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Dec. 11th, 2003 06:49 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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ds_flashfictionI meant to write something like this four months ago, when I moved, but the agony was still too fresh, and, of course, no flashfic packing challenge in August. Anyway, here it is, in the immediate vicinity of 1,095 words:
After breakfast one morning, he shook his father’s hand. His grandmother picked up a suitcase filled with his clothes, and his grandfather carried a box of toys and books out to the truck. He struggled up to the high seat on his own, and sat between them as they took him away to live with them. By the time he made up his mind to look back at his father and wave, the cabin’s porch was empty.
***
They weren’t allowed much space at school, just a locker and a few drawers for uniforms. It had been easy to pack up his own things and carry them, from the house to the truck, and from the truck to the dorm. He shook his grandfather’s hand through the driver’s side window, and accepted a last few pieces of advice with a smile and nod. He knew better than to look back. The sound of the truck pulling away was loud in his ears as he balanced his case between one knee and the wall and dragged open the heavy door.
***
By the time he went to Depot, there was no one to drive him. He stumbled off the bus and collected his case from the luggage compartment, and made the long walk from the small-d depot with everything he owned on his back and under one arm.
***
One posting followed another, and he carried a box or two, a pack, a garment bag full of uniforms from one place to the next. He always managed it alone; there wasn’t any other way.
His assignment to the Consulate brought with it the opportunity to establish his own lodgings, and he began to acquire more things than he could easily move from one place to another. It made him nervous; he faithfully returned the things he borrowed, and when he seemed to have collected an excessive number of books or clothes, he donated them to the less fortunate by whatever means came to hand.
Eventually Greta Garbo relieved him of that burden, and he moved into the consulate–-took up squatting there, in actual fact–-with only the pack he’d taken on vacation. The small space reminded him of all the times before, and he told himself it was a comfort.
After he and Ray finished the paperwork for the case, he sat up at his desk, filling out requisition forms to replace the uniforms he’d lost. Luckily, the RCMP was efficient about seeing its members properly outfitted, even if they were serving at the ends of the civilized world.
***
When Ray arrived to pick him up, he was on the consulate steps with his pack and garment bag, boxes at his feet. He got everything into the GTO’s trunk before Ray could do more than look amused.
“I said I’d help, Ben.”
He smiled at Ray, his nervousness at taking this step at last overwhelmed by the pleasure of Ray’s presence, to say nothing of the thought of leaving the Consulate behind, at least in his off hours. “Well, Ray, you’re giving me a ride. That’s certainly helpful.”
Ray laughed and said, “You’re a freak, Fraser, you know that?”
When they got to the apartment, Ray carried the boxes up while Fraser took his bags, and when they got inside, Fraser found himself kissed senseless, and later, after he’d been properly welcomed home, his belongings were scattered through three rooms, mingled with Ray’s possessions. As the days went on, he let himself believe that this meant something, that things were different, that he had found a place to stay. He settled in, let objects accumulate around him, and never thought about how much they weighed and how to pack them up when the time came.
He should have known: what goes up comes down, and anyplace you come to, you leave again. And when you do, you have to be able to carry everything that matters.
***
He knelt on the floor of the bathroom that he would always think of as Ray’s, for all that they had spent the last several months squeezing past one another to shower and shave here. He had a rubber duck in his hand, and an empty cardboard carton at his side, and the cupboard before him was filled with more styling products than he’d ever seen in one place, most of them as dusty as the duck.
He couldn’t fathom how he was going to manage this; an entire apartment to pack up and move. How had his life grown so soft, so cluttered? How had he let this happen?
“Hey.”
At the sound of Ray’s voice, behind him, he threw the duck into the box and reached blindly for the bottles under the sink. Sitting here remembering how easy all the other times had been wouldn’t accomplish anything, after all.
Ray’s hands on his shoulders pulled him back, and Ray’s voice in his ear, “Hey, hey, hey, hey,” pulled him back further, to where he belonged, with his partner at his back.
Ray hugged him, a gesture full of reassurance, a reminder that there were more arms than his here. “Forget that stuff, huh? Just bring the duck, and the towels and things. We can buy soap when we get there, right?”
“Ray,” he said, after a moment reveling in Ray’s touch, ignoring the way his knees ground into the tile and he couldn’t quite feel his feet, “I’ve never–-”
And Ray laughed, the way Ray did; not mocking him, only showing him that things could be laughed at, as easily as worried over. “I know, Fraser. I saw the look on your face when you saw how many boxes I brought.”
“I don’t know how,” he said, but it wasn’t as terrible an admission as he’d thought, and Ray squeezed him tighter and then stood up.
“It’s not rocket science, Fraser, so don’t freak out. We’ll break some stuff and lose some stuff, that’s just how it works. Use linens to wrap up breakables, pack books in small boxes, label everything, and do not skimp on the beer and pizza afterward.” When he looked up at the mirror, Ray smiled at him from the door. “I can write it down for you if you want.”
He swallowed, and smiled, shaking off the memories as he brushed dust from the small plastic duck. “I believe I’ll remember, Ray.”
Ray nodded, winked, and went back to the kitchen, and Ben returned his attention to the cupboard. For the first time he could remember, he packed with a smile on his face.
After breakfast one morning, he shook his father’s hand. His grandmother picked up a suitcase filled with his clothes, and his grandfather carried a box of toys and books out to the truck. He struggled up to the high seat on his own, and sat between them as they took him away to live with them. By the time he made up his mind to look back at his father and wave, the cabin’s porch was empty.
***
They weren’t allowed much space at school, just a locker and a few drawers for uniforms. It had been easy to pack up his own things and carry them, from the house to the truck, and from the truck to the dorm. He shook his grandfather’s hand through the driver’s side window, and accepted a last few pieces of advice with a smile and nod. He knew better than to look back. The sound of the truck pulling away was loud in his ears as he balanced his case between one knee and the wall and dragged open the heavy door.
***
By the time he went to Depot, there was no one to drive him. He stumbled off the bus and collected his case from the luggage compartment, and made the long walk from the small-d depot with everything he owned on his back and under one arm.
***
One posting followed another, and he carried a box or two, a pack, a garment bag full of uniforms from one place to the next. He always managed it alone; there wasn’t any other way.
His assignment to the Consulate brought with it the opportunity to establish his own lodgings, and he began to acquire more things than he could easily move from one place to another. It made him nervous; he faithfully returned the things he borrowed, and when he seemed to have collected an excessive number of books or clothes, he donated them to the less fortunate by whatever means came to hand.
Eventually Greta Garbo relieved him of that burden, and he moved into the consulate–-took up squatting there, in actual fact–-with only the pack he’d taken on vacation. The small space reminded him of all the times before, and he told himself it was a comfort.
After he and Ray finished the paperwork for the case, he sat up at his desk, filling out requisition forms to replace the uniforms he’d lost. Luckily, the RCMP was efficient about seeing its members properly outfitted, even if they were serving at the ends of the civilized world.
***
When Ray arrived to pick him up, he was on the consulate steps with his pack and garment bag, boxes at his feet. He got everything into the GTO’s trunk before Ray could do more than look amused.
“I said I’d help, Ben.”
He smiled at Ray, his nervousness at taking this step at last overwhelmed by the pleasure of Ray’s presence, to say nothing of the thought of leaving the Consulate behind, at least in his off hours. “Well, Ray, you’re giving me a ride. That’s certainly helpful.”
Ray laughed and said, “You’re a freak, Fraser, you know that?”
When they got to the apartment, Ray carried the boxes up while Fraser took his bags, and when they got inside, Fraser found himself kissed senseless, and later, after he’d been properly welcomed home, his belongings were scattered through three rooms, mingled with Ray’s possessions. As the days went on, he let himself believe that this meant something, that things were different, that he had found a place to stay. He settled in, let objects accumulate around him, and never thought about how much they weighed and how to pack them up when the time came.
He should have known: what goes up comes down, and anyplace you come to, you leave again. And when you do, you have to be able to carry everything that matters.
***
He knelt on the floor of the bathroom that he would always think of as Ray’s, for all that they had spent the last several months squeezing past one another to shower and shave here. He had a rubber duck in his hand, and an empty cardboard carton at his side, and the cupboard before him was filled with more styling products than he’d ever seen in one place, most of them as dusty as the duck.
He couldn’t fathom how he was going to manage this; an entire apartment to pack up and move. How had his life grown so soft, so cluttered? How had he let this happen?
“Hey.”
At the sound of Ray’s voice, behind him, he threw the duck into the box and reached blindly for the bottles under the sink. Sitting here remembering how easy all the other times had been wouldn’t accomplish anything, after all.
Ray’s hands on his shoulders pulled him back, and Ray’s voice in his ear, “Hey, hey, hey, hey,” pulled him back further, to where he belonged, with his partner at his back.
Ray hugged him, a gesture full of reassurance, a reminder that there were more arms than his here. “Forget that stuff, huh? Just bring the duck, and the towels and things. We can buy soap when we get there, right?”
“Ray,” he said, after a moment reveling in Ray’s touch, ignoring the way his knees ground into the tile and he couldn’t quite feel his feet, “I’ve never–-”
And Ray laughed, the way Ray did; not mocking him, only showing him that things could be laughed at, as easily as worried over. “I know, Fraser. I saw the look on your face when you saw how many boxes I brought.”
“I don’t know how,” he said, but it wasn’t as terrible an admission as he’d thought, and Ray squeezed him tighter and then stood up.
“It’s not rocket science, Fraser, so don’t freak out. We’ll break some stuff and lose some stuff, that’s just how it works. Use linens to wrap up breakables, pack books in small boxes, label everything, and do not skimp on the beer and pizza afterward.” When he looked up at the mirror, Ray smiled at him from the door. “I can write it down for you if you want.”
He swallowed, and smiled, shaking off the memories as he brushed dust from the small plastic duck. “I believe I’ll remember, Ray.”
Ray nodded, winked, and went back to the kitchen, and Ben returned his attention to the cupboard. For the first time he could remember, he packed with a smile on his face.
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