Passing the Nights: Luke and Clementine

Chapter 2: Dinner for the Help

I overturn the can and shake the syrupy glob weightedly into the pot, creating a nice brainy squishing sound against the metallic bottom. How familar. I move it to the propane stove, and how miraculous is it to have found the remnants of the gas in the garage, I couldn't say. I'd thank God but I figure it would be a bit ironic to thank the same god that didn't stop the walkers from existing for a little bit of gas. I guess there is no place for god in the world anymore, even if there was one once. I still couldn't say.
The empty cabinetries are a sunny yellow and they put me in a good mood. It's like a little post 50's bubble here, just like the old postcards I had in my childhood treehouse. It's also sort of stuffy in here, just like the treehouse. Perspiration comes down my neck and tickles me. I shudder, shifting on my foot and rubbing my neck.
As I shifted off my leg I realized how good it felt to not have my weight pressing on it; I'd been up since dawn packing and sorting our larger stash and supply into portable bug out bags, just like Lee had taught me. He called it "playing tetris" and laughed but I never got it. Had to be there, I guess.
Regardless, it still feels really good, and I keep shifting my weight from my left to my right feet, back to left and right again. Probably boredom, but I start my own dance here right in front of the stove.
Left hip, right hip, hit the pot, left hip, hit the pot, right. I remember this one song I used to play on my little stereo when I was a kid called "Send Me On My Way" by Rusted Root. The flute rift plays on repeat in my head and I just keep swaying, hitting the pot, and stirring the beans. Where's my mind at?
LUKE
Not jack shit out here. Been circling the house, then the skirts of the backyard, then continually spiraling out until now I'm a good 20 yards deep in the Kentucky wood forest. Heading due west is provin' mighty annoying but there's somethin' Clem's just gotta see back in Texas. It's worth the ways.
Still so quiet. No walker moans, no creaks, not even the slightest bit of rustling from rodents I'd probably eat if I had to. Where's my mind at? Where does it wonder to when I'm wondering myself? Stupid. You aren't even wondering anything, you're just blanking.
I tell myself that, but I know I'm just thinkin' 'bout Clementine. She's like her own little bubble, and whenever I'm within 5 feet of her I feel old and young at the same time. She's just so light, and it's out of place when ya think about all the bad shit. I've seen some bad shit, too.
She's just... Genuinely good, I think. I still laugh when she scowls about the shed and dog bite incident, but only because to have distrusted her seems ridiculous now. To not help her, protect her. Ridiculous. If anyone needs saving and doesn't need saving at the same time, it's Clem. And like that, I'm gravitating closer to the house, tapping my gun at my side, thinkin' bout her hair and how it smelled and how gently she had gone to give me a hug. And her innocent gold eyes when she looked up from underneath those lashes... Wait. Luke. What the FUCK. This is CLEMENTINE. This is your little twerp. Shrimp. Just a kid.
Mentally punching myself in the nuts. Here you are devoting yourself to defending her, but then seconds later you're becoming the guy you'd kill for thinking this in a heartbeat? Family. It's just family.
"No." I say, outloud to myself. "It's not the same as another guy." I cherish this little girl. It's definitely not the same. Because she's just a 15 year old. The one right through that dirty window. I walk closer now to the house, now stepping over the logs built up at the side to peer in at the yellow kitchen.
There Clem is, turned around with her longer shirt off and tank on, her black inkling ringlets sticking to her shoulders. Her hips are swaying, and I hear a upbeat melody vibrating through the old southern wall.
I smile, watchin' her dance. Left and right, right and left, some odd drum solo, left, left, right. I forget the fact there is some food in there ready for the taking; It's so hypnotic, and I find myself moving a bit too. My fingers tap the blackened siding of the house and I feel my foot wanting to join. I forget the last time I danced.
I should go join in with the shrimp. In a formal, decent way. Because you are NOT a pervert, Luke. God damn it, you're not.