Null Pointer

Loquacious Lumberings

April - Jim

April Crawl - 1,893 words

Flip a coin. Heads – Lazily write for 10 minutes – 373 words.

Write to the nearest thousand – 18:45.

Write 200 words in 5 minutes – 204 words.

Word war for 15 minutes with a friend while you and Brian enjoy a fast-paced game of tennis – 481 words, winner.

Do a fifty-headed hydra as you try to defeat your past demons – 188 words.

1,893 words.

Jim checked that Jupiter was tied securely, seeing his favorite horse was testing the rope that held him, as if they hadn’t just been on a long ride. Jim shook his head, even as he gathered up the saddle and tack to put it away in the tack room. He knew the spirited horse would be off at a gallop, if a gate was left open, or a tie was insecure, no matter how recently he’d been exercised. Jim used to worry about Jupiter getting free and getting lost or hurt, but Regan had reassured him that the big horse’s senses of direction and self-preservation were both good – as was his appetite. Like Jim’s friend, Mart, Jupe wasn’t one to miss a meal, so even if he got free, he made his way home by feeding time.

Usually, Jim went for a run first thing in the morning. Today, however, he’d decided on an early morning ride. The experience had been worthwhile. When he was running in the predawn preserve, most of his attention went to deciding where each foot needed to fall to avoid tripping on anything and falling. On Jupiter’s back, he could let the horse worry about the footing, for the most part, which freed him to admire the beauty around him. At that hour, the preserve was still mostly shadow, but almost everything shimmered with the dew, and the first rays of sunlight glanced off sturdy tree trunks, rather than falling down through the leaves from above.

Jim knew he belonged in a place like the preserve, that he could never be truly at home in a city. The apartment he’d shared with his mother, after his father’s death, in the center of Rochester, had proven that to him. The dingy house on the outskirts of Albany that he’d lived in after his mother remarried had only served to make him hope he was never forced to endure life in another city.

Running – or riding – in the preserve at dawn refreshed him like nothing else could, clearing the cobwebs of sleep and chasing away the shadows of night and frequent nightmares, leaving him ready to face another day. Today, his ride had been extra pleasant, as he’d passed Trixie, gathering the eggs from the henhouse. Usually an encounter with his special girl would have put a smile on his face that would take hours to fade, but today, Jim was unusually circumspect after his brief chat with the blonde angel next door.

For at least the dozenth time, Jim replayed their brief conversation in his head.

“Good morning, Jim!” Trixie had called cheerfully, seeing him riding by.

“Good morning, Trixie. It’s your week to gather the eggs, I take it.”

“A perfectly good excuse to sleep in ruined by these fowls, yet again,” she said ruefully, her sparkling eyes indicating she didn’t mind as much as she pretended to. “What’s your excuse? What are you doing out for a ride this early?”

Jim had shrugged. Trixie didn’t need to know how often he was awake even earlier than this, gasping from a nightmare. “What else would I be doing?”

“Sleeping!” She teased. “I would be, anyway.”

Jim smiled, but didn’t comment.

Sleeping. Any normal person would be sleeping before dawn, not out riding or running on darkened trails, especially when he was on vacation and had nothing to do the whole rest of the day. There was no normal reason to get up so early, but Jim never slept in. It wasn’t that he was against the idea in principle, but after waking with a nightmare, going to sleep again was always the furthest thing from his mind. His body had become so accustomed to the nightmares that, even on the few nights he was fortunate enough to wake naturally, he woke before dawn. Trying to roll over and go back to sleep always seemed like begging for trouble in the form of a nightmare, so he never chanced it.

He could hardly tell Trixie that, though, not when he still hoped to be worthy of her someday. He wanted to marry her, when they were both older. He’d fallen in love with her the moment he laid eyes on her tangled curls and sparkling blue eyes. She was perfect for him, everything he could ever want. But what could he offer her that would make her want to marry someone like him? Orphaned young, and abused by his step-father, Jim had become a realist at an early age, and the reality was that he was broken. An amazing person, like Trixie Belden, would have her pick of men when she was older. Why would she choose him? Not because he was likely to wake her in the dark hours of the night, screaming from a nightmare of that bedeviled whip coming down again and again.

So he hadn’t told her what, exactly, he was doing, out for a ride so early in the morning. The conscientious part of him knew a lie of omission was still a lie, and if, by the grace of God, she ever actually considered marrying him, he would have to tell her, so she knew exactly what she was getting when she agreed to his proposal. But Jim knew his chances with Trixie were slim. She deserved better than he would ever be, and she’d realize that as she grew up. Since that was so, his pride saw no reason to confess his biggest weakness just yet. There would be plenty of time for that before he or Trixie reached a marrying age.

Nicole would tell me things will get better, Jim thought, checking Jupiter’s hooves, in case he’d picked up any stones on their ride. Jim’s adoptive parents had insisted he see a psychologist. While he liked Nicole well enough, she’d never seen the dark parts of the world that Jim had, so sometimes she just didn’t understand that reality, and the future, could be bleak, even at fifteen. She tried, though, and, sometimes, Jim thought she even helped. She would tell him, if she knew his tumultuous thoughts this morning, that the nightmares would get better as he dealt with the trauma of losing his parents and the abuse.

Jim hoped. He hoped with all he had in him. But hope would never take the scars off his back, and the realist in him doubted the scars on his soul would be any quicker to heal. He didn’t think it took a degree in psychology to understand that as long as the scars riddled his soul, the nightmares would riddle his nights. He might gain more sleep-filled nights, be he truly could not believe that he would ever be entirely free of the nightmares. But he would continue to hope, and maybe, just maybe, Nicole would have the right of it, and things would get better.

If he could offer Trixie a whole version of himself, instead of a broken mess that she’d already done more than her fair share to mend, maybe he’d have a chance to prove to her that he would do anything to be worthy of her love. Maybe she’d love him, too. Maybe they really would get married. He doubted it, but he hoped. Always, he hoped.

Well, almost always. In the predawn light, as he ran down the paths of the preserve he knew better than the back of his hand, he hoped. As beams of golden sun tangled in equally golden curls that Jim longed to reach out and tug, he hoped. As he lazed around a s’mores fire by the lake with the best friends a guy could ask for, he hoped. As he prepared for bed each night, he hoped – and prayed. In the darkest part of the night, however, he dreamed. And despaired.

Jim patted Jupiter’s neck as he closed the horse back into his stall. “I should be happy, shouldn’t I, Big Guy? How many fifteen years olds would dream of inheriting half a million dollars from an eccentric reclusive great-uncle they never remember meeting? How many fifteen year olds would dream of being adopted by the richest man in the state, and being offered anything they wanted that money could buy? How many fifteen year olds would dream of parents who didn’t complain or question them when they crept out of the house at all hours? How many fifteen year olds would dream of having a club of the best friends on the planet? How many fifteen year olds would dream of having a horse like you to ride whenever they wanted?” Jupiter tossed his head, knowing Jim was talking about him. Jim smiled. Jupiter was vain, but then he probably had the right to be, with his lineage and awards he’d won in shows.

“I should be happy,” Jim said again. “It’s a slap in the face to Mother and Dad, who have done everything they can to welcome me into their family and who have given me everything I could need or want. It’s a slap in the face to Honey who is, without a doubt, the most perfectly perfect little sister in the history of full-blooded adopted sisters. It’s a slap in the face to Brian and Mart who have been as friendly as if we’ve known each other forever, instead of just months. It’s absolutely a slap in the face to Trixie, who, from the day we met, has done more, in her own way, to soothe my wounds. I should be happy.”

“‘Should be’ never made a man happy in the history of the world,” Regan observed gruffly, coming into the stables from his apartment over the garage. “Sorry, Jim; I couldn’t help but overhear.”

“It’s what I get for having a monologue with a horse.”

Regan raised an eyebrow. “Don’t underestimate that horse. As much training as he’s had, understanding basic English oughtn’t be beyond him.”

Jim grinned. “At least I can trust him not to share when I start moping and rambling.”

Regan nodded agreement. When Jim turned to go, Regan clasped his shoulder. “Are you alright, Jim?” Jim nodded. “Did you have a nightmare again?”

Jim rolled his eyes. “When don’t I have nightmares? I’m fine, Regan; really, I am.”

“But you’re not happy.”

“I would have thought you, of all people, would understand.”

“I do understand. Keep faith, Jim. Happy comes back. You have to keep fighting those demons, if you ever want to win, or even keep pace. They will devour you faster than this old fellow can gallop out the stable doors, if we let him.”

“I know,” Jim admitted quietly. Regan had understood more of Jim than anyone else he’d met since his parents’ deaths. The groom had seemed to instinctively understand what Jim was going through from the moment they first met, when he’d allowed Honey to bring Jupe for Jim to ride when he was hiding in his great-uncle’s mansion as a runaway. Since his adoption by his father’s former college roommate, Jim had forged a deeper bond with the friendly groom built on an understanding that the past wasn’t all “good old days”. On the bad days, Regan’s cheerful whistling as he completed the stable chores was somehow more reassuring and soothing to Jim than Nicole’s reassurances that it would all get better. Someday.