[Hugh] Turn the Page
Who: Hugh Emerson aka Tommy Whitehorse
When: Day 36, after the rainstorm
Where: Around camp
Invited: Anyone
Status: Incomplete
Once the rainstorm had passed Hugh resumed his post near the cook fire. He settled onto one of the large driftwood "benches" and resumed carving another of the coconut shell cups. It was good to keep busy. He didn't participate in any of the conversations going on around him but he was acutely aware of them.
The newcomers had a lot of questions, not surprisingly. Eleven new inmates, pulled from times and worlds he'd never imagined existed. Eleven new inmates with no clue how they'd been brought here. Eleven new inmates who would never look at him and see the bearded old man he used to be. Eleven new inmates who wouldn't see an old man wearing a dead man's body; an old man happy to be alive--and young and healthy to boot!--and feeling guilty and ashamed for feeling that way about it.
"Survivor guilt," Sayid had called it.
"You have been in battle, yes?" Sayid had asked one night while they stood guard and fed the watch fire.
"Yes," Hugh said. Slaying vampires might be Faith's calling but there was only ever one Slayer and there were plenty of vampires. Hugh and his comrades in arms had killed more than their share over the years, at a terrible cost in lives. It was a very dangerous avocation.
"You've seen men die," Sayid said. It wasn't a question. Hugh nodded. "Men who wanted to live as badly as you did, men who fought as well or better."
Sayid paused. Hugh wondered what he expected him to say. He remained silent. Sayid continued. "Battle is chaotic in the best of circumstances. You cannot second guess fate--"
"I don't need a pep talk," Hugh snapped, suddenly angry at Sayid for trivializing this.
"You don't wish to hear it," Sayid corrected him calmly, "but you do need to hear it. You survived and Tommy died. His death is unfortunate, but it was in no way your responsibility. You did not cause the body swap. You did not summon the Grue. It might just as easily have killed you instead of Tommy, or killed both of you. We lost many friends that night."
They were both silent for a while then, remembering the dead. "Now Tommy is dead and you are young and healthy again," Sayid said. "But you would feel guilty even if that were not the case."
"You don't know that!" Hugh said.
"Don't I?" Sayid asked quietly. "I too survived when many did not. Why me? I ask. I have no answer--no more than you do. But I heard them dying, screaming or crying or pleading for help from a god who chose not to answer their pleas for reasons I do not pretend to understand.
"I heard but I could do nothing. And I am very glad to have survived. I am pleased that I still live. I was not given the gift you were but I understand your guilt and shame. I share them. They are understandable and a perfectly normal response to the situation, but that doesn't mean they're correct."
Silence fell between them again. Hugh listened to the snap and pop of the watch fire and the roar of the surf in the distance. He knew Sayid was right. But knowing it and accepting it were two different things. The latter would take a little longer.
Hugh still felt guilty for being so relieved--so happy--to have a strong young body again. His senses were sharper; he'd known his eyesight and hearing weren't what they once were but he hadn't realized just how badly they'd deteriorated over the years. He was stronger, his stamina was greatly improved, and it was so good to move without stiffness or pain!
He paused in his carving to look around. Even as an old man he'd admired all the lovely women sharing the camp with him, but his sexual response had faded like everything else. His admiration was more aesthetic than immediate most of the time--or had been. Not so now. By god he'd forgotten what it felt like to have the bubbling hormones of a young man.
Hugh hadn't had erections so frequent, so long-lasting or so firm in decades. Tommy had been gay and Hugh had wondered...but the body responded to what the mind found attractive, and Hugh's tastes hadn't changed. But then, they'd always been broad. The betting pool Sawyer had started was a fascinating glimpse into the minds of his fellow inmates.
No one had put his name into the hat yet, and that was probably just as well. Not that he didn't daydream about all the possibilities, but--not yet. He was beginning to accept the situation, but he wasn't comfortable enough in Tommy's skin to seriously contemplate anything so intimate. Not yet. And perhaps never with anyone who had known him...before.
But there were people here now who had never known Hugh Emerson as an old man. Or Tommy Whitehorse. They would only ever know him as the young man he was now. That would be true of the rest of the world, someday, when they got off this damned island.
When: Day 36, after the rainstorm
Where: Around camp
Invited: Anyone
Status: Incomplete
Once the rainstorm had passed Hugh resumed his post near the cook fire. He settled onto one of the large driftwood "benches" and resumed carving another of the coconut shell cups. It was good to keep busy. He didn't participate in any of the conversations going on around him but he was acutely aware of them.
The newcomers had a lot of questions, not surprisingly. Eleven new inmates, pulled from times and worlds he'd never imagined existed. Eleven new inmates with no clue how they'd been brought here. Eleven new inmates who would never look at him and see the bearded old man he used to be. Eleven new inmates who wouldn't see an old man wearing a dead man's body; an old man happy to be alive--and young and healthy to boot!--and feeling guilty and ashamed for feeling that way about it.
"Survivor guilt," Sayid had called it.
"You have been in battle, yes?" Sayid had asked one night while they stood guard and fed the watch fire.
"Yes," Hugh said. Slaying vampires might be Faith's calling but there was only ever one Slayer and there were plenty of vampires. Hugh and his comrades in arms had killed more than their share over the years, at a terrible cost in lives. It was a very dangerous avocation.
"You've seen men die," Sayid said. It wasn't a question. Hugh nodded. "Men who wanted to live as badly as you did, men who fought as well or better."
Sayid paused. Hugh wondered what he expected him to say. He remained silent. Sayid continued. "Battle is chaotic in the best of circumstances. You cannot second guess fate--"
"I don't need a pep talk," Hugh snapped, suddenly angry at Sayid for trivializing this.
"You don't wish to hear it," Sayid corrected him calmly, "but you do need to hear it. You survived and Tommy died. His death is unfortunate, but it was in no way your responsibility. You did not cause the body swap. You did not summon the Grue. It might just as easily have killed you instead of Tommy, or killed both of you. We lost many friends that night."
They were both silent for a while then, remembering the dead. "Now Tommy is dead and you are young and healthy again," Sayid said. "But you would feel guilty even if that were not the case."
"You don't know that!" Hugh said.
"Don't I?" Sayid asked quietly. "I too survived when many did not. Why me? I ask. I have no answer--no more than you do. But I heard them dying, screaming or crying or pleading for help from a god who chose not to answer their pleas for reasons I do not pretend to understand.
"I heard but I could do nothing. And I am very glad to have survived. I am pleased that I still live. I was not given the gift you were but I understand your guilt and shame. I share them. They are understandable and a perfectly normal response to the situation, but that doesn't mean they're correct."
Silence fell between them again. Hugh listened to the snap and pop of the watch fire and the roar of the surf in the distance. He knew Sayid was right. But knowing it and accepting it were two different things. The latter would take a little longer.
Hugh still felt guilty for being so relieved--so happy--to have a strong young body again. His senses were sharper; he'd known his eyesight and hearing weren't what they once were but he hadn't realized just how badly they'd deteriorated over the years. He was stronger, his stamina was greatly improved, and it was so good to move without stiffness or pain!
He paused in his carving to look around. Even as an old man he'd admired all the lovely women sharing the camp with him, but his sexual response had faded like everything else. His admiration was more aesthetic than immediate most of the time--or had been. Not so now. By god he'd forgotten what it felt like to have the bubbling hormones of a young man.
Hugh hadn't had erections so frequent, so long-lasting or so firm in decades. Tommy had been gay and Hugh had wondered...but the body responded to what the mind found attractive, and Hugh's tastes hadn't changed. But then, they'd always been broad. The betting pool Sawyer had started was a fascinating glimpse into the minds of his fellow inmates.
No one had put his name into the hat yet, and that was probably just as well. Not that he didn't daydream about all the possibilities, but--not yet. He was beginning to accept the situation, but he wasn't comfortable enough in Tommy's skin to seriously contemplate anything so intimate. Not yet. And perhaps never with anyone who had known him...before.
But there were people here now who had never known Hugh Emerson as an old man. Or Tommy Whitehorse. They would only ever know him as the young man he was now. That would be true of the rest of the world, someday, when they got off this damned island.