Disclaimers: the usual – House and all associated characters belong to Fox, not me – I write ‘cause I’m a fan of the show and the characters, and I don’t make any money from this that anyone can sue me for.

Working title: The End of the Beginning [ not crazy about this title – suggestions? ]
Status: WIP
Type: General
Rating: PG (for language only)
Category: Friendship
Pairing: none
Warnings: none
Spoilers: none
Summary: Why you’ve always liked rainy days better than sun…

Inspirational aids: various songs by the Rembrandts

Author’s note: A rather cliched idea, but, I hope, at least, well-executed…

Author’s question: is this too subtle, too obvious, or just right?



-----

There is such a thing as the perfect summer day.

It starts with blue sky. Huge, vast sweeps of it, open and reaching, inviting you to spread your arms, take a long running leap and soar right up into it, a canvas Michelangelo would weep for, washed with a hue so intense it could never be reduced to mere pigment and oil.

Monet would paint in the clouds. They’d be the large and puffy clichéd kind, but his genius would render subtlety in shapes and shadows, just enough to hint at something familiar to the eye, enough for you to play guessing games with a friend as you lie back to study the vault of heaven above you… a dragon? A horse? That one’s a train…!

And he’d add the brushes of wind that would keep the parade moving overhead, the same breath of God that would ruffle your hair and caress your skin, bringing you the warm scent of wildflowers and scrub blueberry bushes and the pine stands off to the west.

DaVinci would add the perspective, the infinite stretch from grassy meadow on the foreground hillside all the way to the horizon where earth and sky join together in long-familiar union.

-----

You saw him coming awhile ago, pushing his bike up the last of the hill to where your house sits at the end of the dead-end street, where the builders gave up blasting rock out of their way and left a nice outcropping at the cul de sac, the site of a six-year-old’s dinosaur dig, an eight-year-old’s stakeout, a ten-year-old’s Mos Eisley spaceport.

You look at each other and grin, the silly stupid grin of freedom that comes with knowing the whole summer is ahead of you, school over yesterday and already a distant memory.

“Come on, let’s go climb Big Rock.”

You both go careening down the hill, legs stretched out to either side, letting the pedals spin insanely, grabbing hold of them again halfway down. You skid into a right turn, one foot to the pedal, one to the ground, knowing there’s a risk that old man Lynch will catch you cutting down his driveway and yell, knowing you don’t care at all if he does.

You rattle onto the dirt path at the far edge of his backyard, pedaling hard as you get under the trees, this the last moment that your jeans will touch the banana seat of your Huffy. Pumping hard, you aim for that one bit of rock sticking up in the middle of the trail, take off up its ramp, standing on the pedals, flying for that brief exhilarating moment, flexing your knees as you hit ground again.

You tear down the path, rattling your bones, breaking out of the trees and heading through the blueberry scrub under the power lines to the place where the electric company gave up blasting rock out of their way. You dump your bike at the base of the huge boulder and are ten feet up when Danny comes down the trail, panting and sweating, and drops his bike next to yours.

Worn and faded tennis shoes find every crevice and hold, like the sneakers have their their own memory of this path up the rock face… and perhaps they do.

You pause for a moment.

“Ahhh, shhhiii…” You turn and grab his wrist as he starts to slide, the toe of a worn sneaker missing its grip, and you give him just the extra second he needs to regain his hold, wondering again how someone who’s NOT a runt like you can be so clumsy and uncoordinated.

You find your usual seats atop the rock, lying back to watch the world roll by. You draw in a huge lungful of freedom and smile up at the dragon in the cloud above you.

Your eyes are closed when Danny hisses, “Hey look! A hawk!”

He’s pointing up off to your left, fingernails chipped and bitten, arm tanned already from an early summer, a black-and-blue emerging on his forearm. The hawk is circling high above one of the utility poles – too far up to see any details. You close your eyes again.

-----

Later, as the sun climbs higher and the breeze dies, you push your bikes along the dirt service road the power company uses to maintain their monster scarecrows, the hum of insects and electricity loud above you. There are seasonal ponds along the road, no more than puddles really, but enough to fascinate two boys brimful of curiosity and imagination.

You dump your bikes and squat down at the edge of a tiny pond wreathed with cattails, a few small boulders, and a sandy stretch near the road. The clear jelly-like masses of frog eggs are largely gone by the end of June, but there are still some developing tadpoles, legs growing into that strange amphibian stage between fish and frog. And there are loads of frogs to watch, dark-colored, still small, legs pumping frantically away from the pond’s edge when shadows move over the water.

You’re both watching a blob that might be a large tadpole or a small newt – you’re not sure – when something plops into the water. You see a dark viscous drop send tendrils through the pondwater, diluting itself away.

Danny is pinching his nose shut with one hand, blood on his fingers and running down his chin.

“Sheee-idddttt.” He drawls out the forbidden word for the joy of saying it, but it’s muffled by the nosebleed and its treatment. He sighs, sits down, and begins unlacing one sneaker with his free hand.

He pulls his sock off and pinches his nose shut with it while he attempts to put the sneaker back on. You struggle with the laces for him – it’s weird tying a sneaker from the opposite side. The two of you repeat the process with his other sock and sneaker.

“It’s probably just allergies or something,” he says. He soaks the second sock in the pond water, sending tadpoles and skimmers flying away, then he wipes his face with the wet sock, still pinching his nose with the dry one.

“Danny – that’s the third time this week…” you say uncertainly.

“Promise you won’t tell my mother!”

You shift uncomfortably, knowing that the slightest hint of a single germ in that household means a trip to the emergency room. You’ve been there, seen the fuss and the hubbub – it’s worse than having a doctor in the family. But…

“Promise!”

“All right, all right…!”

“Swear.”

“Cross my heart, hope to die, stick a needle in my eye…” – and you make all the appropriate motions.

“Spit.”

You both spit and shake.

When the blood flow stops, he washes face and hands at the edge of the water, and tosses the wadded socks into the cattails. You both start walking toward home, pushing your bikes along the dirt road.

You catch him grinning at you, and you grin back.

“Feeb.”

“Retard.”

“Girl.”

“Loser.”

“Weasel.”

-----

At home, you automatically head for the bathroom to wash your hands before lunch.

“Hey, Mom?” You stare into space, thinking hard.

“Yes, Jimmy?”

“I… I think something’s wrong with Danny… I think he’s sick.”

Nice slice of life piece. I had no clue where you were going until the nose bleed and then I got it. Nice. This could definitely be a moment in Jimmy Wilson's past.

This detail in particular struck me:

You shift uncomfortably, knowing that the slightest hint of a single germ in that household means a trip to the emergency room. You’ve been there, seen the fuss and the hubbub – it’s worse than having a doctor in the family. But…

Dipping the sock in pond water is a great counterpoint. I love the back and forth at the end, the boys teasing each other, too, and the way they're at that age when cursing is still wrong and thus exhilirating. Great job capturing childhood/boyhood. :)

Very well done. Top marks! :)

Love the vivid description and great balance between Wilson being recognisable but also young-

That works so well and the banter is post on. Very interested to know where this is going- great job! :)

Cheers!


Benj