Shall I Compare Thee | Cappie Gen, pg, ~500 words
Shall I Compare Thee
Cappie gen | PG | unbeta'ed, 503 words
It was not a lie when Cappie told Spitter he didn’t have a journal; he just didn’t remember ever using one.
It was not a lie when Cappie told Spitter he didn’t have a journal; he just didn’t remember ever using one. If someone saw his expression when he found it underneath his bed one afternoon, they would have said it was a distention of disappointment. Cappie would not have necessarily called it that, but it felt too similar for comfort. It made his chest tight and his fingers ache for a long minute.
Casey once said his room was a like map. The bed was the big black x, it marked the spot, wickedness and goodness luminesced from the blankets and sheets enticing the act of search and receive. The bed was a disingenuous prize, and most didn‘t get past it. The real trove was the rectangular space directly below, where Cappie kept his things.
Amid the CD cases and clothes and empty bottles of lube was the journal. It was a small black book with unlined pages, and not what he was looking for. With it in his hands, Cappie remembered the last few minutes before his parents left him at Cyprus-Rhodes University. They left him standing there with his laundry bag and extra rolls of toilet paper outside of the dorm, while his mother came back from the car with something in her hands. Her make-up was smudging, running under her eyes, but she was smiling. She pressed the book into his hands and told him to use it. That there were things that would happen while he was here and he wouldn’t want to forget them, or he would hope to God he would. Both feelings were okay. Both feelings were good. It was life and he should document it. Cappie kissed her wet cheek and shook his father’s hand, and opened the door. The rest was a rich blur of Evan and rushing and Kappa Tau and Casey.
He thumbed through the journal, looking at the random doodles of dicks and girls’ years old phone numbers. Cappie smiled at Beav’s self portrait; that feeling when his fingers first brushed the binding had dulled. He flipped the page. It had a list he made during the first month of college, before something shifted:
eat nachos every meal for a week
debate which judd apatow movie is superior
win three straight games of beer pong
string evian’s tightie-whities onto the flag pole
major in every major at least once
streak
marathon freaks and geeks
perfect my swing
lose it (and do it as often as physically possible)
love
“Did you find it?”
Cappie looked up at Rebecca standing in the door way. She was a mess and a catch and a hot August night, but his favorite season was spring. He sighed.
“I had it, one time. I think I lost it.”
Rebecca pulled a corner of her mouth into a grin. “It’s okay. Sex can be just as fun without whips!”
Cappie closed the journal and shoved it back under the bed.
for lea ♥
Cappie gen | PG | unbeta'ed, 503 words
It was not a lie when Cappie told Spitter he didn’t have a journal; he just didn’t remember ever using one.
It was not a lie when Cappie told Spitter he didn’t have a journal; he just didn’t remember ever using one. If someone saw his expression when he found it underneath his bed one afternoon, they would have said it was a distention of disappointment. Cappie would not have necessarily called it that, but it felt too similar for comfort. It made his chest tight and his fingers ache for a long minute.
Casey once said his room was a like map. The bed was the big black x, it marked the spot, wickedness and goodness luminesced from the blankets and sheets enticing the act of search and receive. The bed was a disingenuous prize, and most didn‘t get past it. The real trove was the rectangular space directly below, where Cappie kept his things.
Amid the CD cases and clothes and empty bottles of lube was the journal. It was a small black book with unlined pages, and not what he was looking for. With it in his hands, Cappie remembered the last few minutes before his parents left him at Cyprus-Rhodes University. They left him standing there with his laundry bag and extra rolls of toilet paper outside of the dorm, while his mother came back from the car with something in her hands. Her make-up was smudging, running under her eyes, but she was smiling. She pressed the book into his hands and told him to use it. That there were things that would happen while he was here and he wouldn’t want to forget them, or he would hope to God he would. Both feelings were okay. Both feelings were good. It was life and he should document it. Cappie kissed her wet cheek and shook his father’s hand, and opened the door. The rest was a rich blur of Evan and rushing and Kappa Tau and Casey.
He thumbed through the journal, looking at the random doodles of dicks and girls’ years old phone numbers. Cappie smiled at Beav’s self portrait; that feeling when his fingers first brushed the binding had dulled. He flipped the page. It had a list he made during the first month of college, before something shifted:
eat nachos every meal for a week
debate which judd apatow movie is superior
win three straight games of beer pong
string evian’s tightie-whities onto the flag pole
major in every major at least once
streak
marathon freaks and geeks
perfect my swing
lose it (and do it as often as physically possible)
love
“Did you find it?”
Cappie looked up at Rebecca standing in the door way. She was a mess and a catch and a hot August night, but his favorite season was spring. He sighed.
“I had it, one time. I think I lost it.”
Rebecca pulled a corner of her mouth into a grin. “It’s okay. Sex can be just as fun without whips!”
Cappie closed the journal and shoved it back under the bed.
for lea ♥