out with lanterns, looking for myself

Remi kicked her foot into the dirt, a film of dust covering her patent leather reflection. She didn’t want to see it crawl out from behind her, it’s spindly fingers rising from her back as it pulled itself back out from its resting place in the valleys between the ridges of Remi’s spine. It would curl its fingers around Remi’s boney shoulders, its flesh gray in the sunlight and cold to the touch, before it lifted its sunken face and set the hungry hollows of its eyes upon Maddie.  She couldn’t buck it off, she couldn’t run from it, this half-woman and half-pestilence that lived in the darkest covers of her mind and the dark circles under her eyes. It was equal parts her and mental illness, it was as much a part of her as her own lungs, her own heart. The truth that her eating disorder existed within her like some vital organ left a taste in her mouth like the pocket full of dirty pennies she’d always kept in her pocket when she suspected she might be forced to the nurses office. Its voice sounded like a hiss in Remi’s ears at it whispered its lies to her ear and she could smell its phantom stench, like the rot of a life wasted over too many mornings bent over a scale or lunch periods knelt before a toilet.

She’s going to figure out you’re still the same pathetic, weak little bitch you were in high school. She’s going to see me if you let her close enough, and she’s going to try to take me away from you. 

Remi stared at Maddie where she stood for a moment. Her face was like stone and her hands were clenched so tight that her nails dug a series of small, pinkish red arcs into her flesh. Maddie was firmly situated on one side of the line in the sand, Remi and her reliance on her disorder on the other. 

“Yeah. That’s the plan,” Remi responded curtly. She knew that years ago, Maddie would have had a thousand questions and would have listened to twice as many of Remi’s bad jokes and scatter brained ideas about her plan, talking for hours about some great potential future. And Remi would have reciprocated, laughing at one another’s aspirations out of excitement rather than spite. Remi didn’t feel so humorous when her coping mechanism felt threatened. 

She wanted to leave it at that. That felt cold enough, callous enough, dismissive enough. But the voice at the back of her head spat at her: make a choice. Trying to disguise the few deep breaths she took to try and clear her head, the intrusive disordered thoughts only became louder and louder until she felt as if that spectral hand of how she imagined her disorder forced open her jaw and snaked its thin arm down her neck into something deep inside of her and played at her vocal cords like a puppeteer. Remi heard herself snap:

“I guess I don’t really know what I want to be when I grow up, but so long as I keep growing up and not out I’m pretty fucking satisfied. And it would seem to me like you probably know a thing or two about professional baking.” Remi paused, stepping forward from the wall. “Why’d you fuckin’ say hi to me anyway? Nobody asked you to feel bad for me, not then, not now… I’m just–hep me with the math here–how have the last ten years not given you the hint that we aren’t really friends anymore?”

Her hands shook at her side, her mind a frenzied repetition of the same few lines: What the fuck am I saying? What the fuck am I saying? I don’t mean any of this…

“Oh.”

Maddie had forgotten just how much this hurt. She was used to the quiet sting of rude comments and judgmental looks from strangers. The constant, exhausting second-guessing and self-doubt in every outfit, every hairstyle, every meal choice and photograph and purchase she made wore her down each day but she’d adjusted to that a long tie ago. Her breakdowns in changing rooms and bathrooms and in the mirror by the end of her bed were practically habit by now -- she’d become habituated to her own hatred and censure of herself. It still ached, of course, just like it ached when her neighbour tutted when the delivery man knocked on Maddie’s door, or the teenage boys who waited in her office at work sniggered behind their hands. But Maddie was accustomed to that pain. She could swallow it down, temper it, rationalise it until she was almost convinced it didn’t matter. It added to the coil of self-disgust that sat waiting, always, in the pit of her stomach, but she knew that poison well, and she knew she could survive it.

But Remi? It had been ten years, just like she’d pointed out, and apparently ten years was enough to dull the memory the jagged, vicious pain that Remi could inflict on her, just by virtue of Maddie having loved her. It crashed into her like a suckerpunch -- for a second, Maddie wasn’t sure she could still breathe. The world tilted a little around her, just enough that she wished, desperately, there was something around she could lean on, or hide behind. Remi’s words had left her feeling like she was taking up more space than she was allowed, despite the emptiness all around her: a familiar fear, one she was constantly conscious of, but somehow it felt more acute when it was pointed out. She wrapped her arms around her stomach and squeezed, wishing she could squeeze herself into a more acceptable shape, wishing she could force herself smaller and smaller until she disappeared.

“I’m-- I’m so sorry,” Maddie stammered, nausea creeping oily and slick up her throat. What had she been thinking? Remi was right; weren’t ten years of silence enough to prove that there was nothing left between the two of them? Was she really that pathetic, clinging to a memory that had been all but destroyed as though she could tape it back together again as easily as an old photo? “I didn’t, um, I guess--” She curled her fingers deeper into her sides, until it hurt -- something else to focus on, not this sticky, suffocating panic.

She paused, tried to sort her racing thoughts into something coherent. Inhale, exhale, blink back the tears. She settled on a polite front; it seemed more dignified than scrabbling backwards until she couldn’t see Remi’s cold expression but it still put some distance between them. “Well, I’m glad you’ve found something you care about,” she said, half-wishing she had the guts -- or the anger -- to say something that would cut Remi back, but all she felt was empty and anxious. “I’m-- sorry for bothering you, I guess. I won’t do it again.”

Remi watched as her former friend easily assured her mother that nothing was wrong with so little as a facial expression. Jesus, she thought, how many times had that exact face gotten our dumb asses out of trouble? It was a skill that Remi had envied as a kid, and was especially envious of now. There wasn’t a price she wouldn’t pay for the ability to restore someone’s peace of mind with so little as a simple look, to be able to smooth over every crack and fissure underneath. The very part Remi envied Maddie’s ability to hide things so well was the same part of her that allowed her to recognize it as a defense mechanism, and where there’s a defense mechanism there’s also pain or a secret worth defending. 

“Has anyone really changed?” Remi asked, shrugging her shoulders. “The same people are nosey, the same people are spreading rumors, the same people are chasing after loose strings because they’re bored to death with their own meaningless bullshit…” She didn’t mean it. It came out cold and coarse. Remi honestly didn’t even know why she said it. The idea of being vulnerable with Maddie was frightening, but couldn’t Remi have just fucking shut up instead of being a bitch to her? 

Remi looked back up at Maddie for a second before looking off over her shoulder and shrugging. “At least one of us grew up a bit.” She looked back at Maddie directly and consciously pulled at the waistline of her dress a little before pulling har sweater around herself a little tighter despite the warmth of the spring day. “Let’s go talk somewhere else, everyone in the fuckin’ world is here.”

Remi took off toward the side of the building, not quite looking back to see if Maddie followed. It wasn’t out of indifference–in fact it was rather a leftover habit from their friendship. Years ago, it wouldn’t have even struck Remi to question whether or not Maddie was behind her, whether or not she had her back. Further out of sight from the crowd, Remi leaned her back against the building. She could feel the sunbaked warmth and rough texture of the bricks through the thin fabric of her sweater and dress. “Yeah, I’m like the real life Little fuckin’ Debbie or some shit,” Remi responded in a flip tone of voice staring her reflection in the shine on the toe of her high heel.

This was not the interaction she wanted with Maddie, these were not the things she wanted to say. She wanted to apologize–Remi knew she’d pretty much been an entire bag of dicks during high school, that her self-hatred and self-interest had swallowed her whole. Even though Maddie had never been direct about it, Remi knew the girl was probably the top of the list of names of folks that Remi had fucked over. Her eating disorder had been–was–like a weapon, and no matter how deep it cut her it cut the ones she loved twice as deep in the way they had to watch her harm herself and how it drove Remi to harm them as well as she tried to maintain the disorder. Remi couldn’t forgive herself for the way she had walked away from Maddie as if she’d known her for 15 minutes instead of fifteen years, like she was a stranger rather than Remi’s childhood best friend, the things she’d projected onto Maddie even if they were unsaid, the hateful and untrue things she’d thought about Maddie when the only thing Remi could manage to love was the raspy voice in the back of her head discouraging her to do anything other than self destruct. If Remi couldn’t forgive herself, how was it even reasonable to ask Maddie to forgive her? It was easier this way, too, to ruin a relationship but at least know her rightful place in it. Remi’s stomach hurt from the guilt and weight of her heavy conscience. 

If there had been any doubt that their friendship was dead and buried, it was gone now: there was that familiar cutting tone that Maddie had come to hate all those years ago. She couldn’t be sure that Remi’s comments were directed at her -- when they were fifteen, her remarks had been a lot more direct, but they weren’t fifteen anymore, were they? Part of growing up, especially in a small town like Wade, was learning how to wage wars in much subtler ways. And wasn’t chasing loose strings exactly what she was doing, poking at all the history between the two of them? What else had she expected when she came over, if not to drag painful memories back into the light, when they’d probably both be better off leaving them alone to gather dust? Maybe Remi was right, and Maddie needed to grow up and leave what they used to have behind. 

Thankfully, Remi turned away quickly enough that Maddie hadn’t needed to come up with a response. She didn’t like to think what might have come out if those weighted words had hung between them any longer. It was strange; Maddie thought she’d built up enough walls to render herself invincible to Remi’s particular brand of bitch when they exploded as teenagers, but apparently her armour had started to crack with age. 

But she still followed Remi around the corner of the building. Fifteen years of friendship -- as painful as the ending had been -- wouldn’t let her stand and watch as Remi walked off, expecting her to stay with her. She lingered awkwardly a few feet away and tried to figure out what to do with herself. All the things she’d been so sure she knew about Remi, and being Remi’s friend, and being herself with Remi, had fallen to pieces along with their relationship, and now she felt like a little kid again, trying to navigate the rocky world of getting to know someone. Only this time it was accompanied by the healthy dose of guilt and betrayal and self-doubt that thinking about Remi always heaped on her. 

“So is that the plan?” she asked, latching on to the only thing she could that wasn’t sticky with unsaid hurts, even if Remi seemed dismissive of it. That, at least, Maddie was used to -- she used to combat it with positivity and humour and snarky jokes. Now, though, she retreated behind the facade of polite interest, like she would with a neighbour or a coworker. Maddie’s favourite coping mechanism: if I pretend this doesn’t hurt, maybe it’ll dull the pain. “Are you hoping to like, open a bakery? Or a cafe? I don’t really know much about the world of professional baking.”

It was entirely selfish, but Remi felt somewhat relieved at the disappearance of Josie’s body. At least I probably won’t have to sit through a super awkward funeral service now. She crossed her arms and shifted from one foot to the other waiting to burst into flames in the church yard for the very thought. Strangely enough, God chose not to smite her for her self interest. 

Remi was vaguely wondering if it was better to be bored inside the church or outside the church when she locked eyes with a one-familiar face: her childhood friend Maddie. The girl’s stomach flipped when Maddie approached and Remi averted her eyes out of instinct. She’d treated Maddie like shit on the bottom of her shoe freshman year of high school; she had said things, done things, projected her own self-hating bullshit onto Maddie for the next few years after. And what had Maddie done to deserve it? Nothing. 

Mrs. Voss saw Maddie coming as well, and greeted the girl with a wide smile and cheerful greeting. “Oh, Maddie, how are you? I was just thinking of you the other day, the way you and Remi with have sleepovers when you were little.” Apparently Mrs. Voss noticed the Mom-you’re-so-embarrassing lasers shooting out of her daughters eyes because Mrs. Voss quickly excused herself. “You’re always welcome! Call us if you need anything!” 

“Moms, am I right?” Remi sighed, half smiling as she turned back to Maddie after watching her mother’s retreating back. “She does something like that and I feel like I’m sixteen again,” she nearly laughed, looking at Maddie. 

She wondered vaguely what the current conversation might look like instead if she had just told Maddie what actually was going on at sixteen instead of lashing out at her just so she could maintain her own self-destructive warpath. Remi stuck her hands into her shirt pocket and twisted her hips from side to side, the soft fabric of the skirt swaying and tickling the backs of her knees. “I’m okay. Taking some baking and culinary classes,” she reported, staring at the ground as she spoke. “I’m… you know…” She glanced up at Maddie, the guilt over what a shitty person she’d been to the blonde stunting her speech. 

It’s funny how oblivious parents could be to their kids’ dramas. Maddie gave Remi’s mum her best nothing’s-the-matter smile, perfected when she was eleven; it was the most effective way to get overly-friendly middle aged women to leave her alone. “It’s lovely to see you, Mrs Voss,” she said. It had been, what, nearly a decade since she’d last slept over at the Voss household, maybe longer. She wondered if Remi ever spoke to her mum about what had happened, or if Mrs Voss had just quietly noticed that Maddie wasn’t around anymore -- or, depressingly, if this was the first time she’d realised it. 

It was probably best not to think about that possibility for too long -- not that it was easy to ignore it, now that she was left with just Remi. Once upon a time this conversation would have been an easy one, two girls laughing over nothing and finding comfort in it. Instead, Maddie’s feet were shuffling awkwardly and she was finding it hard to look Remi straight in the eye. “She hasn’t changed,” Maddie agreed, watching Mrs Voss mingle with the other mums, casting a few odd glances back at the two of them. “My mum’s the same,” she offered, looking back to Remi with a sheepish smile. “It’s like she forgets I’ve grown at all in the last ten years.”

Maddie watched Remi watching the ground, trying to figure out what was going on in Remi’s mind. She’d been pretty good at that when they were younger, but that had changed in 10th grade, and now she couldn’t work out whether Remi wanted her to stay or leave her the hell alone. Something about the funeral was making her hesitant to leave, though; it seemed like a good time to reopen old wounds and have a look inside them. “That’s... pretty cool,” she said, almost surprised to find she actually meant it. “I’d love to be good enough at baking to make a living out of it. I can’t decorate a cake for shit.”

DJ: zombies aren't possible so don't worry!!! only ant zombies have been technically real

DJ: or it would be one of those movies like inception where the ending is not rlly known

DJ: i don't know who could have taken josie's body... did she have any enemies or something?

Maddie: Guess I won't be killing any ants from now on then! Thanks!!!

Maddie: I thought everyone loved Josie

There was nothing Wade loved more than an event, especially one with so much mystery surrounding it. It seemed like the whole town had shown up to Josie’s funeral, and were now stood in huddled groups on the lawn, alternating between glancing nervously at the grey clouds gathering above them and ducking their heads to discuss the delays. Maddie could see people she’d barely thought about in years -- even some people she was pretty sure had moved out of Wade. Looked like news of Josie’s unusual death had spread further than they’d all thought. 

The sheer amount of people made Maddie feel a little claustrophobic. Her family had dispersed into the crowd, finding their own little groups to gossip with, leaving her stood alone at the edge of the lawn. The longer she waited, the more her stomach twisted uncomfortably, the nervous energy pulsing through the townspeople leaving her on edge. She scanned the people nearest to her, trying to find someone to talk to, and her eyes settled on a familiar face, stood just a few feet away, looking back at her: Remi. 

For a heartbeat or two, she considered pretending she hadn’t recognised Remi. She could leave the funeral altogether; the Johnsons wouldn’t notice if she didn’t pay her respects with the rest of the town. She hadn’t been that close to Josie, or the family. If it had been ten years eariler, she absolutely would have run away -- but she liked to think she’d grown up at least a little since then, and could have a civil conversation with Remi. They’d been friends, after all, hadn’t they? And they both still lived in Wade; they couldn’t avoid each other forever. 

Maddie took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders. It’s like ripping off a bandaid, she told herself: you’ve just got to be brave, rip it off, and then it’s over. “Remi,” she said, pasting an attempt at a smile onto her face. “It’s been-- well, it’s been a while. How have you been?”

DJ: if zombies were real, i'd be terrified

DJ: whatever's happening, red doesn't deserve it

DJ: i don't even know what is happening

Maddie: Oh god please don't make me worry about zombies on top of everything else

Maddie: But at least if it was a film there'd be some kind of neatly tied-up ending

Jasmine nodded, surprised that this Danny person backed down so easily. “Oh, so Danny’s his name, huh? I guess I’m going to have to make a call to one of my detective friends and get his home address so I can shove my fist into his face,” she commented, the adrenaline and anger still pumping through her veins. “Why the fuck are you sorry? He should be the one apologizing for making comments like that in public. I mean he shouldn’t make them, but to say that shit when there are people around? Unacceptable,” she ranted.

In that moment, she instantly felt protective of the other. To be honest, she never had to endure what Maddie had endured but she sympathized with the other. She quickly pulled Maddie into an embrace. “Sorry if you don’t like hugs,” she laughed as she quickly pulled away after. “I’m sorry that people are so rude and inconsiderate towards you. You glow and you are wonderful and all that matters if that you love yourself and you see your worth outside of the stupid comments people make because they’re dealing with their own problems.”

Maddie barked out a breathy laugh, unsure how serious Jasmine was being. She knew Jasmine was a lawyer, and while lawyers do have a track record for being ruthless, punching some dickhead who hadn’t developed mentally past middle school seemed a little extreme. Although, if Maddie was honest, she’d quite like to see it happen. 

The hug threw her off-balance again. Jasmine was surprising; Maddie, interestingly, found herself liking that. “I’m a hugging girl,” she reassured Jasmine, a smile creeping onto her face, quickly followed by a blush at Jasmine’s compliments. “If you do punch Danny, will you give me a heads-up before? I’d pay to watch that.” She paused, and then added, awkwardly, “Thanks, though. Um, I’m not sure I’m glowing so much as sweating but... it was really cool of you to step in.” Compliments weren’t something Maddie was good with. She was quite sure how to respond, so instead she tended to fumble around until she came up with some silly joke, an attempt to brush off the kind words. 

DJ: a horror film at that

DJ: no, i want to know too

DJ: but mostly just because i want red to have some peace

Maddie: Oh god for sure

Maddie: I can't even imagine how awful he must be feeling rn

DJ: right? the whole body? just gone?

DJ: i'm... fine i guess

DJ: and you?

Maddie: It's like something from a film, it's mad

Maddie: Yeah, fine pretty much sums it up

DJ: that was

DJ: something

Maddie: Jesus, I know

Maddie: Poor Red, it's not like he's been through enough already or anything

Maddie’s quick on her feet. It’s something Jaylen’s caught onto. Sometimes trying to keep up with her is a bit of mental gymnastics, but he’s always appreciates the work out. He snickers along with her, opening his mouth a bit wider and clapping his hands together. “Go,” he insists, giving her the time to toss a fry into his open mouth.

It might have been a diversion, but Jaylen finds his way back to their original subject matter moments after. It isn’t difficult, after all. It’s easy to hang onto it with the way Maddie’s face crumples. Well, not quite crumples. It stretches. And it stretches perhaps a touch too wide. Her smile becomes as plastic as some of the more questionable nose jobs Jaylen’s seen from PTA moms around Wade, the ones who sport lap dogs in their fake designer purses that their husbands bought them as a cheap apology for forgetting their wedding anniversary three years in a row. And when something is off, Jaylen’s ticking like an old stop watch.

Her flattery almost works. Almost. But it’s a touch too hollow— sweet but artificial, like aspartame. “I get it,” he nods, looking moderately convinced. “I’mma tough act t’follow…” He offers a smirk that lasts all of two seconds before he’s resting his elbows on the table, tilting his head and letting out a little sigh. “And the Josie’s stuff’s… y’know, a lot. But forreal, I like talking to you, and I like to think you like talking to me, maybe, a little. So if you gotta talk… talk, man.”

Maddie blinks, taken aback by Jaylen’s sincerity. It’s not often that she’s on this side of a serious conversation -- it’s even rarer that she can’t slip out of it with an easy joke and a smile. Usually she’s the one who pushes gently until people tip over the edge they’re teetering on and spill whatever it is that’s on their mind. She’s made an art of it; just the right amount of sympathy and support, a touch of humour, just enough strength to make them feel like they can give you their problems and you’ll carry them, too, but not enough to remind them you’ve got your own burdens to carry.

She hadn’t ever realised just how beguiling the draw of it was, but now, with Jaylen sat across from her with his face open, giving off a definite vibe of caring, she suddenly just wants to tell him every little worry and fear and nervous drip of self-doubt that’s dug its claws into her head so far that afternoon.

But a lifetime of bottling-up makes for a hard habit to break. “I’m not... very good at talking,” she says, biting down on her lip as a self-conscious smile ticks up her mouth. “Things just get kinda loud in my head sometimes, and it’s easier to just, I don’t know, pretend they’re not there?”

     Catching the shebeast herself eyeing up Maddie, Patch decides to do something to pull that attention away. He swallows some air, holds up a finger to Maddie to say give him a second. Once his stomach is full with enough air, he turns his gaze to Agatha and unashamedly lets that air go in a rather loud burp. To top it off he shoots the old woman a wink when she glares heat daggers at him before turning his attention back to Maddie. “You’d think being mad all the time would be so tiring. How is she not taking constant naps from it?”

Patch runs a hand through his unruly locks, not to neaten them, God no- nothing could save that mess, but simply to keep his hands busy. A low chuckle escapes him at Maddie’s comment and he shakes his head in somewhat of a fond manner. “Tiny brains in a tiny town. Bet their dreams are all beige coloured and about something boring- like taxes. Dreams of beige offices and filing their taxes.” He makes a gag noise at the very idea. “I’ll stick to my glitter motorcycle driven by Shakespeare the Cyclops.”

Patch’s ridiculous distraction sends Maddie off into another round of laughter, which only intensifies when Agatha flounces off, her face drawn into a thundery scowl.  “I wouldn’t nap at all if my dreams were tax-based,” Maddie points out once she’s got her breath back, wrinkling her nose up in disgust. She can’t think of anything worse -- even the panicky nightmares that sometimes wake her up are at least more interesting that a night spent filling out forms. “Although maybe she enjoys it. She looks the type.” Dropping her voice to a (slightly cruel) croak, she imitates Agatha: “Can’t wait until I can get back to my dream accounting, and then after that I’ve got some priceless antiques that need dusting!”

She follows it up with a warm smile, returning to her normal voice to add, “I’m glad you’ve managed to find yourself a sparkly cyclops even in the middle of Wade. It’s pretty impressive, if I’m honest. Most people just get trapped in all the beige.”

Mason offered the other woman what she hopped would be a soothing smile. “Relax, Mads. It won’t be anything insane. We could always steal a street sign. Go streaking. Sneak onto private property…” When she noticed that Maddie didn’t seem to be any more convinced, she reeled it in, becoming sheepish. “Jaywalking?”  

Resting a hand affectionately on Maddie’s arm, she leaned in to look at the notebook again. The list had gone through a number of drafts before she’d settled on the current iteration, and even then she knew there would be a couple things included that Maddie might be hesitant if not out right reluctant to try – granted, not as many as there had been in draft two. But the whole goal of the M&M list had been to help Maddie come out of her shell. Mason knew, instinctually, that deep inside the other girl rested a wild tigress just waiting to be released, and she wanted to be the one to open the cage. It might not be the same brand of wild that she personally subscribed to, but that was okay. She didn’t want Maddie to change who she was (especially since Mason rather liked who she was; liked it a whole lot, in fact), she just wanted her to stop doubting herself so much. It was almost as if Maddie had relegated herself to a supporting character role in her own life when Mason knew that she was meant to be a leading lady. 

“We can start small and then work our way up to the bigger stuff,” Mason explained. “And this ain’t a dictatorship, you can totally veto the ones that are way out of your comfort zone. But you know… You only grow when you’re uncomfortable.” 

With a small laugh, she took the arm that had been resting on Maddie’s arm and slung it over her shoulders. “You’re totally in good hands because I am very good at being uncomfortable. One might even say, the master in the art of being uncomfortable”

Maddie swallowed down another twang of discomfort -- was she really so tightly-wound that even the idea of steal something made her scared? She was pretty sure that wasn’t how 25-year-olds were supposed to look at the world. “Maybe we’ll leave that one for a bit,” she suggested. “I like the idea of starting small.”

She offered Mason a sheepish smile. She knew Mason was trying to help, and she really did appreciate the gesture. It was the nicest thing anyone had done for her in a long while. And she did need to push her comfort zone outwards a little bit. She was so tired of worrying about everything -- and wasn’t she always complaining about being stuck in Wade, working run-of-the-mill jobs with nowhere to go and nothing to do? She felt stuck and stagnant, like her life was thick, cloying toffee and that clung to her whenever she tried to move on or up or away, keeping her firmly in place. And she hated it, she did. So why was she so afraid of trying anything new? 

Of course, she couldn’t exactly explain any of that to Mason. She didn’t have the words, for starters, and she knew how silly, selfish, inconsequential it sounded. There wasn’t anything wrong with her life -- it just didn’t ever feel like enough. 

Instead, she bumped her shoulder gently into Mason’s and flashed a warmer, more genuine smile. “I think I need a little bit of uncomfortable in my life,” she agreed. “It’s a good thing I have you, huh? So,” she decided, looking back down at the list. “Let’s do this. Today. Before I change my mind. Where should we start?”

     Patch knows he’s not exactly the picture perfect son or local. He gives zero fucks about his appearance, writes jingles, sleeps around, and ruins most relationships he falls into. But that’s- just Patch. While the older generation in town weren’t his biggest fans for it, Patch didn’t really care. In his mind, which he rarely speaks out, is that they’re going to die before him so they can stay mad. 

An actual genuine laugh escapes Patch at the comment on the other’s lack of thinking since the war. He doesn’t usually laugh but there’s the occasional rare moment. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she thought the war was still going on.” He waits for the answer and upon getting it claps his hands together. “Bingo! Bears can swim and walk on land, Jaws just snacks on boats and dries out on land. The bear is obviously going to win. Knew you’d get it right, only person so far. Wade is really letting down the Bear verses Shark community. Next they’ll say is that Bigfoot and Mothman don’t exist.”

“Well,” Maddie says, her mock-thoughtfulness dissolving into a laugh. “I guess that might explain why she’s so pissed off all the time.” She feels a slight pang as Agatha looks back over at her, her gaze sharp -- but there’s no possible way she could hear what they’re saying. Maddie looks quickly back to Patch regardless, her laughter still hiccuping out of her, although it’s a little more subdued now. A part of her is jealous of Patch’s quiet disregard for other people’s opinions: she wishes she, too, could laugh at a party without immediately worrying what everyone else is thinking when she does it.

But Patch’s enthusiasm is infectious, and makes it easier for Maddie to shake off her concern at Agatha’s looks. “These people just don’t see the truth,” she agrees. “They don’t have the big-brain understanding that we do. You gotta feel bad for them, you really do.”