The Phantoms of Marvis Pass

Ten - Into the Air

        Daryl sinks himself against Al's body, and he releases a sigh, which swirls against Al's chest.  Some of the exhaled air returns to him, and Daryl purses his lips as a tangy scent rolls past his face.  Now, out in the west and most parts of America at this time, tending to the teeth is not an awfully common practice.  Bodily hygiene also isn't a major concern, but Al's musk is starting to take on a bitter overtone.  After Al pats Daryl's head and moves along to search a bit more, Daryl raises his right arm and takes a quick sniff of himself.

        Abhorrent as expected.

        It is time for a much overdue bath.  For both of them.

        Daryl scampers after his love, who is now looking under tables and on dusty shelves.  Daryl searches in the crevices in the wall nearby, hoping that one of the cracks in the wood panelling would house a small book with their futures written out in smoldering black ink.  No luck.  He pads around, his mind now adrift and blank, trying to spot another place to investigate.  Daryl slides around a bag of molded and festering grain, and a small bug, possibly a field roach, scuttles by, on its own quest to find sustenance and a safe place to wiggle into.

        Daryl sighs and leans against a broken wooden crate, his lightly toned arms crossed at his flat chest.  He places the back of his head against the wall behind him, letting his eyes drift around, taking in the broad details of the mill.  His heart palpitates and thumps like a timpani operated by an aggressive musician when he spots a small sliver of red on part of the ceiling still hanging on overhead.  It peers out like a bloodshot eye, watching with interest.

        The book!  The book!

        "Al!  Al!" Daryl dashes over to him and starts grabbing at his blocky shoulders, and he swings his legs up and down, letting the sides of his boots catch on Al's belt.

        Al hunches over, unsure of what to make of Daryl's sudden clobbering.  "What?!  Stop it!  Ge' off me!"

        "The book!" Daryl throwns his pointing hand towards the sliver of pigment amongst the sunbleached wooden structure.  "Lemme get on your shoulders!"

        Al lifts his head, and his pupil dialate like opening black holes as he sets his gaze upon the uncovered object.  He crouches down, his knees emitting small pops as the bones rotate against each other, and Daryl clambers onto his solid back.  He takes in a small breath as Al straightens up, and he admires the transformation of his world view.  At this height, everything seems so much different.  And smaller.

        Does Al see him as a little thing?  He must.  Al is a giant compared to the 140 pound Daryl, and he towers more than a foot over his partner.  But littleness physically doesn't mean he is any less.  While Daryl must look up to Al, Al also looks up to him.

        Daryl hooks a leg over Al's shoulder and pulls himself up, and the book surges into sight.  Daryl lifts his arms, and the pads of his fingers curl around the lightly damp spine of the book.  He drags it into his grasp and lets out a joyous whoop, raising it into the heavens while Al gazes up from below.  Daryl looks down and pets Al's hair, joyous they can share this victory.

.   .   .

        Daryl quivers as the icy water slips over his bare thighs and waist, and an extra shake of discomfort spreads over his spine as his testes shrink up from the chill.  He curls his hands up to his chest like a frightened squirrel, unsure if he wants to continue wading into the lake.

        "Hey, this was your idea!" Al caws as he furiously parades into the brakish water, and the water bursts up in great, wide spouts as he stomps along.  "This ain't even clean water!"

        "It's worth a shot!" Daryl retorts.

        Al sighs and flops down, only his nose up visible as he glares into the forest across the lake.  His hat is still settled atop his head, so he looks like a strange rotting lillypad floating over the surface.  Daryl picks his way out to Al, his arms awkwardly outstretched at his sides.  Al watches him venture over, and he lifts himself up a bit, now his dripping mustache and mouth clear of the water.

        Daryl puts a small peck on his lips.  "Why the hat?"

        "I like the hat."

        "But you won't be able to wash your hair with it on."

        Daryl gently removes the headwear and trudges back to the shore, and Al follows in pursuit.  Daryl shivers as an unkind breeze breathes across his wet skin, and he places Al's hat among his clothes.  He turns around, and Al's form immediately blocks his way back to the lake.  Daryl lifts his chin, and Al smiles down upon him like a docile bear.

        "Where you going with it?" Al coos.

        Daryl clasps his hands behind his back and rocks his shoulders innocently.  "Putting it somewhere where it won't get wet."

        Daryl rounds Al, and he thrusts himself forward as he senses Al's finger shooting out, trying to poke him in the rump.  Daryl squeals with excitement and dashes into the water, and the lake's body slows his escape.  Al splashes up from behind and wraps his arms around Daryl's narrow waist, and he rips him into the air.  Daryl's shrieks of joy grow in power, and he giggles and snorts as Al twirls about, flinging waterdroplets off their skin.

        Al tosses Daryl into the water, and a great cracka-BOOM! jumps from the lake's interior as Daryl plunges into the brown depths.  He quickly resurfaces, and he flings his arms about as he swims and gasps.  Al doggy-paddles out to him, and Daryl slips into his arms as he floats up beside him.  Al's legs kick and thrash below the surface, keeping them both afloat, and they exchange a few kisses before looking up at the darkening sky.