The Multitudes Within Me (Sequel to The Sound of Ice)

PART TWO - 21

Six years old. "Don't do that," said Tom.

I bent down on the sidewalk, poked a caterpillar gently. The concrete was damp, fresh after a rainfall, and the sky was cloudy and blue. "Did you know that caterpillars have twelve eyes?"

"No, I didn't know that. Let's leave it be, okay?"

"I think he's trying to find his family."

"Yeah."

I took his hand, calloused and sturdy, scarred and protective, squinted into the sun. His plaid shirt, the smoky smell of his cologne.

Nine years old, watching hockey in the living room. His Maple Leafs jersey, Chinese take-out, the sound of the old washing machine rattling in the laundry room.

"Oh, come on, Sundin," Tom muttered. "Should've had that shot."

He leaned back comfortably against the old plaid sofa, rubbed his neck and winced. "Long day at work." Brown hair starting to grey, kind wrinkles around his blue eyes. "How was your science quiz, by the way?"

"I got a 100."

"Sam!" A rare smile - he didn't show emotion very often, but I loved it when he did - a proud nod in my direction. "Way to go! A 100, wow! You should see my grades back when I was your age - horrible, absolutely horrible."

I sat on my hands, smiled back.

Twelve years old. The middle of a wet summer - bugs chirping, dewy grass, deep blue sky - standing at the cemetery, placing yellow flowers by the gravestones.

Calloused hand on my shoulder. "I wish you knew your mother, Sam. She'd teach you things I couldn't. I have to sit down and tell all about her, one day. The trouble we would get into as kids, my god."

"But you're great, Tom." The realization that Tom never wanted kids, but he raised me anyway.

Fourteen years old, tears at the dinner table.

"Who did that to you?"

"No one!"

"You can't let people bully you, Sam."

"They tell me I'm a nerd."

"Because you're a bright student? They're jealous."

"No, they're right. No one likes me, Tom. Grade nine sucks."

"You have Trina."

"She only likes me cause I'm smart."

Calloused fingers aggressively ruffling my hair. "Well, I like you for you. Gimme your plate. I'll clean up tonight."

Seventeen years old.

"I don't know how to tell you this," I said. "Don't be mad."

A tilt of the head, his eyes scanning me up and down - the light catching on his weathered face, difficult to read yet compassionate at the same time.

"I like a boy."

"You're gay?"

"I guess so."

"Cameron?"

Looking away, pulling my hands inside of my sweatshirt. "It's obvious?"

"Well, I have known you your whole life. Cameron's a good kid. So are you."

"You're not disappointed?"

"Disappointed? Of course not. I could never be disappointed in you, Sam. I love you. You know that."

Hard to speak. "I love you too."

And seventeen again, on a cold day, snow whirling angrily from a grey sky, Tom's plaid shirt standing in the darkened kitchen.

"I went to the doctor's today," he said. "I found out I have cancer."

So casually stated, the way he always stated things.

"Cancer?"

"No need to worry. Doctors here are good."

"Cancer - what? What type of cancer? What does this mean? Do you need anything?"

His calloused hands good-naturedly clapping me on the shoulder, a sad smile. "I said there's no need to worry." 

A/N cam and sam reunion next chapter, promise