Life I Left Behind (A Daryl Dixon Story)

Chapter Seven

Charlie

13 Years old

The sun had just begun to set as I raced through the field behind my house, headed for the woods. The sky looked like a watercolor painting, all pinks and oranges. I didn't stop to look too hard, though. I was already running late thanks to momma and daddy. I tried to avoid telling them where I was off to, but daddy stopped me on my way out the backdoor. He said my face look guilty, although I wasn't sure what exactly he meant by that. Needless to say, they finally wheedled out of me that I was having a campfire at Daryl's. I waited to get shot down, wondering how long Daryl would wait for me before he realized I wasn't coming.

They left me seated at the kitchen table with Gabe, saying they had to talk about it in the next room. I didn't get why they couldn't just talk about it in front of me, but whatever. I watched as Gabe spooned applesauce into his mouth, although he was getting more on his face than in his actual mouth. I smiled a little, reaching across the table and wiping his chin with a napkin. Gabe grinned and took another spoonful, this time purposely missing his mouth and smearing applesauce all over his cheeks and nose.

"Gabe, honey, you're makin' a big mess." I heard my mom sigh as she walked back into the room.

I felt impatient. "So? Can I go?" I asked, looking between both my parents.

My daddy surprised me by nodding. Then, even more surprising, reached into the cabinet over the fridge and handed me a bag of marshmallows. "Have fun, and come home before it gets too late." I didn't wait for them to change their mind, grabbing the mallows from his hand and shouting thank you over my shoulder as I ran out the door.

I made it through the small stretch of woods between our houses and came out on the other side. I could see a small fire burning quite a ways behind the house and slowed down to a walking pace. Ever since Daryl's momma had died, my parents had been pretty lax about the amount of time I spent with him. Before, they used to hate the idea of me hanging around "that Dixon boy", as they so fondly liked to call him. Now, though, I think they either felt bad for him or saw that he wasn't any more of a bad influence on me than anyone else was. Either way, it made me happy.

After that day at the creek, when Daryl first found out about his mama, I had been sure that was the end of us being friends. Even though I had stopped feeling mad at him by the time I had stomped all the way home. I guess Daryl stopped being mad too because the next day he had showed up at my house with a red bucket asking me to help catch some frogs. So we did. We didn't talk about what had happened, but I guess it didn't really matter. We were still friends. That was the important part.

"I thought you we're never comin'." Daryl greeted me, a grin on his face. "Had to wait for yer momma and daddy to give you permission?" He teased.

I rolled my eyes. "Well, I'm here, aren't I? And I got these." I raised the bag of marshmallows in my hand only to have them snatched away by Daryl almost instantly. "Hey!"

He smirked at me, opening the bag and popping one into his mouth. I made a face at him before plopping down on grass in front of the tiny fire pit. "You know, they taste better if you actually cook 'em."

Daryl shrugged, popping another one into his mouth. He offered me the bag and I took one, enjoying the sweet taste and the strange mushy texture. It was quiet for a moment as we watched the sun sink completely and darkness spread over the sky like a blanket. That was the one thing I always liked about living in the country. You could see the stars no matter where you were. There weren't any street lamps, or brightly lit fast food signs for miles. Sometimes, it got so dark, you couldn't even see your own hand in front of your face. I shivered a little, glad I had remembered to bring my flashlight for the walk home.

"Ya wanna hear a scary story?" Daryl suddenly asked. He had a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Your stories aren't even scary. Unless they're about Merle." I joked. Even Daryl laughed, which made me laugh harder in turn.

"No, this is a good one, I promise! It's true. I think. I dunno. Merle told it to me."

I looked at my friend skeptically. "Alright, if you say so. Go on."

Daryl handed me the bag of marshmallows as he dove right into the story. I absentmindedly ate at least another five or six as I listened to him talk. He wasn't wrong. This was one of his better ones. Normally, his scary stories started off good and he ended up making up the ending so by the time he finished, nothing really made sense and it was more funny than scary. I pretended not to be scared, but I think Daryl knew otherwise, judging by the satisfied expression he gave me once he had finished. I didn't say anything for a second before clearing my throat.

"That one was alright, I guess." I said, shrugging my shoulders.

Daryl rolled his eyes. "Yeah, right. Have fun walkin' home through those woods tonight." He smirked.

I glared at him halfheartedly. "I'll be fine, don't you worry." It was my turn to tell a story then.

We did this for what felt like hours, until the fire had ebbed away and there was nothing much left besides a few embers. I knew it was about time for me to go home. Pretty soon I'd hear my daddy's voice hollering for me to get back. I tried to pretend I wasn't worried about walking through the woods. I had done it a million times, but I didn't want to admit his first story had freaked me out a little bit. Daryl must have known, though, because when it came time to leave, he walked me all the way home to my backdoor.