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Raylan’s leaning against Boyd’s locker like a terrible high school movie cliché. He only ever did this when he wants something, needs something that nobody else would be up for.
They became easy friends back when they were kids, riling each other up, being on the same level quickly. Just school and peer pressure, popularity, and all these teenage hormones making it more and more difficult to navigate nowadays.
Every time Boyd saw him he looks taller, when do you stop growing? The tight fitting jeans and the beat up sneakers not helping at all.
Raylan’s got his nose in a book, no school book mind you, something with cowboys or horses or both, if Boyd was one who’d judge a book by its cover.
Debating if he should just walk past and take all his books home, the prospect of Bowman or Bo messing with him was worse than facing Raylan Givens. Maybe.
“Raylan”, not waiting for the boy in question to move, Boyd turned the lock this way and that with swift fingers to not let Raylan see. Raylan moved, paperback forced into one of the back pockets of his jeans and stood to his full height. Definitely taller. Boyd sallowed and opened his locker, happy to have a barrier, flimsy as it was, between them for a moment, shuffling his books inside to collect himself.
“What is it that I can help you with today Raylan?”
“Can you pierce my ear?”
“What?”
Of all the things Boyd might have expected this hadn’t even made the list. Also no please or could or help, no, a demand formed like a question. Maybe Boyd should say no, just to see, but Raylan’s already looking a little frustrated, huffing a breath out through his nose, like a petulant child, like admitting this is paining him.
“I’ve— I can’t do it myself. I can’t see if the angle is right…”
It all makes him look younger somehow more innocent. Like when you’re a teen you think you’re so grown up and your peers feel the same about themselves and then every now and then there’s a flicker of a child, because in the end and in the eye of the law that’s what they still are, scared kids, not wanting to admit they’re afraid sometimes.
“You've tried yourself?!”
One of these days Raylan’s gonna get himself killed, this reckless streak becoming more prominent the older he gets, silly impulsive guy. But then Boyd’s mind wanders, gears turning, generously providing the image of Raylan with an earring, just a small thing, how it would enhance his allure, not a distraction but an underlining.
"I'll get a pin or something from my mama's sewing kit, she won’t miss it. You got a lighter on you, right?”
Boyd nods, throat suddenly gone dry, his, “You wanna do this here and now?”, comes out a little croaky.
“Maybe after dinner?”
“Today?”
“No time like the present” Raylan grins, eyes sparkling with mischief.
Boyd agrees. Maybe too easily and realizes way too late that he didn’t even negotiate to see what’s in it for him, terrible business. How did Raylan always manage to convince him?
What Boyd had really wanted, he thinks on his way home, is to invite Raylan over for dinner, like they sometimes did when they were kids; it used to be so easy. Both their mamas didn’t seem to mind too much, happy to get them out of their respective house for a little while and then returning the favor a couple weeks later.
How Boyd longed for easier times, less worries, less tempers to balance, he just wanted to be a kid for a while and sit at the same table as Raylan, stealing glances, trying to make each other laugh across their plates, barely able to wait before they could go run around in the backyard and through the fields.
But ever since Boyd’s mama had died, he had to step up. You’re the oldest you gotta look after your brother and your daddy, make sure everything is proper.
On top of being a teenager navigating hormones and school and rumors and this grief that sometimes felt like it was gonna tear him in two.
Bo and Bowman pretending not much had changed. Crowders don’t cry. Keeping to himself that every now and then he used to hear Bowman cry quietly at night in the next room. Neither would talk about it. Neither had any knowledge or role model to even try to comprehend how to deal with losing a mother. When a man died in the mines at least his family would get some pension, some support.
Seemingly the only thing that changed was Bo making it a habit to have dinner with his boys, only when it suited him of course. Not that Bo would ever cook dinner, on rare occasion he might bring something home, or one of the neighbors would have brought a casserole, ‘cause oh my god the poor boys, what a sad story’.
Boyd’s cooking wasn't that bad, thank you very much. He used to watch his mama sometimes and he could read a book, and follow instruction when it suited him. After getting fed up with having the same thing over and over he’d started looking through the few of cook books that were still left in the kitchen, little bits of her still remaining.
And of course Bo would never lift a finger in the kitchen unless it was to open another can of beer.
And Bowman, the golden child, was too exhausted after football practice, wasn’t supposed to focus on anything else but training, so dinner most days ended up being Boyd’s job apparently. His resentment for them both slowly creeping in already, like a water stain that grows bigger over years unnoticed until the ceiling breaks.
Eventually, he will get out of here, say adieu to the family business, the hills and the hollers, and be his own man, ideally somewhere where nobody cared about his family name, maybe he could change his name even…
Being able to borrow Bowman’s pick-up, Boyd made good time to get to their spot by the creek. Or so he’d thought before he saw Raylan already sitting there with a flashlight reading the same book from earlier, even had changed his t-shirt to a more raggedy one. Shielding his eyes from the approaching headlights, he dog eared the page and stood with a little wave, backpack dangling from his other hand.
“Wasn’t sure if you was gonna bail on me, Boyd”
“Bowman just took some convincin’ lending me his baby”, patting a hand on the hood of the truck as he got out, “You sure you wanna do this?”
“Yep, got all the supplies”, Raylan hauls the backpack in the bed of the truck and climbs up, making it look easy. Boyd follows suit after grabbing a flash light from the glove compartment and a blanket from the passenger seat.
Carefully folding the blanket and laying it out, “Bowman will have my head if I fail to bring the truck back in pristine condition”
Cain and Abel come to mind, as well as Hamlet and Claudius.
“Alright” Raylan produces a pin cushion, a thermos, and a half empty bottle of vodka from his beat up backpack.
“You a boy scout now? How prepared you are” Boyd mocks him half-heartedly ‘cause he is secretly impressed.
“Saw it in a movie once, even got ice to numb the ear a bit” There’s an unmistakable clinking noise when Raylan shakes the thermos to prove his point.
“And I got the good quilting pins, they’re better I thought, she won’t miss them tonight” Raylan’s face falling for just a second.
Boyd shrugs but wants to follow up. How is your mama doing, Raylan? She didn’t look too well last time I saw her in town. But Boyd bites his tongue.
She used to be a force of nature, just like Raylan is, but her light dimmed more and more every time Boyd saw her, as Raylan seemed to get taller she’d look like she was shrinking into herself, a shadow of the woman he remembered from when he was a kid, when she was always up to something, tending her garden, baking, working on a quilt, she seemed to burst with ideas and projects. Or maybe Boyd just didn’t want to see the unhappiness or the forlorness creeping in, draining her slowly.
It’s not something they’d talk about, not anymore, suck it up and get on with it, seemed to be the county if not the state-wide sentiment.
“I was thinking left side” Raylan’s voice drags him back to reality.
Yeah cause the right side would be gay and you don’t wanna be associated with that in this day and age.
“Sure”, Boyd just nods and gestures for Raylan to lay down so his head is propped up on the blanket, Boyd sets up the two flashlights so he an see what he’s doing, and then shuffles a little closer on his knees, they haven’t been this close in years, Boyd’s hovering over Raylan, hands shaking a little.
“Come on, can’t be that difficult”
“I just don’t wanna hit any cartilage. You want me to mark it? You got a pen?”
“Boyd. It’s fine”, he looks up with is big eyes, serious as can be and reaches out to squeeze Boyd’s hand, “It’s ok, I trust you”
He trusts you to make it look good, to not mutilate any part of him.
Oh he thought Boyd was nervous cause of the whole stabbing him with a needle thing, not their intimate proximity.
Boyd tries hard to swallow down all his feelings and nods again. Then Raylan is brushing his hair out of his eyes and away from his ear, but he missed a strand, without thinking Boyd tucks it away oh so gently and touches Raylan’s earlobe with a fingertip. It’s soft and a little cold in the evening air. Despite the chill there’s heat spreading through Boyd ignited by the contact, can he blame it on being nervous still? Hopefully it comes across as hesitation as Boyd’s fingers linger. At least it looks like Raylan’s nervous too if the flush in his cheeks is anything to go by.
“Wait, the ice!” and with that Raylan moves away from under his hand, out of reach, twisting his body to get the thermos. Boyd was the one who needed that ice desperately, he can’t be sure that the faint light of the moon is covering his blush, he must be red all over, own ears burning.
If Raylan notices anything he’s not letting on.
Shaking an ice cube loose from the flask Raylan presses it against his earlobe, where droplets of water are forming slowly running down his throat. Boyd’s tracing them with his eyes, wishing he could trade. He sucks in a breath to gather himself, “Right, lay back down”
With a big grin and a little bit more pink in his cheeks Raylan lays back down, keeping the ice in place.
“Straight through, don’t hesitate” Raylan blinks up at him.
“I won’t”
I don't want to hurt you even if you ask me to.
Plucking a couple of pins out of the pin cushion to asses their sharpness, once happy with is choice, fishes his lighter out of a pocket to sterilize. Boyd’s sure he’s being watched as soon as the lighter flicks on, stealing a glance at how Raylan’s eyes sparkle in the light of the flame.
“Now, you ready?”
Raylan moves the ice cube behind his earlobe, so it’s propped up a bit and the pin has something to pin into that’s not his neck.
“Yeah, on three?”
Boyd nods, hovering the needle over its intended target, with the other hand gently holding Raylan’s ear, he in turn is squeezing his eyes shut.
“One, two, —“ not waiting for three, Boyd stabs the pin through in one swift motion.
“Fuck! Ow! You f— I should have known you’re gonna do that”
It’s Boyd’s turn to grin, he can’t help the fondness in it, being known after all; maybe it lasts a second too long, when he remembers the ice, the vodka.
“You gotta keep the pin in for a minute” Boyd instructs while getting another ice cube to sooth Raylan’s now burning red earlobe.
Raylan grumbles something in return but lays still, drumming his fingers on his stomach.
Eyeing the vodka Boyd decides to take swig before pouring some on the newly pierced ear. It washes away the bit of blood that had welled up.
“Ow, stings”
“May I remind you, you asked for this”
"You got me there” and he grins again, not the wolfish fake one he’d adopted lately but a genuine thing that reaches his eyes.
Boyd must have been distracted as Raylan is holding up a small little silver ring looking up expectantly. Boyd’s breath catches, his heart skipping a beat. What messed up dream is this?
“Can you put this in? Probably safer when you do it”
Once Boyd’s catches up he realizes it’s a little hoop earring, nothing to be worried about. Carefully he takes it out of Raylan’s fingers and douses it in vodka first, to be safe.
“Ready? Might hurt”
“We’ve come this far”
He doesn’t ask where Raylan got the earring from, perhaps stolen from some jewelery counter, or from his mama's things, or his aunt Helen? Maybe he dared to ask for one, or maybe he got it with money he nicked from Arlo's wallet, that'd suit him right.
“What do you think?” Raylan sits up tilting his head. The movement and putting the actual earring in made it bleed again.
“Hold still a sec”
Confused Raylan scrunches up his nose.
Boyd produces a handkerchief from one of his pockets to dab the blood away.
He’s reminded of Desdemona, the handkerchief gifted to her a sign of love and commitment, and the tragedy that ensued later. Trying not to dwell on the fatal happenings of the play, Boyd remembers in time that Raylan had asked him something.
“Yeah, looks good. The girls will love it for sure” Assuming that was what Raylan wanted to hear.
In fact it looks striking in the moonlight. Boyd won’t mention how the glinting jewelry is in direct competition with the mischievous sparkle in Raylan’s eyes, how the earring will catch the light and draw the onlookers eyes, to his neck, his jawline, the hollow of his collarbone.
"Eye-catching", is what makes it out of Boyd’s mouth in the end.
Raylan looks happy with that. Like he wasn't eye catching enough when he wanted to be (for the right people).
“Shit, what about Arlo? He's already on your case cause of the hair, it's getting mighty long” Please please don't cut it, I'll take the beating for you.
“He’s always on my case, he don’t need no excuses. But I'll take it out when I'm in the house”
Till you forget one day and Arlo will rip it out of your ear. Blood dripping on the floor. (Why does he keep thinking about blood?)
“Just try to remember, and don't let it get infected”
“Can always say I got in trouble. A fight. Something. He'd probably even like that”
“Raylan”
“What? Don’t tell me Bo wouldn’t?”
“There’s plenty of fightin’ at home, I ain't got no need getting into fights at school or anywhere else for the matter”
He pauses, wiping the pin on his handkerchief to then put it back in its place on the pin cushion.
“I guess clean it with salt water, if you got nothing else”
Raylan smiles at that, “You’ve thought about this”
“Only just now. It’s common sense. And we wouldn’t want your ear to fall off” Then you’d have nothing to tuck your hair behind and it would constantly fall into your eyes.
“That’d be gross”
“You’re gross”
It’s an excuse to look at Raylan again, gross certainly not a word that comes to mind.
A speck of blood catches Boyd’s eyes he must have missed it in the faint light. He’s clutching the handkerchief to stifle the urge to lick the tiny drop of blood right off from where it settled in the hollow of Raylan’s collarbone.
Boyd thinks of Dracula or Carmilla, blood being their sustenance and their drug, an otherworldly craving, reveling in the taste, the intimacy of it all, the eroticism of the wound… How is his brain so quick to supply all this information, make all these connections? But it just goes on. Connection. Connections to victims and makers alike, wanted or unwanted. Family or curse? Haunted bloodlines, deeply rooted in the soil. A symbol of life and loss. Life without it doesn’t seem possible.
Boyd’s mind is reeling.
Trying for a steadying breath, he manages to look away. Looks down at his hands fabric of the handkerchief strained around his fingers, discovering a another spot of blood on his knuckles.
Out, damned spot! Out, I say! But he is not Lady Macbeth he does not have the need to frantically wipe it off, quite the contrary. It linger on his hand like a mark, like his own personal scarlet letter. Just the good kind, like a branding, a belonging.
Wracking his brain, he can’t think of an analogy where it ends well. Was he going insane?
“The blood making you woozy? You looked zoned out there for moment”
Boyd can only nod affirmatively. Yes, it did make him woozy just in a different way entirely.
Raylan’s sipping from the thermos, he must have poured some vodka in it, he offers it to Boyd. “Nice and cold”
Shaking his head Boyd says, “I’d prefer not to end up in a ditch tonight and even less so would want any harm coming to my dear brother’s truck. I’d very much like to live to see another day.”
“You could have just said no” but Raylan’s smiling easy and loose, and adds, “Nobody’s gonna miss this, ain’t nobody drinking vodka in the house…” (As if Raylan knows Boyd had thought about that earlier) “…You could find your way home blindfolded, much less drunk”
(I don’t need to find my way if you’re right there)
“Bite me”
Raylan’s grin just widens, Boyd can see his little canines. Shit he’s thinking of Carmilla again, gift and torment. Perhaps the river of blood in the seventh circle of hell would be a better analogy to make him calm down again.
Maybe he shouldn’t do this but Boyd offers before he can think better of it, “Get the bike, I drive you home”
“You— “, Raylan wants to argue but stops himself short, “Alright, for sure” He screws the lid back on the thermos, his smile slowly fading, taking the utmost care packing the pin cushion and tossing the rest in his bag, then hopping off the bed of the truck to get his threadbare bicycle.
Storing the handkerchief safely back in his pocket Boyd gathers all the things to take back up front and watches Raylan haul his bike up. He can’t do this much longer.
Keeping the windows down to cool down and to act as a distraction, they circle back to school talk during the drive, talk about everything and nothing at the same time.
Another shared memory neither will mention again.
Raylan’s getting more and more tense the closer they get to his house.
(We can drive back to the creek and sleep in the bed of the truck? Do you wanna stay with me? We could run away?)
Boyd hears his grand mama’s voice in his ear, singing, ...In the pines, in the pines
Where the sun don't ever shine, I would shiver the whole night through...
Maybe he’s even humming too, but Raylan’s too much in his own head to notice, hasn’t made a move yet to get out just sitting there fidgeting with his new earring.
“You really shouldn’t be touchin’ it so much” Without thinking Boyd’s hand is halfway there to make Raylan stop.
“Salt water I remember” Raylan waves his hand then drops it, after another deep breath he grabs his bag and is out the door.
The car door closes with a quiet thud, and Raylan turns back around for a second. “Thank you, Boyd”
There’s nothing Boyd can say that’d change anything.
How a light on a porch can look uninviting almost menacing is beyond him but at least it looks quiet. So he just sits there and watches Raylan go into the house.