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H E R
Maybe it could work. Maybe Carl and I could be friends.
It wasn't going to be too hard. His company was actually quite enjoyable. He could actually be funny at times. I never knew how light hearted he could be
I guess I hadn't really seen him as a kid my age, he had been a part of the original prison group which gave him some kind of heightened status, thus making him appear more mature and, for some stupid reason, important. But once I went to inquire with Rick as to where Carl was as he had missed breakfast (which I had saved him a plate) and he was supposed to help me with the laundry (which was a tedious labor best done in pairs), and the boy's father informed me that he had stayed up late helping reinforce a weak spot in the fence and had been allowed to sleep in. Rick then suggested I go wake him up which I was a little nervous about, but I didn't want to go against the man so I went into the unfamiliar block. I remembered which cell was Carl's from the tour we had been given months earlier so I approached, finding his sheet was pulled back and he was still resting.
"Carl." I had called out to him from between the bars.
No response, I stepped in.
I saw how young he was then. Carl was a pretty tense guy, and it surprised me to see him in such a relaxed state. His face was smooth, the crease that was a constant between his eyebrows vanished as he dreamt peacefully. His hair tousled, dark curls strewn this way and that. Eyes closed and full lips parted. Freckled cheeks rosy and soft. He looked like a boy. A simple boy. I realized then that he and I were maybe not so different as I had always assumed.
I hadn't wanted to wake him, as he looked so comfortable and warm, but we had chores.
"Carl," I kept my tone even, despite the urge to whisper, and I rapped my knuckles against the bars of his bunk bed.
Nothing.
Impulsively, muscle memory of how I would wake my brother, I placed my free hand on his chest and gently jostled him. A shriek of surprise almost left me when a warm hand took hold of my wrist with a vice like grip, moving my palm to his left, right over his heart. I felt the rapid beat of it through his ribs, his shirt, against my skin. I had pulled away immediately, upon lifting my eyes to see his own slowly blink open, a pale blue velvet in the dusty morning light.
"What?" His voice had been a little rough, deep and heavy with sleep.
I swallowed, trying to remember how to speak. "I saved you some breakfast."
His tired eyes had drifted down to the plate in my inoffensive hand, then back up to mine, a soft smile formed across his lips. I suddenly felt overwhelmed. Warmth flooding my body at it all. The simplicity of this boy, nestled in bed and smiling at me. Nothing rough or coarse about him, he had almost been dreamlike. I flushed at the then recent memory of his heart beat against my palm. So ethereal.
