head.
“You’re such an ass!” Cole cried out in disbelief. It was the only warning his friend got before he ripped the offending hands from his head and dragged them forward. When he threw his weight onto his heels and rocked back, he felt the crack of his friend’s nose against the back of his head. He heard that familiar yelp of pain over his shoulder as he attempted to fling his friend off by thrashing around.
The dogs around them broke into a cacophony of barks. His friend was truly unshakeable, and Cole found the sense to stop trying when he felt something warm soaking through his sleeve. He’d really done it now.
By the time Oscar made it to the scene, Cole had already reset his friend’s nose. Since the dogs had their hackles raised, he was a little too scared to try walking his friend somewhere else, so they sat together under the blazing sun and watched the blood drip and splatter onto the sand between their feet.
“I was paying him back for breakfast.”
Cole’s friend claimed that to Oscar before he could defend himself. Really, before Oscar even asked them what happened. Despite the guilt that demanded he make up for his overreaction, Cole couldn’t find his voice to speak up and apologise while Oscar was with them.
“And how’d that turn out for you?” was the only scolding Oscar bothered to give as he shooed the dogs away and started to walk them to the medical storage tent. Though bleeding and obviously in pain, Cole’s friend grinned. Cole caught it from the anxious glance he shot to the already-swelling nose bridge, and it felt a lot like reassurance.
“I think we should try washing Sid’s hair with something strong,” Cole butted in, “Do we have any soap left?”
Of course, that wasn’t the only problem. He couldn’t get rid of the unpleasant smell clinging to his upper lip no matter how much he rubbed at it.