This Long Silence: Epilogue
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Epilogue
They ride in a beat-up Chrysler LeBaron convertible from the early nineties with a tricky top that doesn’t always go down. Jared jokes that it’s because the car knows better than to be easy for two guys who are more interested in each other. Jensen usually shakes his head and rolls his eyes, but always hides a smile from him. For all that Jensen complains about it, he has to appreciate that the thing keeps running, even after two straight weeks crisscrossing 2,500 miles.
At dawn in Savannah, Georgia, Jensen muscles the convertible top back and shoots Jared a tired look for being of no help, having disappeared for coffee. But when Jared hands over the piping hot, covered cup, Jensen leans across the console and kisses his cheek.
As the sun sets over the Atlantic, they twist along 264 with the top tucked down and the wind coasting right over them. They follow the interstate south when for the past two days they’d been heading north, Jensen following Jared’s crude directions for the next place to cross off the list. They’ve been finding their way with road maps purchased at truck stops and are assisted by nothing more than a dashboard compass Jared had grabbed from a gas station in Tennessee.
Jared directs Jensen to the right and they pass residential areas, slip through the town’s tourist strip, and creep right through forests until they can’t go any further. Jensen parks to the side of the dead end, but they’re both eying the walking path off to the left.
They march in the dirt and when it dips with the land, Jensen holds at Jared’s backpack to keep himself upright. The path dips this way and that, but Jensen’s eased by Jared’s random chatter and his tight hold at the bag. Jensen finds himself constantly reaching for Jared now. Just some reassurance Jared’s still there, and he’s grateful Jared doesn’t question it, like Jared just expects it.
“It’s an evergreen shrub,” Jared’s saying. “Grows anywhere from three to eight feet.”
“That’s quite a range,” Jensen says, a bit distracted by the rough terrain.
“Yeah, some are low and wide. But some form like trees. It all depends on how it’s crossed with other variations.”
“And it’s called what?”
“Atriplexcanescens.”
“Triplix-cana-sense?” Jensen says, only half caring how close he is to the pronunciation.
They’ve been having conversations like this for eight days now, Jared operating like an encyclopedia of random natural facts, and Jensen doing his best to follow the words. Jared’s been spending a lot of time rereading his textbooks - both from his own college days and Morgan County High, pulling them out while sharing quiet meals or during lazy moments while Jensen naps or curses the poor choices for cable in tiny motels.
“Close enough,” Jared laughs. “It grows right out from the rocks and lives on average rainfall, and its sex is -”
“What do you mean?” Jensen asks as he tugs on Jared’s backpack and smirks. “The evergreens have sex?”
Shaking his head, Jared chuckles. “No, its sex is identifiable by the flower. Or fruit. The females are showy with their fruit.”
“I would be, too. You gotta attract your mate.”
They hit solid ground, trees thinning out to sand, and Jared spins to face him. He keeps walking, but it’s slower than before. “Well, you already are a fruit.”
“That’s cute,” Jensen replies flatly. “You’re hysterical.”
“I know,” Jared grins, turning forward to walk right next to Jensen. “Cute and hysterical.”
“So, where are they?” he asks, setting his hand beneath Jared’s backpack. His fingers squeeze into Jared’s shirt as they travel slower through dust and sand.
“Out west. A few specific species are in Arizona or California only. But there’re some in Oregon. Montana. Idaho.”
Jensen snorts. “And there’s nothing you want to see in Virginia? Or, you know, some place closer to where we’re actually going?”
Jared doesn’t answer and Jensen goes quiet as well because they’ve reached the end of their hike, and the bay before them wraps around for 270 degrees. Crisp, rippling water fills the space and the coast is covered in wild flora as far as they can see.
The camera doesn’t come out, which surprises Jensen. Jared just stares out onto the water, biting his lip and licking over it like he does every time he snaps a picture.
They’ve been on the road for two weeks straight, having left Morgan County and most of what they’d owned in the rear view. Considering what they’ve lived through, Jensen doesn’t count on bad karma for having emptied cash registers in the mall and sharing it amongst his friends. He’d then made trips Downtown for extra cash, figuring it was close enough to what he’d had wrapped up in savings that was secure behind the thickest door and lock he’d ever seen in his life at the town bank. It’s been enough for now, along with racking up considerable credit card bills they know they’ll have to own up to one day, but he figures they deserve a break from reality right now.
After that slow, eerie pass through town, they’d made a quick stop to each of their houses for possessions they couldn’t part with; Jensen packed up most of his clothes then grabbed a belt with a buckle his dad had fashioned himself as well as a gold charm and matching chain his mother had given him the morning he left for the Army. Jared had packed up his textbooks, a few changes of clothes, a couple photo albums, and little else. He’d insisted he could live off these items and would pick up things along the way as needed. On their way out, they stopped at the high school and grabbed a laptop and a few external hard drives to keep them company, stocked up on what was left of the vending machines and cafeteria, and hit the road.
The laptop first served them for news searches of Morgan Falls, but nothing hit. After a few days, Jensen insisted they stop hunting for a problem that didn’t want to be found, and suggested it be used for storage of all these new memories they’re creating.
For these past two weeks, Jared has taken hundreds of pictures a day and downloaded them every night. It’s become their tradition to view them over coffee and donuts or juice and eggs. No matter how quiet Jared gets along the way, reliving all he had to experience, he still takes pictures and looks through each one with Jensen as they sit close for breakfast.
Right now, Jensen and Jared are still on the beach, and their steady breathing fills Jensen’s ears until the cawing of seagulls flying in and out of the bay grows louder.
Jared tips his head back, eyes blinking at the sun and birds overhead, and he bites his lip again. Jensen wonders if the camera’s memory is full for today, but he doubts it. There’s something else. It worries him, though he won’t force it.
After walking along the coast and picking up random stones to skip across the quiet water, Jensen sets his hand low on Jared’s hip and brings him into his side.
They keep walking and Jared glances down to their feet as he takes a deep breath. “The bushes are in Washington, too.”
Jensen stays quiet; he can sense Jared has more to say.
“My parents are in Olympia.”
“Yeah, I remember,” Jensen says softly, recalling times Jared spoke of his parents having retired to the Pacific Northwest, an area saturated in wildlife and sprawling woods that Jared has always sworn Jensen would love hiking through.
“I haven’t seen them for a couple years.”
“No?” Jensen asks softly.
Jared shakes his head. “Not since that first Christmas I was with you.”
Jensen rubs his hand up Jared’s back again, and they keep strolling. “We can do that.” Jared doesn’t ask for reassurance, though he does glance over with questioning eyes. “What does the girly bush look like?” Jensen asks, purposely trying to play.
With a warm smile, Jared gets back on topic. “Golden tan with four petals. Or wings, really. They’re called four-winged fruits.”
“The at-riplet?” Jensen asks, actually trying to get it right, but he’s well aware he’s butchered it.
“In laymen’s terms,” Jared explains, “it’s the four-winged saltbush.”
“Now that just seems too obvious.”
Jared smirks at him, and Jensen simultaneously feels his heart grow with happiness of Jared slipping right back into his own joy for their travels. Then his stomach twists with dread of what Jared’s smirk really means. “That’s why it’s called laymen’s. You are a lay man.”
“Well,” Jensen says slowly as he gives Jared a long look. “You learned that one a long time ago.”
Lifting an eyebrow, Jared slides his hand over Jensen’s shoulders and pulls him in so they’re chest to chest. “I’d like relearn that. If you’d be so kind.”
Jensen wraps his arms around Jared’s waist, tugging him even closer, if possible. “Of course,” he replies easily, and tips his head up to kiss the corner of Jared’s mouth.
There’s no way he can argue Jared on this topic, or any others for that matter. He’s newly consumed with finding a way to make it possible for he and Jared to make and reach their goals and stay together, no matter the circumstances or cost; Jensen will make it happen or he’ll die trying. He almost did.
Now he’ll have to get them from North Carolina to Washington. They’ll need more maps. And space for all the pictures.