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The warm evening sun had slowly disappeared beneath the ocean waves, giving way to the dark shiver that shook the palm leaves. A hungry silence settled over the island, every ruffle of branches or shift of bodies could be heard.
The littluns were snoring shallowly, cuddled up in pairs, and soon the biguns started to fall into the easily disturbed sleep they had become accustomed to as well.
Jack couldn’t find sleep, he tried to stay still and keep his eyes shut, but there was something that made it that much more impossible. He felt around in the dark and retrieved the small book from where he had left it. Stepping over the other boys’ bodies he finally exited the shelter.
He breathed in the biting night air and smirked. He enjoyed the silence more than he let on. He walked over to the beach’s edge and looked out at the ocean stretching before him.
Jack stood for a moment, then huffed out a sour thought and finally knelt down on the cold, uncomfortable sand, pulling out the little book he had been carrying with him all day. His hands shook with anger. He preferred to believe it was directed at Simon and not at his own cowardice.
He ran his fingers slowly over the cover and opened it, carefully pulling the worn-out pages apart.
He had read up to the very last entry, but his mind had been wandering back to it all day. It was inefficient. A distraction bothering him when he should be concentrated on hunting.
He ought to get rid of it, throw it in the Pacific or burn it… And yet, he sat on the edge of the lagoon in the middle of the night, the moon being his only source of light, and scarcely any good.
Suddenly, he felt a protruding edge. A folded-up paper stuck between the last page and the cover that he hadn’t taken notice of before. He pulled on it, almost ripping it until the adhesive finally gave.
He took a deep breath. Reading it wouldn’t do him any good, but he had already read the rest and, blatantly speaking, he was curious.
The paper was cheap parchment, thin and old. Around Simon’s handwriting the page was stained by muddy brown creases. Jack would once have held it with two fingers in disgust and thrown it away in an instant. But now he clutched it desperately with trembling hands and began to read.
Dear Jack,
Will you still care? When the ebony clouds have gone and the only thing holding us together are the shy accidental glances we share…Will you still laugh at my sarcastic remarks? Will you still wish me near you, holding your hand under the warmth of blankets in the midst of snowstorms?
Or will your gaze falter once it catches mine and you’ll hold your nose as highly as ever with the same-old snobbishness you’ve perfected? You’ll walk proudly down the corridors and mutter to your friends under your breath once you pass me. You’ll clench your jaw and spit on my shoes so they don’t have you mistaken. You’ll laugh and not spare me one look. That’s exactly what you’ll do.
Jack found himself staring furiously at the page. Who was he to assume? To write such sentimentality and then keep it for pity. Although Jack didn’t ask himself, and would never even dare to, his chest reverberated with a quiet question. Was he right? And to that, he knew the answer well enough.
But I’ll forgive you. And when the time comes back around, I’ll whisper with you under the covers and hide my red cheeks with both my hands. I’ll laugh and read to you. I’ll let you sleep in my bed and feel your warm breathing on my neck. I’ll let your lips brush mine in the dark and I’ll return the shy favor. I’ll let you ignore everything you wish to and not speak of it. I’ll let myself be called names and laughed at because I know deep down you don’t mean it.
And yes. I’ll lower my head once the others return and stop myself from approaching you. I’ll keep my thoughts to myself and store them carefully in an overflowing drawer in my brain for when I can share them with you next time at an empty breakfast table. I’ll fall asleep to the memories of a much kinder, realer you.
The boy with bright blue eyes that shine in the moonlight. The boy with a sparkle of stars on his pale face. The boy who lets me speak and pecks my cheek, who leans into my chest and hugs me clumsily. The boy whose breath heaves happily when I run my fingers through his soft red hair. The boy who makes me hold my tummy from laughter and forces me to actually go outside and play because apparently I’m “so boring!”.
Jack let out a chuckle, a laugh that was torn out of his chest without permission. He bit his tongue sharply.
You drop me like a stone afterwards, like none of it ever happened, and until Christmas comes round again I start to doubt it ever did either. You seek attention from the rest by parading your bravado, but I can see through it. I can see your terror.
And when you sing I can hear a beast roar along with your controlled, perfect notes. I can hear it cry. It twists and turns in fear and my heart longs to embrace it, to caress its face and make its pain go away. I wish to see you truly.
A beast?! A beast… Jack thought with fearful dismissal. Well of course, Simon, batty as ever. But Jack could feel a tightness overtaking his throat as he continued reading.
And I write useless words, because I know that if you were to read them, you’d never speak to me again… you’d hide and sob prayers into the night, like I know you have. And then you’ll come back and find me waiting. And you’ll slip into my bed and make me promise not to tell.
Is it too much to ask for more? Too selfish? Perhaps so… Although, he hasn’t answered my prayers yet.
I have looked him in the eye every day, and I have asked and begged forgiveness for us both. I have kneeled and closed my eyes, but I have never wished you away.
If I were to write my true sentiments for you, my real thoughts and hopes I only dare dream of at night, you’d hate me. And as much as I would resent you for it, I too am a coward.
I don’t intend on giving you this letter because I don’t seek an answer from you. I wish only to preserve it as an inscription which I will destroy later if my heart condones it.
-S
Jack swallowed harshly and held his breath as he read the last paragraph the letter contained.
He lowered his eyes slowly and let them travel across the waves, suppressing their undeniable stinging. A shiver ran up his spine and finally he stood up.
He kicked at the sand, fighting the urge to scream so as to not wake up the others. He gritted his teeth and as much as he wished to crumble the letter he forced his fingers to fold it neatly.
He could feel his nostrils burning. He didn’t want to cry. Not because of some unimportant, unintelligible letter he wasn’t even meant to receive from some batty boy.
He mindlessly pocketed the thin paper and bit the inside of his cheek, trying to push out every word his brain kept repeating over and over again.
I wish to see you truly.
Well he hasn’t! Because everything he wrote was wrong. Sinful and wrong. Jack thrust a hand up in his hair and fell quietly back down on the sand, bringing his knees up to his chest.
“It’s not fair.” He muttered, his breath catching as he kicked sand into the water once more.
He felt weak and hated himself for it, hated Simon for it. A sob broke out of his chest and he thrust his head down, hoping no one heard.
As he walked back to the shelter, the folded letter seemed to burn its imprint on his leg, on his skin.
In the darkness, amongst snoring boys, Jack found a pair of gleaming eyes.