No one knew Jules. Those that did know her would’ve known her as Jack. She was never some infamous outlaw, or Wild West hero.
She died, and life moved on.
The world kept spinning as if she never existed in the first place. With no descendants to remember her name, she was completely forgotten.
Trevor refused to let her forget it, calling her a nobody whenever he got the chance.
Issac’s book, Creepy Todd, the Woodstone name, even Sass’ Hello Tree served as a reminder that everyone else had left some sort of mark on the world. Meanwhile history never knew Jules’ name.
It didn’t bother her. She wasn’t particularly fond of the life she led. What good would it do her to have blatant reminders of everyone she had hurt through her life? Jules didn’t consider anything she had done in her life worth remembering.
But it would have been nice to have some sort of proof that she really did exist.
She thought about it a lot. Whether or not she was ever real. Did she remember her past correctly? She went over her memories, again and again, trying to solidify them in her mind. Her memory did slip a bit. After over a hundred years, some things become harder to hold onto.
Jules lost track of time. Reading and rereading the notebook she found on her horse. Nothing going on around the property mattered. She sat for days, even, just staring into the pages of the nearly finished notebook.
It only contained a portion of her life, but that portion was enough to serve as proof that she lived. It was proof that she learned how to read and write, that she enjoyed drawing the plants and animals she came across, and that the friends she had lost before the end weren’t forgotten either. Not by her, at least.
Jules flinched, pulled back into the 21st century by the voice of Woodstone’s freshest ghost. Bandit stood by the end of Jules’ bed. She tilted her head as Jules scrambled to make room for her.
“Yeah, yeah I’m fine,” she said.
Bandit sat next to her, leaning over to get a look at the notebook. Jules tilted it just enough for her to see.
“Is that your handwriting?” Bandit asked.
“It’s so pretty, and cursive,” Bandit traced the edge of the paper with her thumb, brushing her hand over Jules’ before dropping her hand back into her lap. She usually had her gloves on, but every once in a while she’d tuck them into the waistband of her racing suit. Just so she could feel something other than glove.
“You sound shocked,” Jules said.
The two whispered back and forth, like a couple of kids sneaking around.
“No, I mean,” Bandit giggled, “it’s not like that.”
Jules rolled her eyes, “I had an education growing up, my mother made sure. She’s the one that taught me how to read and everything.”
“I was never gonna be who I was supposed to be, figured I’d save her the heartache.”
Bandit nodded, “it’s good you got to go out and be- Yknow, you,” she said. She stared down at her hands as she fidgeted with her nails.
Jules nudged Bandit with her elbow, “meaning?”
“Yknow,” Bandit said with a shrug.
Jules paused for a moment, then nodded, “sure” she said. She slid her notebook into her jacket pocket before setting a hand on Bandit’s. “You okay?” She asked.
“I’m fine,” Bandit mumbled.
Jules readjusted, turning to face Bandit better. Her knee bumped against Bandit’s thigh. She moved her had away from its place on Bandit’s hands up towards her face. Jules stared down at Bandit as she ran her fingers along her jaw, gently guiding her to return the eye contact.
“This is all just-“ Bandit whispered, “I’m just glad you got to be- um-“ She searched for the words, but the feeling of Jules’ hand settling against the side of her neck made any kind of thinking nearly impossible. “You didn’t have to-“
Jules nodded, “didn’t have to be who someone else wanted me to be?”
“You didn’t get that, hm?”
The two moved closer, not entirely on purpose. Jules’ free hand made its way to Bandit’s waist, while Bandit’s hands rested on Jules’ shoulders.
“I thought I’d have more time,” Bandit whispered, she could’ve sworn she felt Jules’ lips brush hers as she spoke.
“Got nothing but time now,” Jules mumbled. Her lips did brush against Bandit’s that time.
theartofmadeline
blakekathryn
