1st and 2nd chap;
"Dear Alexander,
Please be patient,
please be fine.
I know you never took much out of my words,
but I'm begging you to trust me just this once.
I won't forget you,
and I hope that you won't forget me,
till we may meet again,"
Alexander's eyes flew over the piece of paper,
read over the date over and over again.
25th september, 1935.
He kept examining the handwriting, and it brought a smile to his lips, because he knew that Thomas had tried to write as neatly as he could because Alex used to complain about his handwriting.
Even though Alexanders tears had dripped down on the paper and blurred some of the letters he still knew every word.
Especially the last ones had carved themselves into his heart.
One of his hands fiddled with the wooden ring in his hands, his eyes falling shut as he breaths out.
"Till we meet again,
your Thomas."
And even though it had been so long, had been years over years since he first heard that name, he still remembered the exact same way Thomas had pronounced it. Knew exactly in which context he had used it, with which sort of expression. (It had been a sweet one, a boy so tall for his age, with the biggest dark eyes, yet they always seemed somewhat tired, with a small smile, and his hand stretched out, for Alexander to shake it. It hadn't been anything special, but it still would cause one of the biggest changes in his life.)
He also remembered the first time he had called out that name, what it meant to him.
The worst memory though was when exactly 12 years ago he had read that letter.
When he had first heard about Thomas having to leave, and why he had to leave.
He remembered exactly when he had stood there, with the heels of his shoes sliding over small stones, and even though he felt like crying and punching he had unfolded that letter right there while Thomas stepped away- backwards- and left him behind.
It was the only reason he hadn't directly cried out, because he hadn't wanted Thomas to feel sorry. He remembered how the paper had felt under the pads of his fingers, had remembered how it smelled.
Like cheap cologne- the one Thomas used.
He remembered the moment when he first read over the words, how his chest had ached and his body tensed, how he grimaced in pain, grieve, misery.
He remembered how his lip started to tremble while he looked after Thomas, and even if he had received a kiss just a few minutes ago he already missed Thomas lips, and even though there was the fear of being seen there, on the porch of his door, he wanted to sprint after him and throw himself into Thomas arms, wrap his arms around his neck and never let go again, linger on Jefferson for centuries and more.
Yet all Alexander had done was stand there, buried his face further down into his navy blue scarf, and his tears caused almost black spots to appear on the fabric.
He remembered exactly how often he had needed to wipe over his eyes, how often he sniffled quietly or silently screamed into the scarf before he stepped back inside, with the letter crumbled in the pocket of his jacket, and the ring he had gotten around his finger already.
He had never wanted to take it off again. He had held onto it, tried to contain his beliefs in it.
Yet with every passing day where he tried to hide away, his parents dragged closer, pressured him to speak up and forget. Well, it was mostly his father that threw tantrum over tantrum and tried to get rid of the theme ‚Thomas Jefferson'. Alexander's father had never really liked him, and in exactly that moment it showed the most, and Alexander had wanted to protest, and hit his father in the middle of the face.
Yet that'd only cause him a punishment, and he had no need to kneel in a corner for hours or get slapped, or scolded, or whatever.
Not when his body already ached in need to see Jefferson. He did his best to explain and not blame anyone, but he wasn't born with a fire in his belly if he had to put it out right now.
He wasn't born with the talent of words, when he wasn't allowed to use it right now, was he?
'Thomas is gone. Do you see who you chose, now? Hmm? This is all your fault. You- you grown ups. You want to be the ones who know everything, yea? Well then, father! Did you know that my.. my best friend, the only one I ever put my trust in, is gone now, just because that 'leader' doesn't like his religion? How can you be so selfish, father? How can you put a job over me? Me, your son? Money can't fix your own flesh and bloods heart!'
Alexander could remember how loud his voice had gotten, how tight his fists had clenched.
He could remember how white his knuckles had looked, and he could remember that it was the first time after years that Thomas hadn't taken his hand in his and opened his fists again. He could remember that it was the first time where Thomas hadn't blabbered about how it wasn't worth it, and he remembered that it was the first time his heart had shattered so hard, so badly, that he had thought he'd die on the spot.
It had also been the first time his mother didn't say anything at all, the first time she didn't stand behind him, but said that it was god's plan to do so.
It had been the first time he had hated god with a burning passion, but nothing could reach that level of disappointment as much as his father did.
»Your friend there is going to die if they catch him, Alexander. Instead of yelling at your parents you should be praying for his life, if he means so much to you.«
Alexander could remember with how much hate he had stared at his father, with how much hate he had snarled, pressed his lips to line while his eyebrows furrowed together so tightly, any further addition of anger and they may have touched.
‚Thomas is not going to die.'
