Brian would laugh at the cliche, but it's so undeniably true, walking across scorched earth and listening to Bob's steady pace next to him. Steady but with a whole new rhythm, after the fire.
(Brian stitched the wound himself, gave up the last of their alcohol to keep it clean for days and days until the threat of infection had passed. He didn't miss it, the drink, as much as he thought he might, but he's glad for the reality of Bob here, upright and walking.)
And then he sees it. "Look," he says.
"Not much to look at," Bob says in response, and the barrenness of the earth is in his voice, too.
Brian shakes his head impatiently. "No, look, up there," and now he hears Bob laugh, delighted at the small, small bird throwing himself into the sky. And singing. The bird is singing.
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Date: 2010-04-15 09:55 pm (UTC)Brian would laugh at the cliche, but it's so undeniably true, walking across scorched earth and listening to Bob's steady pace next to him. Steady but with a whole new rhythm, after the fire.
(Brian stitched the wound himself, gave up the last of their alcohol to keep it clean for days and days until the threat of infection had passed. He didn't miss it, the drink, as much as he thought he might, but he's glad for the reality of Bob here, upright and walking.)
And then he sees it. "Look," he says.
"Not much to look at," Bob says in response, and the barrenness of the earth is in his voice, too.
Brian shakes his head impatiently. "No, look, up there," and now he hears Bob laugh, delighted at the small, small bird throwing himself into the sky. And singing. The bird is singing.