Chapter Text
I sat cross-legged in my undergarments on the floor, staring into the bucket. The water had turned a cloudy rust, and the shirt looked worse than before. I rubbed at the stain until my fingers ached. "Why won't these blood stains come OUT," I shout, throwing my shirt across the room out of frustration. For a moment I simply sat there, breathing hard. Then came the familiar voice in my head. "Look at yourself, Kevin." My father's voice, or maybe it was my own. I couldn't tell the difference anymore. "You're acting like a girl." I wiped at my eyes before any tears could form. "Imagine if everyone saw you like this. The Elders. Your brother. They'd laugh themselves sick. Real men don't fall apart over a shirt. Real men don't panic. Real men don't cry." I swallowed and forced my breathing to steady. "Pull yourself together," I muttered.
A few minutes later, I stood and retrieved my shirt. The stain had faded, but not enough. It was still there, stubborn and dark, refusing to disappear no matter how hard I scrubbed. The door suddenly opened, and Arnold stepped inside, smelling faintly of dust and wood from the Elders' quarters.
"Why the long face, Kevin?" I held up the shirt.
"These stupid stains." Arnold sat beside me.
"Want some help?" I shrugged.
"Go ahead."
Neither of us spoke for a while. The room filled with the sound of fabric rubbing against itself and water splashing softly in the bucket. I watched as Arnold worked. Unlike myself, Arnold wasn't attacking the stain. He pressed gently with the cloth, patiently, until the stain began to fade.
"How'd you do that?" I finally asked.
Arnold smiled faintly. "My mom taught me. She always said people often ruin things because they think harder means better."
I looked down at the shirt, and the stain was lifting.
"Huh."
"Just be gentle with it," Arnold added.
"What about your dad? What did he teach you?"
The smile disappeared from Arnold's face, and he kept scrubbing. "I don't know."
"There has to be something." Arnold's hands slowed.
The silence stretched long enough for me to regret asking. "You don't have to tell me."
"No." Arnold stared into the murky water. "It's just.. hard to talk about."
"How so?" Arnold let out a quiet laugh that didn't sound amused.
"He taught me how to man up, I guess."
I looked over at Arnold. "How to stop being a sissy. How to stop crying, stop complaining stop..." He searched for the word. "Feeling, you could say."
The room fell quiet again. I looked at the shirt between the two of them. It's funny how Arnold's mother taught him how to clean stains, and that his father taught him how to hide them, I thought.
"Oh," was all I could think to say.
A few moments later, Arnold rose. "Well..." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm gonna head to sleep." I nodded. Arnold took a few steps toward his bed before forcing a grin. "You know what they say. Tomorrow is a Latter-Day." The joke landed with a dull thud. Still, I managed to peel a small smile across his lips. "Yeah." Arnold climbed into bed. I remained seated, staring at the shirt in my lap. The stain was nearly gone. Nearly.