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suitably_heroicThe streets were crowded with people, yelling and cheering and chatting and eating their snacks as they waited for the floats to pass by. They'd managed to push through to a good position, Jack and Dane and Dane's sister Shelley and her kids, but there was no way forward from here. This was going to be their spot, whether they liked it or not.
It was fine. All of it was fine. This was the second time Jack'd gotten dragged to one of these parades along with the family, and the first time as Dane's official plus-one, but it felt natural. Even when Dane's sister's youngest insisted on being hoisted up off the ground to see the parade - the flags had gone and now the dragons were here and space, but did that kid like dragons.
Afterwards, they walked down along the booths and got more snacks to go, and they chatted idly as they walked down along Bayard Street. Shelley's kids wanted more candy, so more candy they got.
They weren't too bad. At least they weren't slobbering over everything. Jack even managed to pass on a piece of wisdom or two, about stealing from the booths when no one was looking - at least until Shelley caught on and chewed him out for it. Something about it felt off, though, and he couldn't quite get to why-- his mind wandering off into fifteen different useless directions, before winding back up at that one thought. That they were okay, the stupid kids.
They were fine.
They dropped Shelley off at the Canal Street subway station. Home was just a fifteen minute walk from there, and he and Dane were starving. So they got walking.
And after a minute or two, the noise of city and crowd had died down enough to render the air some kind of quit.
“What’s on your mind?” Dane asked, his hands shoved down his pockets, his mouth set with that easy smile he held just about everywhere, most of the time.
“I don’t know,” Jack said, pensive. “I’ve just… never thought of myself as a kids guy. I don’t think I ever will be.” He gave a slight shrug, like he wasn't sure, either. “But hers, they’re okay. We can give ‘em back.”
“That’s the joy of being an uncle. All of the fun, none of the responsibility,” Dane agreed, but he was still looking at Jack curiously, like he knew that– that there was more going on here.
Jack sighed. “It's just,” he started. And he was silent for a second, digging around his skull for the words to explain all of this. “For a while there, I thought– like, you know how Sparkle liked kids? And I was running military missions for the Temple while they were raising up doe-eyed new Jedi there? I thought that was going to be the best shot at a happy ending I’d get. Sparks would move there and childrear their ass off, and I got a– something. To come back to. Every time.”
“Like a platonic life partner situation,” Dane agreed. “That's... sweet?”
“Is it?” Jack stared at the road ahead. “After all this time, it’s hard to look at these memories and not think: wow, even my hopes for a happier, healthier me were screwed up.” He glanced at Dane. “Trying to make something incompatible work. It just took me a while to realize that's what I was doing. Now, I feel guilty.”
Dane let out a thoughtful hum. “Is that a bad time to tell you I’m secretly dreaming of moving to a farm, raising twenty kids, alpacas, rabbits and a monitor lizard?”
Asshole. Jack let out a slight, aborted laugh. “Well, that's it. We’re over.”
Dane leaned sideways for a second, nudging Jack's shoulder with his own. “Don’t worry. We’re going to rot happily in that apartment. You and me and our record collection, we’re going to melt into sludge and seep into the foundations of this incredibly stupid city.”
He thought about that. His fatalist mind conjured up a simple, intrusive thought, that it was still just as likely that his bones would grind down into powder and blow away on some far flung moon somewhere. ‘Rotting happily’ implied a permanence that even Jaq-Atton-Jack 3.0 wasn't sure he could believe in.
“Stop brooding,” Dane said, and took a left, towards the nice dim sum place they'd found a few months ago. “It's a good day, you just had an actually nice afternoon out with a bunch of booger-eating babies, and the world isn't ending.”
Another breath filled his lungs, trying to absorb the smog and the joys of the city. But his thoughts kept wandering - to Sparkle, and the song he’d been writing last night, the line that had started this latest guilt trip - but you gave me a reason to go on ahead, and fuck me, I resented you for it.
He followed Dane through the doorway. “I think I have a title for the next track,” he said.
“Another one?” Dane asked, as he shuffled up to the sign to be seated.
“'Still an asshole',” Jack said.
Dane cast a look aside, a question written all over his friendly features.
“Or 'Still a motherfucker',” Jack muttered. “I haven't decided yet.”
“Well, one's more accurate than the other.” Then Dane's attention was oriented forward, and he exchanged a few friendly words of Cantonese with the host, and then they were off.
“I know, but the other has a better ring to it,” Jack said, and he stuffed himself into a booth, his leg cramming up against Dane's nice, warm, relaxed one. It was grounding. Kind of. “Okay, I have to check, but you really are absolutely completely fine with Cade showing up, right--?”
“I'm still fine with it,” Dane said, “Though I'm kind of concerned, because this is the fifth time you've asked.”
Yeah, so sue Jack. He wasn't completely sure letting a drug addict stay over in his mostly sober household was the best idea he'd ever had. But nostalgia had really gotten a grip on him over the past week. Hence the song, and the guilt, and the very awkward texting conversation with the guy who hadn't known he wasn't dead. “He's just a character,” Jack said. “I don't know how much he's calmed down from high school.”
“He's the camel guy, right?”
“Camel guy,” Jack agreed. “Also 'dragged me back from the brink of death' guy. Also 'it's a miracle he's not dead yet' guy.”
Dane made a thoughtful noise, and leaned back in his seat, nice and warm and lazy. Jack felt himself relax a touch, the crush of the crowd and the faint sense - no matter how hard he tried to banish it - that he had to play his part out in public, finally falling from his shoulders. (It was, he had to admit, probably half the reason he'd learned Cantonese. He was trying to let himself be himself, and not give in to 35 years of playing pretend to survive, but some habits died hard. And he was a passing-for-white-American guy in a not particularly white-American space, while not being a white-American, exactly. It got complicated.)
“Why camels,” Dane settled on.
Jack pulled a face. “I think it was just all livestock in general,” he said. “Sparks liked stealing weird shit, Cade just liked adrenaline and screwing with people. Somehow in the middle of that Venn diagram was 'stealing livestock'. I still don't know exactly how they got the camel back to the-- well, if they got it back there, even.”
“Maybe something to ask him,” Dane said, inclining his head.
“If he even managed to store that memory,” Jack muttered. He rubbed his brow. “Look, let's stop talking about it,” he said. “I'm starving for some char siu, and you probably have parade notes...”
And then there was dinner, and a walk home, and everything - everything - was genuinely fine.
[[ open for phone calls et al as always ]]
It was fine. All of it was fine. This was the second time Jack'd gotten dragged to one of these parades along with the family, and the first time as Dane's official plus-one, but it felt natural. Even when Dane's sister's youngest insisted on being hoisted up off the ground to see the parade - the flags had gone and now the dragons were here and space, but did that kid like dragons.
Afterwards, they walked down along the booths and got more snacks to go, and they chatted idly as they walked down along Bayard Street. Shelley's kids wanted more candy, so more candy they got.
They weren't too bad. At least they weren't slobbering over everything. Jack even managed to pass on a piece of wisdom or two, about stealing from the booths when no one was looking - at least until Shelley caught on and chewed him out for it. Something about it felt off, though, and he couldn't quite get to why-- his mind wandering off into fifteen different useless directions, before winding back up at that one thought. That they were okay, the stupid kids.
They were fine.
They dropped Shelley off at the Canal Street subway station. Home was just a fifteen minute walk from there, and he and Dane were starving. So they got walking.
And after a minute or two, the noise of city and crowd had died down enough to render the air some kind of quit.
“What’s on your mind?” Dane asked, his hands shoved down his pockets, his mouth set with that easy smile he held just about everywhere, most of the time.
“I don’t know,” Jack said, pensive. “I’ve just… never thought of myself as a kids guy. I don’t think I ever will be.” He gave a slight shrug, like he wasn't sure, either. “But hers, they’re okay. We can give ‘em back.”
“That’s the joy of being an uncle. All of the fun, none of the responsibility,” Dane agreed, but he was still looking at Jack curiously, like he knew that– that there was more going on here.
Jack sighed. “It's just,” he started. And he was silent for a second, digging around his skull for the words to explain all of this. “For a while there, I thought– like, you know how Sparkle liked kids? And I was running military missions for the Temple while they were raising up doe-eyed new Jedi there? I thought that was going to be the best shot at a happy ending I’d get. Sparks would move there and childrear their ass off, and I got a– something. To come back to. Every time.”
“Like a platonic life partner situation,” Dane agreed. “That's... sweet?”
“Is it?” Jack stared at the road ahead. “After all this time, it’s hard to look at these memories and not think: wow, even my hopes for a happier, healthier me were screwed up.” He glanced at Dane. “Trying to make something incompatible work. It just took me a while to realize that's what I was doing. Now, I feel guilty.”
Dane let out a thoughtful hum. “Is that a bad time to tell you I’m secretly dreaming of moving to a farm, raising twenty kids, alpacas, rabbits and a monitor lizard?”
Asshole. Jack let out a slight, aborted laugh. “Well, that's it. We’re over.”
Dane leaned sideways for a second, nudging Jack's shoulder with his own. “Don’t worry. We’re going to rot happily in that apartment. You and me and our record collection, we’re going to melt into sludge and seep into the foundations of this incredibly stupid city.”
He thought about that. His fatalist mind conjured up a simple, intrusive thought, that it was still just as likely that his bones would grind down into powder and blow away on some far flung moon somewhere. ‘Rotting happily’ implied a permanence that even Jaq-Atton-Jack 3.0 wasn't sure he could believe in.
“Stop brooding,” Dane said, and took a left, towards the nice dim sum place they'd found a few months ago. “It's a good day, you just had an actually nice afternoon out with a bunch of booger-eating babies, and the world isn't ending.”
Another breath filled his lungs, trying to absorb the smog and the joys of the city. But his thoughts kept wandering - to Sparkle, and the song he’d been writing last night, the line that had started this latest guilt trip - but you gave me a reason to go on ahead, and fuck me, I resented you for it.
He followed Dane through the doorway. “I think I have a title for the next track,” he said.
“Another one?” Dane asked, as he shuffled up to the sign to be seated.
“'Still an asshole',” Jack said.
Dane cast a look aside, a question written all over his friendly features.
“Or 'Still a motherfucker',” Jack muttered. “I haven't decided yet.”
“Well, one's more accurate than the other.” Then Dane's attention was oriented forward, and he exchanged a few friendly words of Cantonese with the host, and then they were off.
“I know, but the other has a better ring to it,” Jack said, and he stuffed himself into a booth, his leg cramming up against Dane's nice, warm, relaxed one. It was grounding. Kind of. “Okay, I have to check, but you really are absolutely completely fine with Cade showing up, right--?”
“I'm still fine with it,” Dane said, “Though I'm kind of concerned, because this is the fifth time you've asked.”
Yeah, so sue Jack. He wasn't completely sure letting a drug addict stay over in his mostly sober household was the best idea he'd ever had. But nostalgia had really gotten a grip on him over the past week. Hence the song, and the guilt, and the very awkward texting conversation with the guy who hadn't known he wasn't dead. “He's just a character,” Jack said. “I don't know how much he's calmed down from high school.”
“He's the camel guy, right?”
“Camel guy,” Jack agreed. “Also 'dragged me back from the brink of death' guy. Also 'it's a miracle he's not dead yet' guy.”
Dane made a thoughtful noise, and leaned back in his seat, nice and warm and lazy. Jack felt himself relax a touch, the crush of the crowd and the faint sense - no matter how hard he tried to banish it - that he had to play his part out in public, finally falling from his shoulders. (It was, he had to admit, probably half the reason he'd learned Cantonese. He was trying to let himself be himself, and not give in to 35 years of playing pretend to survive, but some habits died hard. And he was a passing-for-white-American guy in a not particularly white-American space, while not being a white-American, exactly. It got complicated.)
“Why camels,” Dane settled on.
Jack pulled a face. “I think it was just all livestock in general,” he said. “Sparks liked stealing weird shit, Cade just liked adrenaline and screwing with people. Somehow in the middle of that Venn diagram was 'stealing livestock'. I still don't know exactly how they got the camel back to the-- well, if they got it back there, even.”
“Maybe something to ask him,” Dane said, inclining his head.
“If he even managed to store that memory,” Jack muttered. He rubbed his brow. “Look, let's stop talking about it,” he said. “I'm starving for some char siu, and you probably have parade notes...”
And then there was dinner, and a walk home, and everything - everything - was genuinely fine.
[[ open for phone calls et al as always ]]
