Friday Night Lights ficlet: "the sky of the sky of a tree called life"
+ A huge thank you to whoever gave me the tree - I came home from work yesterday feeling very blue, and it was a lovely surprise. Perfect timing. Thank you!
+ I've been updating the Hugs, Cuddles and Kisses website daily (thanks to pesha's hard work), so there are over 100 ficlets sorted both by fandom and author over there, plus a lot more already on the post. But unless I've missed seeing them, we've had no art entries yet. *nudges artists*
the sky of the sky of a tree called life [Friday Night Lights, Lyla, Tyra, gen, PG, 502 words, coda to 1.22. Written for the Hugs, Cuddles and Kisses challenge, prompt word 'drunk'.]
Dry dusty day and her throat is parched. Not from the day, not really. She cried last night, long through the night and her throat is still raw. It doesn't show though: cold water, and her eyes are clear, and no one need know she's weak.
She pulls over to the roadside, sudden, with a squeal of brakes. There's a gate and an open field. "Hungry?" she asks.
Tyra looks disbelieving, the same look she had on her face two days ago when Lyla first said sorry to her. "What, we're going to picnic now, like we're friends? It isn't enough that we're driving back to Dillon together, you want us to picnic?"
"Yes." Lyla looks at her, firm.
Tyra shrugs. "Okay."
*
Sandwiches, a shared bag of ready salted chips, and Coors Light she pilfered from her daddy's room when he was out, and they're full. Lyla just has the one beer - she's driving, she's responsible - but Tyra might be a little drunk right now. She's lying back in the grass, and she doesn't look so tough somehow. She looks like she might cry sometimes like Lyla does, like they might hurt the same way, and Lyla wishes she'd gotten that sooner. Before she'd slept with Riggins would have been good.
The sky's huge when she lies down, big and blue and mysterious above them. Mysterious as life and love and boys and family - all the things she thought she knew, and now knows she doesn't.
She bumps shoulders with Tyra, grounding herself. She feels like she could float off and no one would even notice, but she's not gonna give in, not gonna break, not now she's come this far.
"You okay?" Tyra asks, and the question is so unexpected Lyla's answering before she even thinks.
"No," she says, and likes the feeling of honesty. "You?"
"No. But I think I will be, so that's something, I guess."
Lyla nods, and they're silent a while, but it isn't uncomfortable. There's a meadowlark warbling flute-like near by, and occasional traffic passing - the sounds don't intrude though.
"Any more beer?" Tyra asks eventually.
Lyla sits up and checks. "Nope." She gets up and holds out her hand to Tyra. "Guess we'd better be going."
Tyra looks at her, head tilted in assessment, then takes her hand, and they stumble together a moment. "You're not so bad, you know that, Lyla Garrity?" Tyra says, as though the discovery astonishes her, and the stumble turns into a hug, and it doesn't feel strange.
*
The moment they get Slammin' Sammy Mead on the radio they're as good as back in Dillon, road trip (if that's what they can call it) over. And they're not friends, not really. Tyra's leaning against the window, eyes closed, and they've barely spoken since they got back in the car. But it feels like they're not enemies any more, and that's a start. It's a fair start, and Lyla thinks that maybe something good has come of this week.
*
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
E. E. Cummings.
+ I've been updating the Hugs, Cuddles and Kisses website daily (thanks to pesha's hard work), so there are over 100 ficlets sorted both by fandom and author over there, plus a lot more already on the post. But unless I've missed seeing them, we've had no art entries yet. *nudges artists*
the sky of the sky of a tree called life [Friday Night Lights, Lyla, Tyra, gen, PG, 502 words, coda to 1.22. Written for the Hugs, Cuddles and Kisses challenge, prompt word 'drunk'.]
Dry dusty day and her throat is parched. Not from the day, not really. She cried last night, long through the night and her throat is still raw. It doesn't show though: cold water, and her eyes are clear, and no one need know she's weak.
She pulls over to the roadside, sudden, with a squeal of brakes. There's a gate and an open field. "Hungry?" she asks.
Tyra looks disbelieving, the same look she had on her face two days ago when Lyla first said sorry to her. "What, we're going to picnic now, like we're friends? It isn't enough that we're driving back to Dillon together, you want us to picnic?"
"Yes." Lyla looks at her, firm.
Tyra shrugs. "Okay."
*
Sandwiches, a shared bag of ready salted chips, and Coors Light she pilfered from her daddy's room when he was out, and they're full. Lyla just has the one beer - she's driving, she's responsible - but Tyra might be a little drunk right now. She's lying back in the grass, and she doesn't look so tough somehow. She looks like she might cry sometimes like Lyla does, like they might hurt the same way, and Lyla wishes she'd gotten that sooner. Before she'd slept with Riggins would have been good.
The sky's huge when she lies down, big and blue and mysterious above them. Mysterious as life and love and boys and family - all the things she thought she knew, and now knows she doesn't.
She bumps shoulders with Tyra, grounding herself. She feels like she could float off and no one would even notice, but she's not gonna give in, not gonna break, not now she's come this far.
"You okay?" Tyra asks, and the question is so unexpected Lyla's answering before she even thinks.
"No," she says, and likes the feeling of honesty. "You?"
"No. But I think I will be, so that's something, I guess."
Lyla nods, and they're silent a while, but it isn't uncomfortable. There's a meadowlark warbling flute-like near by, and occasional traffic passing - the sounds don't intrude though.
"Any more beer?" Tyra asks eventually.
Lyla sits up and checks. "Nope." She gets up and holds out her hand to Tyra. "Guess we'd better be going."
Tyra looks at her, head tilted in assessment, then takes her hand, and they stumble together a moment. "You're not so bad, you know that, Lyla Garrity?" Tyra says, as though the discovery astonishes her, and the stumble turns into a hug, and it doesn't feel strange.
*
The moment they get Slammin' Sammy Mead on the radio they're as good as back in Dillon, road trip (if that's what they can call it) over. And they're not friends, not really. Tyra's leaning against the window, eyes closed, and they've barely spoken since they got back in the car. But it feels like they're not enemies any more, and that's a start. It's a fair start, and Lyla thinks that maybe something good has come of this week.
*
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
E. E. Cummings.