a bitter taste

Eli knew it took way too long to get home, everyone he talked to in Europe thought he was insane for not rushing back home, but how could he? To be a so called hero of war and be met with the same indifferent attitude by his father? To face a town where he was the golden boy when he just felt something that broke in his chest, when he couldn’t even muster a smile that touched his eyes? To face his own brother as the jaded man he had become? After all he’s seen and done, he was just supposed to act like the past three years didn’t happen and that life continued on as normal? He couldn’t make himself do it. He just couldn’t. 

Then the news of his father got to him, and he began to think. Now that he wasn’t there anymore, maybe Eli could do it. Maybe. Plus, the funds were running low now, and in order to qualify for his benefits, he had to go home, at least for a little bit. The thought made him bitter, for all he sacrificed, all he was getting back was a monthly cheque. Well, it was better than nothing, better than he had before, so maybe it was worth it. 

He stood in that doorway for who knows how long, he certainly didn’t, but it was a good thing that Abraham opened the door, he was beginning to lose his nerve. He was dumbstruck, seeing his brother there, in the flesh. It didn’t feel real, for how long he had been, it felt like he was walking right into the past, his brother looked as he always did and he didn’t know if he was scared or joyous at that. “I am,” his voice wasn’t much loader than his brother’s, a definite change from his usual mannerisms, “I’m.. I’m sorry.” It was all he could think of to say, what he was sorry for? Everything, he was sorry it took him so long to come home, he was sorry that he left Abraham behind, sorry that he left his brother high and dry, sorry that he wasn’t the man he was when he left. 

Abraham knew war could change his brother. He knew that, in some abstract way, when he said goodbye to Eli at the station. He had seen the changes war wreaked on the men who he knew, had grown up next to, when they returned to Redwater. Their blank faces and hollow eyes and weak attempts at smiling at him in the streets. But he didn’t fully grasp, didn’t understand it, until he saw his own brother standing on their doorstep like a stranger. 

Eli was standing before him, but Abraham didn’t feel like Eli was actually there. His brother was like an object underwater, murky and a familiar shape but not quite what you knew. Eli wasn’t the Eli who had left. Eli’s face was lined, stress painting creases in his forehead and around his mouth, and his voice was timid. Abraham couldn’t see any traces of the bright and outgoing man he had waved goodbye to, none of the confident heartthrob that so many girls had swoon over. What scared Abraham the most about these changes was the fact he didn’t know if they fade away or if they were permanent. 

But Eli’s words drew Abraham up short. Eli was sorry? What did Eli have to be sorry for? Eli had survived. Abraham didn’t know what else to do than extend out his arms and draw his younger brother into a fierce hug. He had craved to do this, for so long. To know that Eli was still a solid thing, not some ghost in his memory. Eli smelled of smoke, and the cold air, the tang of sweat (nothing like he ever smelled but that just made it all the more certain that Eli wasn’t a figment of his imagination). Abraham also didn’t know when Eli had properly grown into his shoulders, just that they were now, and rivaled his own in size. Eli was not a ghost, after all. 

“Eli, you don’t need to apologize.” He released his brother, stepping back. “I’m just happy you’re alive and here.” Abraham stopped, flexing his hands, his nervous tic. “I was just about to go for a walk. For my heart, you know. But-” he eyed Eli’s weary face, ashamed now. “You must be exhausted. Please, sit down, relax. I’ll cook dinner.” Evening had dropped down around them, lights going on up and down the way. “It’s late.”

peter + henry.

❛  coffee,  please,  in  the  biggest  cup  you  can  find.  i’d  take  a  soup  bowl  if  you’d  serve  it  to  me.  ❜  the  waitress  laughed  at  henry’s  comment  but  was  gone  with  a  noncommittal  shrug.  his  order  was  a  standard,  the  coffee  joke  in  a  soup  bowl  a  must.  a  sweet  slice  of  normalcy  that  henry  craved  from  before  the  war.  settling  into  his  spot  at  the  counter,  he  smiled  at  his  newfound  companion,  always  preferring  a  meal  where  he  had  company.  shaking  the  other’s  hand,  the  priest  smiled  warmly.  ❛  henry  walters,  it’s  a  pleasure.  ❜  letting  peter’s  hand  go,  henry’s  tone  was  rather  joking  as  he  continued,  ❛  it’s  not  common  for  me  not  to  know  someone.  i  presume  you’re  not  catholic  ?  ❜

“And it’s not common for me to run into someone who asks about religion right away. So either your about to attempt to baptize me with the coffee you’re getting-” at this Peter grinned, “-or you’re a priest. I’m going to go with the later.” He shook his head, smiling, before siping his own coffee. “No, I’m a Presbyterian. Or was. Was and then-.” Peter cut himself off, knowing that Father (it was Father, as the correct term of address for a Catholic priest, correct?) Walters had probably heard a thousand stories of lost faith with this war. “But no, I don’t attend any services of the faithful, so I’m not surprised you wouldn’t know me. Been here long, Father Walters?”

War was always difficult, no matter which way you swing it. Even the celebrations of the war being over weren’t loud enough to mask the lingering tones of sadness, as not every man that left would return home that day. Those were the feelings that sat with the Adler family as they watched others greet their loved ones after their long time apart, and she was happy for them, of course, but longed to be celebrating with Jack alongside them. Jack. Her older brother, her best friend, had not returned home with everyone else. Peggy refused to believe it at first, assuming and pleading to the men that initially shared the news with her that there had to have been some mistake. Her Jack was a fighter, there had to have been a mistake. She spent days following not believing that he was gone, until men began to return home, and he wasn’t one of them. 

She wasn’t surprised to hear a knock on her parent’s door that afternoon, having had some correspondence with the man who had become close with Jack during their time in the war. Peggy could feel her body racked with nerves as the day passed on, however. It gave her family the closure they needed, and allowed them to properly grieve the loss of their son and brother. But for Peggy, it meant that Jack was completely gone, and she wouldn’t be able to get him back, no matter how much she prayed and pleaded. Shaking hands opened the door in front of her as she was met with the taller man, giving him an attempt of a friendly smile to greet him. “Yes sir,” she nodded. “I’m Peggy Adler. Please, come in.” She stepped aside for a moment, allowing him to come inside before closing the door behind them. 

Peggy Adler. Benjamin followed her, drifting. The Adler home looked normal, clean and bright, and Peggy wasn’t out of place in it. But there were cracks in the facade. Her eyes were dulled, her smile didn’t quite reach them. While there were many men who went and came back, there was plenty of those left behind. Who never went but still lost a piece of themselves in battlefields in Europe, in the Pacific. And Peggy was one of those. War was brutal for everyone, but it was most devastating for those left behind to bury those that war had consumed. His family didn’t have to bury him, and he could only imagine the grief that the Adlers were going through.

Benjamin lingered awkwardly on the entryway to their sitting room, seeing the pictures of Jack Adler on the mantel—a baby, a young boy with his arms around Peggy as a child herself, a teenager standing proud with a bike, the face he was familiar with but not lined with stress, standing with his parents in his uniform—an unofficial shrine. He cleared his throat, looking at back at Peggy. “Thank you for welcoming me into your home, Miss Peggy.” He looked around, trying to not shuffle or slump his shoulders. “Will your parents be joining us?”

The old house seemed quite, wind whistling through the chinks in the windows, the floors silent with no creaking footsteps or hushed radio. It seemed desolate. Abraham wouldn’t wish for his father back, not for one moment, but the house was an empty thing now. Abraham didn’t like spending more time than needed in it, preferring to take walks around the downtown docks, talk to the men, see the gulls wheel around the salty air. The doctor said it would be good for him to walk, it would strengthen his heart more. Abraham had his coat and cap on, door open, when a shadow filled it. It was good thing he had been walking so much, because if his heart was much weaker it would have stopped. 

Eli lingered in the doorway, the same dark hair and pale face, but Abraham thought for a heart-stopping moment that Eli had actually died and this was just a shade haunting him. The illusion broke as soon as he thought it, but Eli remained looking haunted, he could see his brother’s eyes darting all around, gazing at him like he was waiting for Abraham to recognize him. As if Abraham wouldn’t know him blind. “Eli... You’re home. At last.” The words came out as hardly more than a whisper, Abraham felt too frozen to move. 

One of the few pleasures he still had from before the war was eating at Roger’s Diner. The booths were as familiar as his own hands, and the staff knew him here. It was a home away from home for him, and his rented room wasn’t feeling much of a home to him anymore. Peter was still waiting for his usual plate, reading some book his landlord had left for him, when a man sat down at the counter a few steps away from him. Peter couldn’t say he had seen this man before, but from the looks of the staff he was a well known individual. Well, nothing for it. Peter set down his book, turning and extending his hand to the man. “I don’t believe we’ve met, I’m Peter Lamb, you are?”

Benjamin wasn’t sure his heart quaked this much since crossing that bombed out bridge in Holland. He had never been to this side of Redwater, the people here dressed much nicer, even with the just ended wartime rations, he could see it. One woman passing on the street even had nylons, and Benjamin felt out of place, even in his uniform. He had to walk into town, where a kind man let him ride in the back of his truck uptown to the address of the Adlers. The man even knew them, said his sister-in-law sang in the choir with the Adler girl. When he got out of the truck, the man waved away the coins in his hand, saying that it was the least he could do for one of the boys who made it back. Made it back. 

That was the grim task that was making his heart shiver in his chest. Coming to the Adlers to pay his respects and hand over the items Jack had collected in Europe for his family. Jack Adler was one of those who didn’t make it back. The Adler house was neat and quiet, just like Peggy had described in her letters to him. There was even the wicker rocking chair her father sat in, on warm evenings to smoke his pipe. Before Benjamin could turn back, he was knocking on the door, sweaty hands gripping the twine wrapped package to his chest to suppress his heart wanting to beat out of it chest. One last adjustment to his garrison cap, and the door was opening. “Hello, I’m Benjamin Goldwater. This is the Adler residence, yes?”

( oliver jackson-cohen, cis male, he/him, muse 39 ) i saw benjamin goldman at the docks doing sketches of the boats. it’s good to see them, i heard they’ve been living in redwater for his entire life making a living as a lumberyard worker. did you know their birthday just passed ? that makes them 33 years old and a pisces, which makes sense to me considering they’re shy and tolerant. i heard they’re thinking about becoming a full time artist. i hope it works out. 

tw: death

the youngest in a family of immigrants, benjamin was the only child born in the us. this sense of displacement has been in his bones since he was born, never quite comfortable wherever he is.

his family came to washington to work in the lumber industry. it was a hard adjustment but his father was enchanted with the lush forests he saw in a postcard when they landed in america. while the reality didn’t match the dream, the goldmans didn’t have the money to go anywhere else.

benjamin has never known anywhere else, growing up and living in the logging camps around petersen’s. while one might think he would be comfortable in the forest, benjamin had a terrifying experience with the forest when he was just a young boy.

benjamin wandered away from the camp while playing and became lost at age 8. he wandered through the forest; crying, running from any noise in fear of bears, and sleeping under fallen tree limbs. His ordeal lasted for 14 days. he was picked up on the other side of the island by a passing charcoal burner, and returned to overjoyed parents, but the damage was already done. he had a deep set fear of being lost in the forest, and never wanted to go into it alone again. 

while the incident made him fearful and withdrawn, it connected benjamin with his inner mind, and made him an astute observer of the world. in his recovery, one of the secretaries from the mill gifted him a pencil set and benjamin learned how to draw. it’s always been a secret love of his, but he hardly shows any of his sketches to anyone.

when war came calling, benjamin was called on, quite against his will. he would have been content to live and die in the woods of redwater, but uncle sam had other plans. benjamin was drafted into the us army and to his surprise, became quite versatile with a rifle, owing to him growing up hunting.  

while overseas, he ran into one of the most charismatic members of his platoon, jack adler. benjamin was surprised when one night, jack revealed he was from redwater, benjamin’s hometown. they struck up a conversation, and became fast friends. jack enjoyed his sketches and encouraged him to become an artist after the war, and benjamin let himself dream that it was possible.

of course, every soldier has a tragedy and jack adler became benjamin’s. jack was killed, and benjamin was the one to hold him through it. he was the one to remove jack’s identification tag and his family’s letter, the one to write peggy, the little sister jack talked about on the nights he missed home.

benjamin escaped the war unscathed (though is anyone ever really unscathed?) and came home to redwater, to resume his position as a lumberyard worker. now benjamin is helping the company define its border, and he’s trying to find his own again. benjamin is trying to come back to himself. 

( tom payne, agender, he/him, muse 41 ) i saw peter lamb at roger’s diner getting a bite to eat. it’s good to see them, i heard they’ve been living in redwater for their entire life making a living as a manger at langberg’s. did you know their birthday just passed ? that makes them 37 years old and a virgo, which makes sense to me considering they’re critical and loyal. i heard they’re thinking about becoming a lawyer. i hope it works out.

tw: implied abuse, death mention. 

peter lamb was the only child of a happy couple of redwater. his father and mother had grown up in redwater and lived there their entire lives and as far as they were concerned, so would their son. they saw themselves as being on the brink of being legacies, and their son would be the start of it.

peter was raised like he was a king of his household. they spoiled him, and told him to reach for the stars. yet somehow, peter didn’t let it go to his head. peter would say it was because he saw how a doctor saved his mother’s life when she was in a car crash with him at age 10 (the event made him want to become a doctor), but he knew deep down it was because he was inescapably lonely.

peter had no siblings, no close friends, and he felt different. he didn’t see himself in the casual violence and anger expressed by his father, nor in the soft surrenders of his mother, he didn’t feel like either of them. and when he played with the children on his street, he thought each one of them felt like him, because how couldn’t they? if he was the only one to feel like this... peter couldn’t stand the thought of that, so he ignored it.  

when peter was 15, he got a part time job as a clerk in langberg’s, in the men’s department. it was there that peter fully realized he was different. other men didn’t look at each other like he looked at them, they were confident and knew their masculine side. peter didn’t feel like he had one, like he was entirely separate from gender. he wrote about it in a doeskin journal his mother got him, and hid it behind the baseboard, never to talk about what he felt. 

?????

he worked again in langberg’s, this time as the department manager. but it was the nuremberg trials, the proceedings that laid the blame somewhere, that gave peter the inspiration to follow again. peter knew he wanted to be a lawyer, to hold criminals to account and help victims seek justice. now the big question is just how to get there?  

( sebastian stan, cis male, he/him, muse 1 ) i saw abraham hartley at the uptown waterfront doing net repairs for his fishing boat. it’s good to see them, i heard they’ve been living in redwater for his entire life making a living as a fisherman. did you know their birthday just passed ? that makes them 37 years old and a cancer, which makes sense to me considering they’re insecure and sympathetic. i heard they’re thinking about starting a family. i hope it works out.

tw: alcoholism, child abuse, death, death during birth

abraham was born to a family already a memory. his father was half out the door always, his mother trying to disappear, the house almost slipping out of their grasp every week. abraham never knew plenty, only knew less.

and then, against the odds, a baby. but then elijah came screaming into the world and his mother did her great disappearing act for good. four year old abraham was left hollow eyed in the corner of the room, holding a bloodied infant, and his father gone to a bar to drink, his mother cooling on the table. that less had finally turned into loss.

his father turned his back on elijah and abraham had to beg from door to door to get milk, had to take his father’s boots off when he collapsed on the floor every night. abraham had always thought he had taken after his mother more, but as it turned out, he had to become her. he had to take care of her husband and her child, and became the heart of the hartleys. 

and yet when it counted the most, that heart failed him. a murmur, a murmuring heart, held him back from the jaws of war, and from following his brother to the great battlefield. but abraham had his own battlefield to contend with at home, taking care of his father, whose hard drinking had caught up with him. he had to take over their fishing boat, had to get up before the sun to set out on the water. 

and while abraham had his own fears and struggles to deal with at home, he worried about his brother, unable to protect him like he always had. he feared the war board coming to his door, being handed a folded flag. but it never came, and ve day did, and he could breathe a sigh of relief. 

and then scarce a week later, his father died. abraham had no money, not even for a potter’s grave, so he stole out of his house one night and wrapped his father in a length of canvas, rocks in the lining. his father slipped into the sound, and abraham felt a burden lift. he could move on now, no longer be that frightened little boy in the corner of the room.