Endless Blue
“Okay, I admit it. I suck.”
“Now you’re getting it!”
“. . . I suck, I suck, I suck.”
“So true!”
“You suck too, Miguel.”
My friend’s blond brows made a dramatic descent as did the corners of his mouth. He didn’t frown very often, so on the rare occasion that he did, it was kind of amusing. You see, my... well, I suppose you could call him my “partner in crime”. . . or would “brother in arms” be more accurate? Or maybe . . . What was I saying again?
Oh yes. You see, Miguel is the kind of guy who has never really grown up and has a face to show it. He can knock you dead (or at least bring you to your knees) with the subtle art of making puppy faces. He’s friendly, bouncy and erratically so. He also tends to have an annoyingly cheerful outlook on just about anything. Anyway, that’s why I would find the rare occasion of his frowning funny.
I allowed myself to laugh, though it was half-hearted. It was a pale shadow of a laugh, really.
Still, a smile replaced my companion’s frown, creeping slowly over his lips, and merriment sparkled in his eyes. His eyes were not quite green, not quite blue.
They tended to shift from one to the other depending on the time of day, what he was wearing, or stuff like that. They looked pretty blue that day. Then again, I’d been seeing a lot of blue lately.
There was nothing above me but the blue sky, nothing around me but the blue ocean. It was an endless blue that sort of bled into itself. It was making me crazy.
“Now that’s more like it.”
“Huh?”
He sat up from where he’d been lying against me, lifting his sunny-blond head from my shoulder.
“I said, that’s more like it.” he regarded me with a warm fondness.”You haven’t laughed in days.”
I snorted, cynical as ever. “Not much to laugh at from where I’m standing . . . Or reclining.”
I let my head fall back and it found the floor of the boat with a sound thunk. I tried to stretch out my legs. The toes of my boots met the soft, rounded belly of our third wheel- erm, passenger. Altivo nickered in annoyance and I withdrew my poor footsies as he nipped at them.
“There really isn’t enough room in this boat,” I muttered, stating the obvious and squirming as best I could, attempting to ease an ache out of my spine.
“Yeah,” Miguel agreed, stretching out at my side and laying his head on my shoulder. He was pressed up against me, but this couldn’t really be helped. The boat was barely wide enough for two men to lie in, let alone two men with a horse at the other end. Still it was a little irksome that he felt the need squirm and paw at me every five seconds because he had an itch, or wasn’t comfortable, or was hot, or a nail head was poking him, or a splinter was fixing to drive itself into his skin, or whatever...
...And he was doing it again! He was wriggling like worm on a hook, jostling me. The boat was rocking and creaking in protest, reflecting my own current sentiments.
“What is it now?!”
He looked at me, a little surprised. “My back itches. Right in the middle.”
More superfluous squirming.
“Knock it off already! You’re rocking all hell out of the boat,” I near shouted. I heaved a resigning sigh to calm my nerves, squaring my shoulders then letting them droop, the tension ebbing away in hot little waves, “Just... sit up. I’ll scratch it.”
Miguel looked a trifle chagrined by my tone as he sat up and situated himself for to receive my offer. I, in turn, sat up and moved behind him. He was sitting crosslegged, slightly hunched and I was on my knees, straight as a mast.
“Your posture could use some work,” I commented as I lifted his shirt, “Where does it itch?”
“Right in the middle,” he answered, automatically straightening a bit, “between my shoulders.”
“Here?”
“A little lower . . .”
My fingertip charted a path down the centre of his back. I think he shivered a bit at this, but I can’t be sure. And anyway, the path was rather uneven as I had to keep a sharp lookout not to accidentally land on any of the numerous red welts that decorated his shoulders.
“There!” he said suddenly, very near hopping at my touch. Having found the offending spot, I got to scratching right away. I began lightly, but he asked me to go harder. He said that three or four times. I said that was afraid I might hurt him, but he insisted that I dig deeper into him with my nails, even to the point where I’d rendered the skin beneath my nails red and raw.
“Miguel, if I do this any harder, I’ll rip you right open,” I said, refusing to answer his continuous pleas, “I don’t want to hurt you.”
Miguel’s shoulders quivered as he let out a little mew of a laugh, “You’d never hurt me, Tulio. Never have, never will.”
I smirked. “Are you so sure of everything?” I inquired playfully, taking a moment to bat his blond mop of hair before returning to scratching. I let my fingers explore the planes and contours of his back, scratching everywhere I could find that could be potentially itchy.
“Nah, you’re the one who’s so sure of everything,” he said with a laugh. It was a sound I rather liked to hear in a grim situation such as this, so I listened as he went on, “You’re the one who comes up with all the plans, and I’m the only one hare-brained enough to try them out. And that feels really good.”
“Does it?”
He nodded, his head lolling backward as I continued going over his back with a lighter, more pleasurable touch, careful to avoid the cruel-looking lashes that lay slightly faded upon my companion’s shoulders. I had the same marks on my own back from the vicious flogging we’d both received from Cortez,damn him . . . But I didn’t want to think about that. I never wanted to think about that ever again.
I smiled, finding some sort of consolation in the fact that I could be of some help to my partner, as menial as it was in the big scheme of things. It was nice to be of service, seeing as I hadn’t really lived up to what was expected of me this time. Heck, I all but failed. As Miguel said, it was my job to come up with the plans, and it was his job to be my faithful follower. Well, this time, the plan had been simple enough. We’d gotten out of the brig, thanks to Altivo, grabbed some food and water and filched ourselves a longboat. Everything was going as planned... that is until we failed to lower the boat properly, thanks to Altivo, and lost a great of deal of our provisions because of that one little slip-up.
Dumb horse.
Then again, it was mostly Miguel’s fault. He was the one who threw all caution to the wind to save the dumb horse and in doing so, failed to hold up his end of the boat. Come to think of it, that’s probably the only time Miguel ever turned his back on me. Well, I can’t say I haven’t done the same to him. The whole incident was probably divine retribution biting me in the arse for trying to use him as a shield against that bull back at home.
But I still felt a little guilty. Actually, I still felt a lot guilty. I’ve never been one to take failure with a grain of salt. I’m much more likely to brood and dwell on our setbacks like there’s no mañana. How Miguel puts up with me, I’ll never know.
I must’ve been REALLY lost in thought because before I knew it, I’d fallen forward and was resting softly against my companion’s back. I wasn’t even aware of this until Miguel was kind enough to enlighten me.
“Uh, Tulio, are you all right?”
No. I wanted to answer that I wasn’t all right. I’d reached a standstill of sorts that had nothing to do with the fact that we not rowing. No, this standstill was in my head, so great a burden that I found myself unable to bounce back as I normally did when I realized that I’d been caught off guard.
Besides, I wasn’t in any kind of a hurry to move anyway. Miguel’s skin, scarred as it was, felt nice against my own. It was warm, but not scalding as the afternoon sun’s rays were. This warmth did not make me sweat, nor did it addle my mind. I could still smell the salt of the sea, could still feel the cruel sun glaring down on me, could still hear the water slapping against the sides of our small craft. This monotony, however, was clouded by the pleasant warmth of his skin beneath my cheek, the steady thrum of his heart, echoing in my ear as it was pressed against his back, and rich, heady scent of my companion, which admittedly, wasn’t exactly savoury. Neither of us had had a bath any time recent enough to be remembered, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that his smell reminded me that I hadn’t lost everything I held dear when we’d made our admittedly botched ecsape. It was all familiar, and it was comforting. It was beautiful.
I only managed to lift my head and break away when I felt him turning to face me. He looked at me, his blue (or green) eyes concerned, his expression quizzical and slanted as he cocked his head at an inquisitive angle.
“Tulio?”
I kicked something in my subconscious brain into wakefulness. “Yeah, I mean... It’s strange.” I struggled, trying to find the words in my clouded mind. “It’s only been a few days but... I’d give a thousand pesetas to just GET OUT of this bloody boat.”
“Hm,” Miguel agreed, all-smiles once again. “Looks like you’ve got a case of Canoe Fever.”
I frowned. “Canoe Fever?”
“Yeah, you know, like Cabin Fever?,” he reasoned, gesturing grandly. “Only you’re not in a cabin. You’re in a boat.”
I eyed him uncertainly, “Miguel, it’s a longboat.”
He dismissed that with a shrug. “Yeah, I know, but longboat Fever doesn’t have as nice a ring as Canoe Fever, you know?”
I was not moved. “It’s still a longboat.”
“Well, yes, but I’m making a pun here.”
“Not a very good one.”
“Come on, Tulio, work with me, okay?” Miguel requested, an edge of desperation in his voice revealing that he was getting a tad annoyed. “The word ‘Canoe’ is closer to ‘Cabin’ than ‘Longboat’. For a pun to work, the words have to sound similar, right? So it only makes sense that I would use ‘Canoe’ even if it’s not entirely correct. So I did. No matter what the craft, it’s still Canoe Fever because it sounds closer to Cabin Fever. Any other word would make it a statement rather than a joke, and I’m trying to lighten the mood here, so a statement wouldn’t do much good.” He looked once more at me, that bit of desperation having reached his eyes, “Get it?”
A pause.
“. . . But it’s a longboat.”
Miguel refused to say another word to me until nightfall.
I guess I deserved the silent treatment. I am, admittedly, a very difficult person to get along with. I’m a cynical, snappish kind of guy who can’t go five minutes without criticizing something. I like my life without the excess frills and bows and froo-froo. I don’t sugar coat anything. I’m so very, very easy to piss off. I suppose my only saving grace is that, beneath it all, I’m a romantic at heart. Like I said before, I don’t now how Miguel put up with me. But Miguel, bless him, did put up with curt, crotchety me. Amazing, isn’t it?
Not that he was really showing that kind of benevolence at the moment. Then again, if you were by some chance able to get Miguel angry... Let’s just say when Miguel holds a grudge, Miguel holds a GRUDGE.
It’s kind of odd that he should get miffed over such a petty thing. Then again, we were in pretty bad times and those bad times had stretched our patience thin. Even Miguel could harbour a grudge in a tiny, insignificant longboat, in the middle of a never-ending ocean, with nothing but an irritable partner and a dumb horse for company, sunny personality be damned.
Still, if nothing else, his perseverance and courage (not to mention his sometimes annoying goofiness) was... how to put it...? Ungodly.
Even when we were punished for stowing away on Cortez’s ship (though quite by accident, let me assure you), Miguel never backed down. Even when he was bound to receive his twenty lashes, I could feel something from him, an aura maybe, that said “Now is not the time to give up.”
No, scratch that. Never is the time to give up. But even that had made it no less easy in that particular scenario.
When the whip had struck Miguel, I wanted to cry out, because it had struck me, too. Miguel’s pain was my pain. We’re partners for life, partners in every sense of the word.
When it was my turn to receive the promised flogging, my heart went out to Miguel. The burn from the coarse rope that had kept me fastened to the rail (my wrists were still red and raw from where I’d wrenched against it), the stinging lash of the whip, the welling ache from having to hold back cries for the sake of pride, Miguel had poured it all into me while I was forced to watch as he took his punishment first, then he took all of mine in turn.
Even as we were escorted back to the brig, our backs painted with our own blood, Miguel had turned to me, his eyes starry with tears he was too proud to let fall. Then, of all things, he’d cracked a smile and said, “Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?”
If my hands weren’t bound, I do believe I might have punched him in the face.
But afterward, I was actually really grateful to him. No wait, screw grateful. I was in awe. He managed to keep a smile on his face when our life couldn’t get any crappier. That night, even as I was bitching and moaning about how much my back hurt, he was right there by my side, ruffling my hair and making asinine jokes to cheer me up even though he was hurting just as much as I was.
If it weren’t for him constantly convincing me that everything was going to be okay, I really think I might have killed myself by now. It’s like. . . he drove me crazy, but at the same time he’s the reason I’m still alive and sane. Weird.
When night fell over us, I was no little bit disheartened. I can complain all I want about how bloody silly he gets, but after a few hours of living without his golden smile and uplifting laughter, I get rather melancholy.
“Nice night.”
Those were the first words from his lips in hours and he’d chosen to say “Nice Night.”
I had been leaning on the stern, my arms draped haphazardly over the shattered bow, and now shifted my position so I could face him.
“Eh?”
“The stars,” he said, pointing up at the sky. Indeed, the deep, endless blue of the night sky was studded with many a bright, twinkling pinpoint. The moon was a phantom patriarch, playing pearlescent light over the contours of Miguel’s face, neck and shoulders from its perch in the firmament. The stars had collected in my companion’s eyes as well. As he craned his neck to look into space, the little motes of silver had gathered within his green-blue irises, stained a deep Prussian blue by the night sky. At this moment I had what was perhaps my most significant, and probably my most foolhardy, epiphany.
All my life I had wished for worldly treasures. I had fantasized over the thought of my cupped hands overflowing with silver, jewels, pearls and that which I desired more than anything else, gold.
At this moment, I underwent a slow and almost painful realization as I regarded the man sitting at the opposite end of our little craft. The contours of his body embraced the pearl of the moon’s light while the sapphires of his eyes caught the silver of the heavens in them and the sheen of the most precious of all things was caught, yellow and glistening in his hair.
Yes, at this moment, in a tiny, insignificant longboat, in the middle of a dark, boundless ocean, and beneath a cold, uncaring sky, I came to realize that all which I coveted had been with me all along.
I was startled out of my reverie when he looked at me, asking what was the matter.
I took a deep breath.
“Nothing. Miguel, would come sit over here by me? Please?” I requested, trying to not sound gruff. For all my effort, my simple plea came out in a way that suggested that he’d damn well better come sit by me or there’d be hell to pay.
“Sure,” he said moving from where he’d been leaning back against the sleeping Altivo, slowly and carefully so as not to tip the boat. He paused, taking a moment to give the horse a friendly scratch behind the ears before making his way over to me.
While it was a relief to have him back on my side of the boat (not only was it comforting, but the weight was more evenly distributed with the horse at one end and the both of us at the other), there really wasn’t enough room for two to sit comfortably.
We went back to lying down on the bottom of the boat, with me on my back and Miguel on his side. He was, once more, lying against me, his head a familiar and reassuring weight upon my shoulder. It served as a reminder that no matter how shitty things got, at least I wouldn’t have to go through life alone.
But just as I was processing these sentiments, the inevitable happened. Peaceful, quiet Miguel became annoying, fidgety Miguel. This time, however, itches and splinters and nail heads were left alone and a lock of my hair was made slave.
“What are you doing?”
Miguel was toying with a bit of hair that happened to come loose from my ponytail. Not that I minded. Surprise, surprise, this time I was curious rather than irritated.
“Your hair’s greasy,” he remarked, running his thumb over the dark curl and wrinkling his nose. “Very greasy,” he added, then shifted his position a bit so that he could nose past past my ponytail and smell the flesh of my neck. This sent a pleasurable chill through my nerves, but leave it to Miguel to botch what could have been a nice moment for us. “. . . and you smell like fish.”
I harrumphed at this, “Oh forgive me for not making use of the washtub and soap I keep in my vest pocket.”
He smiled at the dryness of my statement, but still kept his hold on my hair.
“Hey, I happen to like fish.”
These words fluttered my heart. I’m not sure why. Maybe Miguel was trying to tell me something I already knew. Maybe Miguel was just being Miguel. Maybe not. You never can tell with him. Even for his best friend, trying to see through Miguel is like trying to see through a stock of blocks.
“Oh yeah?” I said in retaliation, turning over and seizing him in one swift movement. I thanked God for wide, open shirt collars and the fact that Miguel’s shirt had one, then I leaned in to take a whiff of his collarbone.
“Well you’re no fresh daisy yourself!” I commented. With a short laugh, I added, “But I don’t like daisies. Now, let’s see...” I took a good long inhalation of the drug that was Miguel, allowing it to unfurl, bright and colourful in my mind like an exotic flower.
“You smell like . . .”
He waited patiently while I took another drag of him.
“. . . like Miguel.”
He snorted. “That’s most intelligent thing you’ve said all day.”
I shrugged. “Well, can’t resist telling the world when you’re right,” I said matter-of-factly, then I favoured him with a smile. “Besides, I happen to like Miguel.”
At this, something flashed, green and uncertain within the darkened depths of his eyes before he averted them. Perhaps he was contemplating whether or not I meant what he thought I meant.
“Well, I guess that comes naturally. I’m your partner . . .” he reasoned. He seemed reluctant to add the second part, but it was said nonetheless. “. . . and you’re mine.”
“Mine,” I mused aloud, “I’ve always liked the sound of that word. Like a mine full of gold. Like Miguel, who is mine.”
He looked at me as though I’d grown a second head. He was getting it now. Might as well go for the gold, so to speak.
“I gotta be honest. I think I like you.”
The statement all but tumbled from my lips in a haste-driven flurry. But just about everything I ever said came out that way; Well though out, but rushed. Miguel’s eyes went from shocked emerald to softened cerulean as he processed my words. “You mean in that way . . .” he said more than asked.
I swear, I had a feeling that I’d never looked more conniving in my life. I gave him an answer.
“I mean whatever you think I mean.”
That said, I placed a soft kiss on his lips.
He tensed up as though this was something very new and frightening to him. Then again it probably was just that. I’d never done this sort of thing with a man either, so as great as my desires had become, I held back and kept my advances chaste and gentle.
Having realized that I wasn’t going to go any further, he relaxed, draping an arm over my side. He regarded me, looking more like an inquisitive puppy than ever. His eyes glittered in query. There were so many questions he wanted to ask me. It would take him all night to ask them all, so he asked me just one.
“Is it okay if I put my arm here?” His lips were slanted in a nervous half-smile as he cocked his head toward the arm he’d haphazardly draped over my waist, his hand resting just above my hip. “There’s not a lot of room down here and it’s more comfortable like this,” he reasoned. I could detect a little tremble in his voice, like the way the voice of a child shook when he or she fibbed to cover something up. Cute.
“Yeah, it’s fine,” I said, smiling in a knowing way.
Seeing the countless other inquiries in his eyes, I just talked, tried to explain myself, tried to put him at ease. I also tend to ramble when I’m nervous (which I was, actually), but this time, I had a reason to ramble.
“You know, it’s weird,” I said, looking contemplatively up at the night sky. “I don’t even like men. Men don’t do anything for me, at least, they don’t do what women do,” I paused briefly, to breathe, and to look at Miguel, to take in each moon-drenched feature. “I’ve never liked men. But I like you.”
He paused to run over all this in his mind, never taking his eyes off me. Then, he asked me a seemingly simple question.
“Why?”
I resisted the urge to shrug my shoulders, not wanting to jostle that gorgeous golden head of his, “I dunno. I mean, we’ve been partners for years, but it’s all been business. Now, I feel like I want something else from you.”
Uncertainty flooded his eyes, “And not just because I’m the only other person in the boat, right?”
“No, I don’t think so,” I answered truthfully.
It was his turn to look sly. “What if I’d gone overboard for good and all you had was Altivo?”
I grimaced, “Okay, ew, Miguel. Ew.”
Miguel laughed, “So it’d be different then?”
“Buenos dias!” I almost shouted. My tone and volume woke Altivo. The horse looked in our direction, blinking owlishly at our entwined limbs (by then I had slipped my arm underneath Miguel’s shoulders so as to hold him closer to me). I countered the incredulous stare with a somewhat evil “What’re you lookin’ at?” stare of my own, which the animal seemed to understand. He regarded me with a sort of bitchy hauteur before laying his head back down, intent on getting some sleep and getting it fast.
“Well, I guess I wouldn’t mind letting our friendship go further. But,” Miguel added, his face inches from my own, “Why me?”
“Hm, well...” I said, faking contemplation. Truth be told, I really knew the answer all along, but I had to buy a little time to find just the right words. To keep his interest while I thought, I combed my fingers through his hair, which shone a splendid gold beneath the moon. I looked into the twin sapphires that were his eyes, the stars accenting them with silver. I chanced a caress over the honeyed skin turned the white-silver colour of a pearl by the moonlight.
He responded to this with what I swear was an honest-to-God purr and a smile that was broad with contentment.
Yes, the answer to his inquiry was in the colour of his hair, in the contours of his frame, in the shining depths of those eyes that were not quite green and not quite blue. I took a moment to appraise his every fine feature, contour and detail, be it of gold or silver, jewels or pearls. Finally, I spoke.
“Maybe because. . . You’re all I ever wanted.”
The smile vanished and he looked at me as though I’d grown yet another head (chalk up my head count to three). Then he laughed.
“Tulio, you sound like a love-struck maiden in a fairy tale.”
I nudged him, half insulted, half amused. “Oh, come on.”
He laughed fully and heartily, “So now you want me to come on? Fine. I’ll give you a come-on!”
Before I could fully process how he’d twisted my words, he was kissing me full on the mouth. Once the first initial shock was behind me, I found that the feel of his lips upon mine was warm and pleasant, and for the first time in days, I was positively elated. In addition to that, Miguel poured his pep and vigour into the kiss, giving me a fantastic adrenaline rush. I rose to meet him with a bold move of my own, sliding my hands underneath his shirt to add still more warmth to our embrace.
It was then that I felt the contour of one of those scars, rough and jagged beneath my fingers. Despite my earlier resolution to never think about that night again, the memories came full force.
The door to the brig slammed shut over our heads, cold and uncaring as the bars made our dank little domicile slave to erratic shadows.
After our little ‘adventure’ up on deck that evening, I was ready to just flop down on the hay and cry myself to sleep. Well, minus the crying part. Couldn’t have the convict mastermind crying on the job now could we? And especially not with an audience.
I did however, carry out the planned flopping. I quite literally hit the hay and turned my face to the wall, staring at it long and hard enough to bore holes.
Damn you, wall. Damn you, dice. Damn you, barrels. Damn you, ship. Damn you, Cortez. Damn every damn thing!
No, I wasn’t insane. I was just in a lot of pain and no little bit pissed off. So very much so in fact, that I forgot for a few minutes that I was sharing these dismal confines with another. I barely heard him take a seat a little ways away from me, either sighing or just plain breathing heavily. I barely even knew he was even there until a few minutes later when he called my name.
“Tulio! Supper time!” he announced in a disgustingly cheerful voice. I balled my hands into tight fists, if only to keep them from ripping out his throat.
Apparently, we’d just received our rations for the night. Apparently, I didn’t care.
“Not hungry,” I growled, still facing the wall. Not one to be swayed by anything, including my dangerous tone, Miguel persisted.
“Aw come on, Tu, it’s PEAS! You know you want some peas! Don’t be such a stick in the mud,” he all but sang. The sound of his footsteps indicated that he was approaching. At this point, my patience was all but spent and I crossed my arms over my chest, lest they trap him in a headlock that would lead to the grotesque popping noise of a snapped neck.
The hay near my legs gave a little as he sat down. I could hear a slight clatter as he set the metal dinner trays down. I could feel his gaze, bright and inquisitive, seeping into my very core.
“Tulio, are you all right?”
I very near lost it. Outraged, I came minutely close to tearing Miguel open with my teeth, but, fortunately for him, I opted to continue glaring at the wall for all I was worth.
“No, I’m not all right! And I think twenty lashes is a legitimate excuse for being a ‘Stick in the mud’!”
Still refusing to back down, Miguel made a dismissive noise. “But that’s all behind us now. Forgive and forget!”
That was the last straw.
I sat up to confront him, my anger having been fanned into a blazing flame. Miguel will tell you that I’m most dangerous when I start talking in a rough, urgent hiss, rather than when I’m shouting blue murder. My next words came out in that deadly hiss.
“Miguel, I don’t know about you, but being flogged in front of my best friend is something I will not forget, and I will never forgive.”
Understanding flooded his eyes as they widened at my tone. He regarded me in stunned silence for a few tense seconds.
Then I broke down.
Now, understand that there is a difference between ‘breaking down’ and all-out crying. You can heave and lament and even sob without shedding tears. Crying was just something I refused to do. So I simply... let go.
“I’ve never been so . . . humiliated. . .” I moaned, my hand pressed to my forehead as I lilted forward, thankfully succeeding at keeping (most of) the shakes out of my voice.
Turning my back on my partner, my free hand curled into a fist and struck the wall. My chest heaved as I was riddled with sobs that I denied emission. I squared my shoulders and steadied my breathing to keep those shameful sobs from surfacing.
I started when I felt Miguel touch my bare shoulder (we’d both left our shirts off at least long enough to let our wounds dry), finding a spot that had not been marred by the whip. His hand was light and rough with callouses, but warm and reassuring nonetheless. Still, I instinctively snapped, “I’m fine!”
However, when Miguel moved to lift his hand, I swiftly trapped it with my own, clutching it out of a sort of desperation.
It wouldn’t be until sunset that I would release his hand. I just held it there, not saying a word. I suppose my silence had an influence on him because he didn’t speak much, if at all while I had him like that. We just sat there for at least an hour. I think the silence itself said everything.
The warmth of his palm, the compassion in that one little gesture . . . well, pride aside, I can honestly say I needed that from him.
That moment had been one of the most emotionally poignant in my life. Truth be told, I was devastated by the events of that night. Miguel, however was there for me, and put away the goofball facade if only for an hour or so, just to make sure I would be all right. By nightfall that evening, you’d’ve never known that I had been, quite literally scarred for life. By then I was back to my normal self, scheming away and plotting our escape from that damned ship, whilst banging my head on the wall (I’ve found that the repetitive drumming of my skull against a hard surface helps streamline my thought process enormously). But I owed my renewed normalcy to Miguel. I owed a lot to him.
I then decided that even if I wanted to forget the flogging itself, I did not want to forget the aftermath.
“So,” he said, easing closer to me once more, “Is this going to be another one of your four-day flings?”
I shrugged a little, “I don’t know. Probably. I mean, look at all my other ‘flings’,” I put emphasis on the last word with finger-quotation marks to match it. “But hey, anything’s possible. We could change our minds in four days, or we could die in four days. And anyway, if four days is all we have . . .” I smiled, taking hold of him again and nipping affectionately at his ear. “. . . let’s make them worthwhile.”
From that point on, the sultry quiet of the night at sea was punctured by gleeful yelps, peals of laughter, and whispered words that were carried out and away on the calm water. The cool, slick waves lapped against the sides of our boat as if they themselves were egging us on, and if the night sky had seemed dull and cold before, the stars an unpolished silver... well, now that sky looked, soft, warm and inviting like a velvet cape after a long walk in the snow. Now, the stars were radiant, flashing their silver smiles down at us as we lay entwined in the bottom of our boat. It was as if the whole of the cold, uncaring world was brought to sparkling life by the love of two simple spaniards.
And all the while, Miguel’s innocent little inquiry kept echoing in my mind . . . But so what if it didn’t last. Relationships never do, anyway. Whether they last four days or four decades they’re no less meaningful while they’re in effect.
Besides, Miguel had always been the type to live for the moment. That night, I thought, perhaps I was too.
Author’s notes:
About the weight distribution part . . . Yes I realize that horses wiegh quite a bit more than a couple of guys. A horse might very well sink a little longboat, let alone a horse and a couple of guys. But, the way I see it, if the peeps at Dreamworks could take the artistic liscense to keep the boat afloat, horse/spaniards and all, then I can do the same :P
That’s all I can think of that needs addressing. If you’d like to leave your own pearls of wisdom, feel free to contact me (SalPaws@aol.com for email, Lovie Pookie for AIM) or, of course, review. Hope you enjoyed it even a little bit. Thanks for reading ^_^
Beta-read by Shini no Miko
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