Variations on an Ending
Title: Variations on an Ending
Part One: Nowhere to Go, Nothing to Prove
Timeline: Summer of Sam, 2008 (July or August? Ish?)
Set Up: It all ended in the bathroom in the middle of nowhere.
I.
When Jo wakes up the next morning, she doesn't ask his name. Or where the closest poker or pool table is. It takes her almost three hours before she's willing to return to that room. Twice she decided she'd leave without everything. But she has to.
Her father's knife is there. And her shotgun.
And all those other things that are supposed to be her.
Everything goes into a bag without her looking at any of it.
II.
She catches a ride with a trucker out of town. What is there to be afraid of? She could break a nose without batting an eyelash, and she only has to almost break a finger from the second driver before she's willingly being thrown out of a cab. She does it for five days.
The last day is stupid, but she doesn't want to see his face.
It's the reason when she's standing in front of Bobby's porch. When the look of shock wears off like a first wave of a fright -- with "It's about time." -- that she nearly turns around and walks back the way she came. Even if it's going to be miles. Even if she won't ever come back again here. Too.
III.
He asks questions on the porch. He asks questions in the living room.
He asks questions in the hallway. He asks questions at the table.
She doesn't tell him a lot of things. It leads to a lot of yelling.
Which leads to insults and swearing when even noise gets him nothing.
And when he finally is pissed enough to ask why the hell she's even there.
It's simple. "So that you know he's still alive."
IV.
He asks the question, only once.
"You're okay, right?" Gruff and stubborn.
Long after the lectures, and a shower, a home cooked meal from cans and microwave boxes, and there are evening beers, and she's been sitting in that chair staring at the junk heaps not too far off the porch like if she stared long enough they might do something different than they have every day.
Jo took her time with answering. She'd looked at her beer before taking another long drink, before she finally looked back over at him, with the kind of worn expression he'd never seen Jo bear in all her time from Joanna through any recollection of her father or her mother's denial or breaking out.
She was always different from them, just slightly.
A different tune in the same endless beat, until she spoke that night.
"I grew up in a graveyard, where the monsters were always real, I'm not even sure I know what that word means."
Part One: Nowhere to Go, Nothing to Prove
Timeline: Summer of Sam, 2008 (July or August? Ish?)
Set Up: It all ended in the bathroom in the middle of nowhere.
I.
When Jo wakes up the next morning, she doesn't ask his name. Or where the closest poker or pool table is. It takes her almost three hours before she's willing to return to that room. Twice she decided she'd leave without everything. But she has to.
Her father's knife is there. And her shotgun.
And all those other things that are supposed to be her.
Everything goes into a bag without her looking at any of it.
II.
She catches a ride with a trucker out of town. What is there to be afraid of? She could break a nose without batting an eyelash, and she only has to almost break a finger from the second driver before she's willingly being thrown out of a cab. She does it for five days.
The last day is stupid, but she doesn't want to see his face.
It's the reason when she's standing in front of Bobby's porch. When the look of shock wears off like a first wave of a fright -- with "It's about time." -- that she nearly turns around and walks back the way she came. Even if it's going to be miles. Even if she won't ever come back again here. Too.
III.
He asks questions on the porch. He asks questions in the living room.
He asks questions in the hallway. He asks questions at the table.
She doesn't tell him a lot of things. It leads to a lot of yelling.
Which leads to insults and swearing when even noise gets him nothing.
And when he finally is pissed enough to ask why the hell she's even there.
It's simple. "So that you know he's still alive."
IV.
He asks the question, only once.
"You're okay, right?" Gruff and stubborn.
Long after the lectures, and a shower, a home cooked meal from cans and microwave boxes, and there are evening beers, and she's been sitting in that chair staring at the junk heaps not too far off the porch like if she stared long enough they might do something different than they have every day.
Jo took her time with answering. She'd looked at her beer before taking another long drink, before she finally looked back over at him, with the kind of worn expression he'd never seen Jo bear in all her time from Joanna through any recollection of her father or her mother's denial or breaking out.
She was always different from them, just slightly.
A different tune in the same endless beat, until she spoke that night.
"I grew up in a graveyard, where the monsters were always real, I'm not even sure I know what that word means."