SRθ: Grim Inquiries (2023-2024)

Sit.39: The Trails

...to a time when I was only a boy. Or just a child, I suppose, in hindsight. A time when I myself was of larger weight, girthy and flabby, bereft of svelte or appeal. I held my belly in my hands, pressing folds together to make my gut look like a flapping pair of lips.
"Whahbwhabwhabwhahb..." I mouthed, pleased with my stupid humor.
"Stop that," my mother said, an' smacked my hands. "We're eating, here."
I rolled my eyes, and brought myself back to our picnic. To our family, siblings, and I (minus The Surgeon, our ever-tireless father, who was doubtlessly working himself 'holic). We were comfied on a spare blanket on grass, green as emeralds often are, in Fogborn's western meadows. Down the hill to one side was a little marsh, of reeds and frogs rattling, and mice dashing between stones. The smell of stagnant water carried and graced us none too kindly, but it was familiar after years of its breathing. Petals danced in the wind all around us; flowers swayed in the breeze below; clouds passed over in the bright sky above, and slipped by the pleasant sun. It was me and The Teacher, as was her calling with the Catholic church, who sat alone while our younger blood played in the hills... some of them all but mere specks in the distance, already a mile away. We were having salted meats and berry tarts, fresh-baked by a neighbor only hours ago. It was for all of us, that delectable food, but I stuffed myself with it because it distracted me from my harsh reality: I was too fat to run, like the others. My feet slowed when I tried, and tired me out before I could make a single leap's worth of length. My mother had even brought extra rations, knowing my appetite would outweigh those of her smaller children, and starve them if I was let to. I'd been often ignored by the other kids in my village, and left to play alone by even my own siblings, who were tired of waiting for me to catch up in games of running and tossing cabbages for sport. My aim was bad as well, and it seemed to me that all physical skills would yet elude me for all time to come. Of course, I had no idea yet that I'd eventually gain those abilities, but that was years after, when I met The Knight... a friend who challenged me into action, and taught me I was worthy of it. Yet on that fateful day, I'd learn why being large wasn't as bad as I thought: when three men, whose travels we missed on the horizon behind us, joined our picnic in communal splendor. They'd even brought their own treats, and a basket of buns filled with beef, which I was allowed to munch on. By the time all was said and done, I must have had five of them. All three were portly and of beard, dressed in thick leather-wool garb, and fur-lined boots, but whose jackets were tied around their waists for the heat – and yet whose arms seemed cold for the wind's meeting them. They were twice my size, and as round to themselves as I was to me. In fact, each one was fatter than the last: there was The Bountier, a tan-skinned Greco-Romani Frenchman of muscle, pudge, and sharp, romantic edges on his handsome face. He had long, curly-waved brown hair just like my mother's, and greenish eyes unlike her hazels. His profession? To hunt down ne'erdowells and thieves, dead or alive, and make them pay for their crimes. Then there was The Explorer, a hef't blond Slavic-Nordic-Tibetan man of bountiful curls and delicate blue eyes. His chubby cheeks and grand little smile spoke softly of his exploits, for HE was in fact a mountaineer who'd forged some of the hardest trails man had ever faced, in a war-time crisis no less: among falling rocks and surly goats were Tibetan monks, fighting by hand to stave off Mongolian invaders, each armed by shield, arrows, and sword. While the monks did not bring their own weapons, he told us, they had no such qualms with using their foe's own to dispatch them. Then, finally, there was The Pioneer, an English, Scottish, Russian and Balto-Slavic gentleman of balder persuasion – but who had thick, beastly brushlike protrusions on his upper lip; it was a mustache so grand it seemed an animal of its own, and well-groomed for its size. On his head were a pair of goggles, and a tam o' Shanter he'd picked up on his last adventure (or as you might know it, 'that Scotsman hat with the puff'.)
Well, by the time The Explorer had finished with his impressively heroic tale, The Teacher had already taken The Bountier by the hand and down the lane. They were likely to find a deep brush of leaves and foliage, to cover behind and love. The Explorer was disappointed, so he talked to me, instead... while The Pioneer kept a careful watch over our flock. The men three were coming our way for a trip to the Irish Alps, a stretch of mountains not too far north from us. The Explorer told me that he always wrote of his daring deeds, because as he put it, "If it's not in writing, nobody will know: always remember that, child. I once climbed a scareful peak and lost my journals to it – and like snow-prints in the fall of morning, I'd forgotten the whole journey... for the rest of my life. Like it never happened."
The Pioneer jabbed, "You mean like your bedding through half a town full of immature, blossoming maidens? I'm sure that 'never happened', too."
The Explorer looked hurt – wounded, even. "My GOOD chum, those women were plenty mature AND they were THROWING themselves at me! I'll have you know they think I'm strong."
"You mean 'adorable'," he snidely retorted. "Inoffensive and cute, possibly even innocent. But you played them all behind each other's backs, didn't you? You slept with a whole a group of friends, a teen gaggle... all because one of them, she fair who caught your eye at first, never once looked your way."
He grew angry. "Hey, alright, don't you- you can't just talk to me like this! That GIRL and I were talking, she and I were only FRIENDS! Of course when I realized that, it meant I could let my... intentions... drift. Away from her, and to others." He raised his voice, "And who was it that stole my climbing hook, right before I left on a two-year journey?! Oh, I was SORELY missing THAT!"
The Pioneer gave a toothy grin, like he'd heard this all before. "Why, THAT was our good husky friend The Bountier, of course. He took it while you were sleeping. But let's talk less of it now... there's children present." He gestured to me, and I smiled to be in on the joke.
The Explorer was unchuffed. "Oh, yeah, blame the kids, alright," he threw up his hands.
"I mean no harm, but do remember," The Pioneer went on, "you're no role model, to anyone. Bravery in love's more noble any day than risking your life, senselessly, for some thrilling stories to brag with. And you, my friend? Are one of the least brave lovers I've ever met."
"Get the fuck out of here," The Explorer spat. "You and I aren't friends any longer, you hear me?!"
The Pioneer sat still, like a walrus beached. "I'm not moving. I'm watching these little ones, to make sure none of them get lost and wind up married to you."
"OH, NEVER THAT YOUNG! COME OFF IT, NOW!" The Explorer shouted. He looked at The Pioneer with awe, purely in shock... though some of it looked feigned to me.
The Pioneer laughed. "What was it you told that last girl, in the town just before this one, before you took back your ring? Something like, 'I've met someone else'? Wasn't it her own little sister?"
Slow to grasp the point but quick to react, The Explorer got up and brushed himself off from grass. "Welp, I can see I'm not really wanted here, by you or these people." It seemed as though despite his protests, he was none more bothered now than he was when he arrived. Like a modest zen that came over him every few seconds, no matter how high he raised his voice.
I said nothing, weirdly calm myself but also annoyed to be left my mother, whose attention I desperately craved but only received in the form of discipline. I was simply waiting for the strange men to leave, so I could get back to trying to impress her with my stunning sense of humor... which she seemed to abhorrently despise.
"If you need me," The Explorer whined, "I'll be in our hotel room, making the whole place smell like someone's honeymoon... if you know what I mean."
The Pioneer only chuckled. "If you must, but do be sure to tell her you're divorced when we leave. That is, if she's old enough to be married to you in the first place. I've seen your HABITS, Explorer, and I'm afraid you've got all the time in the world to grow up... unlike your women, when you're DONE with them."
The Explorer shouted, "I'll have you know I'm EXCLUSIVELY into LARGE-BREASTED BLONDE MUMS, with MILK to SPARE! So forGIVE me if I didn't RAVAGE this dumb kid's MOTHER like our Bountier, just because SHE can't meet MY STANDARDS! Her FLAT-PLANKED BODY just DIDN'T ALLURE ME, alRIGHT?!"
For the record, she was rather skinny, but not as much as he was describing. In fact, she was curvy, if not kind of lanky and sharp. Elegant, I thought. I'd always seen her as completely beautiful, and aspired to be more like her... refined, quick as a whip, and ravishingly careful with herself. At that time, I had yet to realize pressure would demand that I become more manly, instead.
Anyway, like a sloth, it seemed to take The Explorer all the time in the world to get himself ready to leave... even with burning words at his sides, and on his tongue. Finally, he did, and waddled back down the lane. He seemed to be looking for my mother and his friend, and in writing this now, I realize it was likely to see if he could join; possibly while they were too riled up to object to him. But he found naught, thankfully enough, and pissed back off his own way.
The Pioneer watched him go, and scratched his head. "Maybe I said too much." Then he grunted, reached into his side pocket, and said to me: "You're a reader, aren't you? Can you understand words in writing?"
I nodded, and he gave me a book: leather-bound, with blank, cream-colored pages inside. Then he handed me a feather-pen as well, and a small bottle of black ink.
"Keep those on you," he said. "You'll want to write down your thoughts from time to time, alright? Us readers, we have burdens, y'know. Too much information up there... it's not good for you. You have to let it flow like a stream, in and out of you again. So keep it to pages when you want to keep it, and look over your thoughts from time to time. It'll help you make sense of things. Just don't let anyone else read your writings, unless you're ready to share them... that's personal, alright? And it always should be, unless it's done professionally."
I accepted his gifts, and his words, and gave him a hug. He took it awkwardly, but patted my back all the same. "Eeeugh, alright, kid. That's enough of that."
I backed off, unsure of what I did wrong. Then I asked, "Do you hate being fat?"
He looked at himself, his rotund form, and narrowed his eyes at me. "Do you?"
"Yeah," I complained.
He shrugged. "Fat slows you down, makes you soft. But it also protects you. I'd never survive my cold journeys without it. If you walk for long enough, up steep enough hills, you'll turn that fat into hard muscle. And that can save you from the world. I've seen skinny men starve in the alps, refusing nature's bounty and punishing themselves for vanity's sake. And I've left them all behind, in the ice and snow. They weren't fit for the trek."
I narrowed my eyes back and looked at my belly. Then I looked up at him again. "Is The Bounty-Man going to marry my mom, now?"
He frowned, and raised an eyebrow. It seemed to disturb him, so he told me something then that I'd never forget: he said, "Look, kid, people make mistakes: sometimes it's leaving someone to hurt them, and sometimes the mistake is staying somewhere that hurts you too much. But other times? People are just messing around, not trying to hurt one another at all. It's not about who you go out with, it's about who you come home to."
I nodded, to show that I was listening. Still, he looked somewhat concerned, like I was some kind of otherworldly being. I didn't understand why, and I still don't to this day. He just looked... distant, and like he was trying to be more distant with each passing moment.
But he pressed on, with his speech. "You'll want to remember that the people you need to be careful of are the ones who never let themselves come back, not to anyone... because they're terrified of what'll happen when they finally do."
"Because of what they did while they were out?" I asked.
"No, uhhh..." He grew quiet. Then he spoke up again. "It's because of what they're afraid they'll regret."
It rung in my head, what all he said, as the wind carried petals around the meadow and over our heads. I looked up to see them – he kept his eyes fixed, on my brothers and sisters at horizon's grasp.
He took in a deep breath, and let out a long raspy sigh. "I miss my wife."