The Time Traveler's Lover : Jack at 14
Inspired by The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger
The characters belong to Annie Proulx.
Jack travels back and forth in time throughout the course of his life and encounters Ennis and himself - visits that change everthing and almost nothing. The list of all chapters is here.
For the purposes of this story, Jack and Ennis were both born in 1944 and the fight by the lake occurs in the spring of 1983.
March 1958
Jack leaned back against a bale of straw, keeping an ear open for his father's footsteps approaching the barn, and slid the playing card from his pocket. He took it from his secret bag whenever he wanted to remember that man he saw brushing a horse. He wasn't sure why he sometimes felt the need to replay that memory but it helped to finger the card, helped with the details. It excited him to know that someone else had been watching as well; maybe someone who knew the man and had been able to look at him often. Lately he found himself thinking about the man while he groomed Beauty, when he smoothed his hands over her withers and down her foreleg, when he brushed over the long muscles of her back and rump. When she was hot from galloping he would slide his forearm along her strong, damp neck, breathe her in and think about the man with his horse. He didn't understand why he got hard from those images and not from the ones the boys at school talked about. He wished he could go back to that barn but so far he'd never been to the same place twice.
From somewhere he heard the sound of water trickling. His seat on the straw was suddenly smooth and curved, cool against his bare skin.
May 1992
It was very early morning in this place, not yet light; he was in small room reclining in a leather armchair, like at the dentist. The window pane opposite was full of sky, a rectangle of gray felt, just like that hat hanging on the wall. A man was standing in front of it with his back to Jack, cutting a darker shape against the gray. His torso was bare and Jack realized the sound of water was the man pissing in the sink. Jack began to tremble from chill and fear - there was nowhere to hide. He looked around for something to cover himself with and saw the chair was next to a bed. He reached out slowly and began to pull a corner of the rough gray blanket toward himself. The scratchy wool rasped against the coarse sheets.
The man stopped in mid-stream and went still. Jack ceased pulling and didn't move. After a few seconds the man resumed pissing and Jack dragged the blanket again. When he'd finished, the man slowly zipped his jeans but then remained still while Jack managed to pull enough of the blanket into his lap to cover his stomach and thighs. Then he slowly turned to face him, and Jack sucked in his breath.
He was old now, Jack realized, though his body seemed much younger, lean and sinewy. His hair had lost its curl. He didn't start, or yell, or even move, just looked into Jack's eyes. His face was in shadow but his eyes glinted anyway. Jack couldn't maintain the stare, though, couldn't stop his own eyes from roaming all over his body.
"Jack." It came out a whisper, the last consonant barely sounded, cha k. No one but his mother had ever spoken his name with such tenderness.
"You know me?" Jack croaked, his voice breaking as it often did lately. He could barely make out the man's face in the dim light, but he could tell that he was smiling.
"We... we worked together once," he said hoarsely.
Jack thought about this. "Then... did I remember you? When we met?"
"Not that ya let on." He looked off to the side, toward the closet to Jack's left. "I was so much younger then," he said softly. "You were older than y'are now." He looked back at him and seemed to be weighing his next words. "If ya know me when ya see me, don't say nothin bout it. Better that way. Else we'll never..."
Jack waited for him to continue but the man just leaned back against the sink and gripped the edge.
"Saw you in a barn once," Jack said at last.
"Been in a lot a barns."
"You were brushin a horse."
"Brushed a lot a horses."
"You had two shirts."
The man took three slow steps towards the bed and eased onto it, sitting so close to Jack. The scent of horse wafted from him. Jack could hardly breathe, his heart pounding.
"Are you real?" the man whispered. He lifted his hand and curled it gently around Jack's pale knee, just below the edge of the blanket. Gently, but to Jack this hand felt heavy with years of remembering and he shuddered. Every part of him was responding to the fingers softly stroking his skin, the tips of them as rough as the blanket brushing against his rigid cock.
Jack lifted his own hand from the armrest, laid it on top of the man's and tried to tug it further up his leg. The man resisted.
"Jack... no... you're too..." he rasped out but Jack held on, brought his other hand over and with both of them grasped the man's thumb and last finger and pulled, sliding the hand along his thigh, under the blanket.
"Please," Jack whispered. "Please."
The man's face was close to his, Jack could feel his breath on his cheek. "Oh god," he breathed, allowing Jack to guide his hand now. "You were...so beautiful."
Jack yanked the man's hand onto his cock and cried out "Ace!" He heard a gasp and the hand jerked away, then suddenly his own hands were wrapped around his erection and he was spasming. He rolled onto his side and shot into the golden straw, moaning and gasping. Faintly he could hear someone calling his name over and over. When his senses returned he realized it was his father shouting for him angrily out beyond the house. Jack rolled onto his back and felt something sticking to his cheek. He reached up and peeled off the ace of hearts. He would get a whipping later, he was sure.
But now he knew he would meet Ace again someday.
<< Jack at 12 | Jack at 15 >>
The characters belong to Annie Proulx.
Jack travels back and forth in time throughout the course of his life and encounters Ennis and himself - visits that change everthing and almost nothing. The list of all chapters is here.
For the purposes of this story, Jack and Ennis were both born in 1944 and the fight by the lake occurs in the spring of 1983.
March 1958
Jack leaned back against a bale of straw, keeping an ear open for his father's footsteps approaching the barn, and slid the playing card from his pocket. He took it from his secret bag whenever he wanted to remember that man he saw brushing a horse. He wasn't sure why he sometimes felt the need to replay that memory but it helped to finger the card, helped with the details. It excited him to know that someone else had been watching as well; maybe someone who knew the man and had been able to look at him often. Lately he found himself thinking about the man while he groomed Beauty, when he smoothed his hands over her withers and down her foreleg, when he brushed over the long muscles of her back and rump. When she was hot from galloping he would slide his forearm along her strong, damp neck, breathe her in and think about the man with his horse. He didn't understand why he got hard from those images and not from the ones the boys at school talked about. He wished he could go back to that barn but so far he'd never been to the same place twice.
From somewhere he heard the sound of water trickling. His seat on the straw was suddenly smooth and curved, cool against his bare skin.
May 1992
It was very early morning in this place, not yet light; he was in small room reclining in a leather armchair, like at the dentist. The window pane opposite was full of sky, a rectangle of gray felt, just like that hat hanging on the wall. A man was standing in front of it with his back to Jack, cutting a darker shape against the gray. His torso was bare and Jack realized the sound of water was the man pissing in the sink. Jack began to tremble from chill and fear - there was nowhere to hide. He looked around for something to cover himself with and saw the chair was next to a bed. He reached out slowly and began to pull a corner of the rough gray blanket toward himself. The scratchy wool rasped against the coarse sheets.
The man stopped in mid-stream and went still. Jack ceased pulling and didn't move. After a few seconds the man resumed pissing and Jack dragged the blanket again. When he'd finished, the man slowly zipped his jeans but then remained still while Jack managed to pull enough of the blanket into his lap to cover his stomach and thighs. Then he slowly turned to face him, and Jack sucked in his breath.
He was old now, Jack realized, though his body seemed much younger, lean and sinewy. His hair had lost its curl. He didn't start, or yell, or even move, just looked into Jack's eyes. His face was in shadow but his eyes glinted anyway. Jack couldn't maintain the stare, though, couldn't stop his own eyes from roaming all over his body.
"Jack." It came out a whisper, the last consonant barely sounded, cha k. No one but his mother had ever spoken his name with such tenderness.
"You know me?" Jack croaked, his voice breaking as it often did lately. He could barely make out the man's face in the dim light, but he could tell that he was smiling.
"We... we worked together once," he said hoarsely.
Jack thought about this. "Then... did I remember you? When we met?"
"Not that ya let on." He looked off to the side, toward the closet to Jack's left. "I was so much younger then," he said softly. "You were older than y'are now." He looked back at him and seemed to be weighing his next words. "If ya know me when ya see me, don't say nothin bout it. Better that way. Else we'll never..."
Jack waited for him to continue but the man just leaned back against the sink and gripped the edge.
"Saw you in a barn once," Jack said at last.
"Been in a lot a barns."
"You were brushin a horse."
"Brushed a lot a horses."
"You had two shirts."
The man took three slow steps towards the bed and eased onto it, sitting so close to Jack. The scent of horse wafted from him. Jack could hardly breathe, his heart pounding.
"Are you real?" the man whispered. He lifted his hand and curled it gently around Jack's pale knee, just below the edge of the blanket. Gently, but to Jack this hand felt heavy with years of remembering and he shuddered. Every part of him was responding to the fingers softly stroking his skin, the tips of them as rough as the blanket brushing against his rigid cock.
Jack lifted his own hand from the armrest, laid it on top of the man's and tried to tug it further up his leg. The man resisted.
"Jack... no... you're too..." he rasped out but Jack held on, brought his other hand over and with both of them grasped the man's thumb and last finger and pulled, sliding the hand along his thigh, under the blanket.
"Please," Jack whispered. "Please."
The man's face was close to his, Jack could feel his breath on his cheek. "Oh god," he breathed, allowing Jack to guide his hand now. "You were...so beautiful."
Jack yanked the man's hand onto his cock and cried out "Ace!" He heard a gasp and the hand jerked away, then suddenly his own hands were wrapped around his erection and he was spasming. He rolled onto his side and shot into the golden straw, moaning and gasping. Faintly he could hear someone calling his name over and over. When his senses returned he realized it was his father shouting for him angrily out beyond the house. Jack rolled onto his back and felt something sticking to his cheek. He reached up and peeled off the ace of hearts. He would get a whipping later, he was sure.
But now he knew he would meet Ace again someday.
<< Jack at 12 | Jack at 15 >>