Hold
Hold on.
Hold on to me.
?Cause I?m a little unsteady.
A little unsteady?
Ian sat, apparently alone, on the small metal steps of his RV. His slate green eyes were distant, seemingly unfocused or lost in thought as he moved through the complex ritual of opening a new pack of cigarettes. They were the kind with the little tab in them, the ones you bit down on or squeezed between your thumb and your finger to break the seal inside the filter, which doused it in menthol. The kid had hated menthol at one point in his life, but as with all things, he?d learned to adjust.
Nance approached from the far side of camp, her steps almost perfectly in time to the rhythmic tap-tap-tap of a fresh hard box cigarette pack against the inside of his upturned wrist. He was careful, particular in the way that he held it, fingers gently but firmly grasping either side of the box. Never, ever leave an index finger across the bottom -- it was easier to guide, sure, but it also crushed the paper. Rookie mistake. She sat down beside him just as he was turning the box over in his hands to begin again. Tap-tap-tap.
For a time, the older woman kept her peace, her deep brown eyes peering out of a face gone to subtle wrinkling from decades of sun and years of worry. She wore no make-up, hair the same mousey chocolate brown as Ian?s pulled back into a knot at the nape of her neck. Her clothes were simple, jeans that looked newish and an old checkered shirt that probably belonged to her husband, or a brother maybe. Ian took in these details from the corners of his eyes without looking at her or breaking from the rhythm of what he was doing. The only noise but for the tap-tap-tap was the soft metallic clatter of the titanium ring in his mouth where he gathered that section of his lip in his teeth.
He was silent, waiting out her inspection.
?It?s good to see you ?round camp again, Ian,? said the lady at last. The kid nodded by way of response, and there was a break in the constant cellophane-on-skin smacking sound as he reversed the cigarette box in his fingers once more, only to begin anew.
?You?re finally starting to look healthy again,? she went on, rightfully anticipating that Ian wouldn?t have anything to say to that. Ian almost never had anything to say--not to an adult, anyway. ?For awhile there it seemed like y?might disappear on us altogether.?
A bitter smile pulled the ring from between his teeth, and the teenager shook his head. The gesture caused curly dark waves to fall into his eyes, and he did nothing to move them.
Nance frowned, clucked her tongue, and it was a maternal thing, a scolding with no sting to it. "I know what you're thinking," she chided, admonishing him. ?You?re a good kid,? she insisted, and it was hard to say just who it was she was trying to convince. ?S?just that there are some really wild stories, is all.?
Ian shrugged, apathetic.
The tapping ceased at last. He turned the pack right side up in one hand, using the other to grasp the protruding tongue on the cellophane wrapper. Catching it between thumb and forefinger, he peeled the zipper free, separating the two pieces of the packaging from one another. Sliding the top one off the box, he left the bottom one where it was, brushing his free hand against the side of his leg to liberate himself from the clingy wrapping.
Flipping the top back, he pinched the silver foil that covered the cigarettes between two fingers, gently jerking it out of the package. Wadding it up in a temporary fist, the little ball of metallic paper was dropped onto the step beside him, alongside the bits of cellophane stuck resolutely to jeans that had belonged to at least three other people before they?d made their way into his possession. Puffing his cheeks out like a chipmunk, Ian blew gently across the newly exposed cigarette filters, clearing away the bits of tobacco that had come loose in the packing.
?So you?re all moved into Mark?s old place?? She changed the subject, trying another tactic only after it was very clear the boy had no interest in pleading his ?good kid? case one way or the other. Nance was leaning back on the step, looking up at the ancient RV that Ian?s cousin had grown up in. To this he nodded, never looking away from what he was doing, which at present was gently lifting one cigarette from the new pack, reversing its direction between his fingers and then carefully easing it back in between its brethren.
Nance had learned sooner than most that getting the McKenna child to talk was virtually impossible; it took an act of God or maybe Congress, or at the very least it took being of an age with Ian. To date it seemed that of the adults in camp, only Mark could actually draw the boy into conversation, though it never stopped Nance from trying. She continued talking to him, and most of the time he let her banter on uninterrupted, but every once in awhile he would actually interject.
Her gaze dropped back to Ian, who was engaged in plucking a second cigarette from the pack and turning it just like the one before it, sliding it gingerly back into place. ?Guess he and that pretty stylist girl are going to make a real go of it.?
The teenager?s lips pursed, his eyes narrowing. ?They?ve been making a real go of it,? he countered, raking his fingers through his hair to smooth it aside before he reached for a third cigarette, and this one he kept. ?They?ve been together since the winter, handfasted since Beltane. Her name is Grace.?
?Has it really been that long? My mistake,? said Nance, only just barely managing to conceal an inward smile as she bit down on her lips. Giving him a reason to defend Mark was the fastest way to get him talking. ?You know how Mark?s always been with the girls?It?s hard to know when it?s serious with him.
Ian rolled his eyes, with an impatient exhale from his nose. He knew the tactic for what it was, and all the same he couldn?t prevent himself from responding. ?You know what they say about really wild stories.? He put heavy emphasis on the last few words, echoing what she?d said of him just a few minutes previous. His gaze slid to her face for the first time since she sat down beside him. ?What do you want, Nance??
?You should really go see her,? she replied, dropping all pretense of ribbing the Gypsy King as she got to the point of this little exchange at last. ?Have you been in even once since you got back??
Sliding his gaze away, Ian made a quick sweep of their immediate surroundings. His attention seemed to linger in a fixed space somewhere in the middle distance, on nothing in particular, for a long moment before it moved on. It was exactly the reason he thought she?d come, and he rolled the cigarette between his fingers restlessly. He wouldn?t light it yet, not with her sitting right there beside him, but his craving for its self-destructive light redoubled even as he breathed out, willing himself to be calm.
?You know I haven?t.?
?So what?s stopping you? Go see her. It?s good for her, you know.?
Swinging his attention back to the grandmotherly-type beside him, for a moment Ian just stared. His expression was skeptical, making it overwhelmingly clear that how ?good? it was for anyone involved was highly debatable.
?It is,? Nance said again, insistent. ?She?s been pretty lucid lately, Mark?s been by three times already.?
Silence.
?Ian, she?s your --?
?No, she isn?t.? He cut in, flatly. ?There?s paperwork that saw to that, yeah??
The woman sighed, looking disappointed, but she knew better than to start that argument if she had any chance in hell of getting the boy to do as she asked. She?d saved her strongest weapon for last, so instead all she said was ?...And she?s asking for you.?
With a sigh, he shifted away from her to put the cigarette box in his pocket, trading it for a pale pink lighter. Shoving himself up off the step to a standing, he moved a few feet away. Fit the cigarette he held in between his lips, cupped one hand around the lighter to protect the flame as his thumb worked to get it lit. Gaunt cheeks hollowing out like a death mask, he dragged fiercely, his hands falling to his sides as his gaze went back to her there on the stairs.
?Fine,? he answered, defeated, and the exhale was a sigh. ?I?ll go see her this week.?
(title and lyrics are X-Ambassadors, Unsteady)
Hold on.
Hold on to me.
?Cause I?m a little unsteady.
A little unsteady?
Ian sat, apparently alone, on the small metal steps of his RV. His slate green eyes were distant, seemingly unfocused or lost in thought as he moved through the complex ritual of opening a new pack of cigarettes. They were the kind with the little tab in them, the ones you bit down on or squeezed between your thumb and your finger to break the seal inside the filter, which doused it in menthol. The kid had hated menthol at one point in his life, but as with all things, he?d learned to adjust.
Nance approached from the far side of camp, her steps almost perfectly in time to the rhythmic tap-tap-tap of a fresh hard box cigarette pack against the inside of his upturned wrist. He was careful, particular in the way that he held it, fingers gently but firmly grasping either side of the box. Never, ever leave an index finger across the bottom -- it was easier to guide, sure, but it also crushed the paper. Rookie mistake. She sat down beside him just as he was turning the box over in his hands to begin again. Tap-tap-tap.
For a time, the older woman kept her peace, her deep brown eyes peering out of a face gone to subtle wrinkling from decades of sun and years of worry. She wore no make-up, hair the same mousey chocolate brown as Ian?s pulled back into a knot at the nape of her neck. Her clothes were simple, jeans that looked newish and an old checkered shirt that probably belonged to her husband, or a brother maybe. Ian took in these details from the corners of his eyes without looking at her or breaking from the rhythm of what he was doing. The only noise but for the tap-tap-tap was the soft metallic clatter of the titanium ring in his mouth where he gathered that section of his lip in his teeth.
He was silent, waiting out her inspection.
?It?s good to see you ?round camp again, Ian,? said the lady at last. The kid nodded by way of response, and there was a break in the constant cellophane-on-skin smacking sound as he reversed the cigarette box in his fingers once more, only to begin anew.
?You?re finally starting to look healthy again,? she went on, rightfully anticipating that Ian wouldn?t have anything to say to that. Ian almost never had anything to say--not to an adult, anyway. ?For awhile there it seemed like y?might disappear on us altogether.?
A bitter smile pulled the ring from between his teeth, and the teenager shook his head. The gesture caused curly dark waves to fall into his eyes, and he did nothing to move them.
Nance frowned, clucked her tongue, and it was a maternal thing, a scolding with no sting to it. "I know what you're thinking," she chided, admonishing him. ?You?re a good kid,? she insisted, and it was hard to say just who it was she was trying to convince. ?S?just that there are some really wild stories, is all.?
Ian shrugged, apathetic.
The tapping ceased at last. He turned the pack right side up in one hand, using the other to grasp the protruding tongue on the cellophane wrapper. Catching it between thumb and forefinger, he peeled the zipper free, separating the two pieces of the packaging from one another. Sliding the top one off the box, he left the bottom one where it was, brushing his free hand against the side of his leg to liberate himself from the clingy wrapping.
Flipping the top back, he pinched the silver foil that covered the cigarettes between two fingers, gently jerking it out of the package. Wadding it up in a temporary fist, the little ball of metallic paper was dropped onto the step beside him, alongside the bits of cellophane stuck resolutely to jeans that had belonged to at least three other people before they?d made their way into his possession. Puffing his cheeks out like a chipmunk, Ian blew gently across the newly exposed cigarette filters, clearing away the bits of tobacco that had come loose in the packing.
?So you?re all moved into Mark?s old place?? She changed the subject, trying another tactic only after it was very clear the boy had no interest in pleading his ?good kid? case one way or the other. Nance was leaning back on the step, looking up at the ancient RV that Ian?s cousin had grown up in. To this he nodded, never looking away from what he was doing, which at present was gently lifting one cigarette from the new pack, reversing its direction between his fingers and then carefully easing it back in between its brethren.
Nance had learned sooner than most that getting the McKenna child to talk was virtually impossible; it took an act of God or maybe Congress, or at the very least it took being of an age with Ian. To date it seemed that of the adults in camp, only Mark could actually draw the boy into conversation, though it never stopped Nance from trying. She continued talking to him, and most of the time he let her banter on uninterrupted, but every once in awhile he would actually interject.
Her gaze dropped back to Ian, who was engaged in plucking a second cigarette from the pack and turning it just like the one before it, sliding it gingerly back into place. ?Guess he and that pretty stylist girl are going to make a real go of it.?
The teenager?s lips pursed, his eyes narrowing. ?They?ve been making a real go of it,? he countered, raking his fingers through his hair to smooth it aside before he reached for a third cigarette, and this one he kept. ?They?ve been together since the winter, handfasted since Beltane. Her name is Grace.?
?Has it really been that long? My mistake,? said Nance, only just barely managing to conceal an inward smile as she bit down on her lips. Giving him a reason to defend Mark was the fastest way to get him talking. ?You know how Mark?s always been with the girls?It?s hard to know when it?s serious with him.
Ian rolled his eyes, with an impatient exhale from his nose. He knew the tactic for what it was, and all the same he couldn?t prevent himself from responding. ?You know what they say about really wild stories.? He put heavy emphasis on the last few words, echoing what she?d said of him just a few minutes previous. His gaze slid to her face for the first time since she sat down beside him. ?What do you want, Nance??
?You should really go see her,? she replied, dropping all pretense of ribbing the Gypsy King as she got to the point of this little exchange at last. ?Have you been in even once since you got back??
Sliding his gaze away, Ian made a quick sweep of their immediate surroundings. His attention seemed to linger in a fixed space somewhere in the middle distance, on nothing in particular, for a long moment before it moved on. It was exactly the reason he thought she?d come, and he rolled the cigarette between his fingers restlessly. He wouldn?t light it yet, not with her sitting right there beside him, but his craving for its self-destructive light redoubled even as he breathed out, willing himself to be calm.
?You know I haven?t.?
?So what?s stopping you? Go see her. It?s good for her, you know.?
Swinging his attention back to the grandmotherly-type beside him, for a moment Ian just stared. His expression was skeptical, making it overwhelmingly clear that how ?good? it was for anyone involved was highly debatable.
?It is,? Nance said again, insistent. ?She?s been pretty lucid lately, Mark?s been by three times already.?
Silence.
?Ian, she?s your --?
?No, she isn?t.? He cut in, flatly. ?There?s paperwork that saw to that, yeah??
The woman sighed, looking disappointed, but she knew better than to start that argument if she had any chance in hell of getting the boy to do as she asked. She?d saved her strongest weapon for last, so instead all she said was ?...And she?s asking for you.?
With a sigh, he shifted away from her to put the cigarette box in his pocket, trading it for a pale pink lighter. Shoving himself up off the step to a standing, he moved a few feet away. Fit the cigarette he held in between his lips, cupped one hand around the lighter to protect the flame as his thumb worked to get it lit. Gaunt cheeks hollowing out like a death mask, he dragged fiercely, his hands falling to his sides as his gaze went back to her there on the stairs.
?Fine,? he answered, defeated, and the exhale was a sigh. ?I?ll go see her this week.?
(title and lyrics are X-Ambassadors, Unsteady)