The Outlanders

Principum Et Finis

LANE
Three Years Ago

Writing letters have never been my strong suit. Not because I lack grace in certain areas of my vocabulary, but because I don't know the best way for the person I'm addressing, feel what I'm actually trying to say. I could write one thing, but they could understand it in a completely different light.

I've written and rewritten this letter more times than I care to admit. And note to self: Don't waste paper by writing drafts with a pen. I've practically filled an entire waste basket with balls of crumpled letters. There's music coming from the speakers, but nearly all of my attention is on figuring out the proper way of formulating sentences that the lyrics start to blur. Sometimes, my brain gets ahead of me, and writes down words that I haven't even thought of yet.

Dear Julia,

I'm not very good at writing letters, but here! Have one.

Uh. No. I tear the paper out.

From across the room, my phone rings. I've been leaving it to charge the whole night, that I didn't even notice just how many calls I missed. Finally finding the time to take a break from the long and arduous process of writing, I stick the pen between the tiers of my teeth and pick the phone up. Jackie's been calling me. It's 8 in the evening, and she's called four times in the last half hour. "Go for Lane." I say, soon as I answer.

"Hey, Lane..." Ugh. She has the voice she puts on when there's a big favor about to be asked. "...shooting range?"

"I'm a little busy." By no means am I actually swamped in things I should be doing, but a part of me doesn't want to get out of the room, and hail a cab to get to campus.

"Please?"

"Why don't you ask your boyfriend?" I inquire, just now ripping the page off of the notebook, and flipping onto the next.

"He's busy playing."

"Oh, and it's okay if Lane's busy?" At this point, I've started doodling on the page, a few stick figures, but nothing out of the ordinary. I'm not an artist. "That's what you call double standard."

"Because texting your harem doesn't exactly make you busy."

I pull the phone away from my ear, and lean lips closer to the microphone. "It's not my fault I'm addicting." I'm not texting any of them. I haven't. The entire night, my focus has been writing this letter perfectly. And by perfect, I mean something that isn't cringey and off-putting. "But fine. I'll be there in thirty." Waiting for her response was a no-go, I've put down the phone before she could say anything. The notebook I've been writing on stares me right in the face. I close it, but I take it with me, slipping the pen into my polo shirt's breast pocket before heading out.

Finding a taxi willing to take me from my apartment complex all the way to campus didn't take very long. The traffic is almost non-existent at 8 in the evening, which meant I arrive at the archery range faster than I intended to be. The gym's quiet, and that's in comparison to how it would normally be in the afternoon when the basketball and the volleyball team would be practicing for inter-college games. I was never one hundred percent sure how the archery team's games went, but I do know that Jacqueline needs more practice to land herself a steady spot on the official team.

She greets me with a smile, and lowers her bow.

"Horrible form." I tell her. Although I smile to make sure my comment wasn't taken in offense, she did have horrible form.

We share a quick hug, and she gets right back into the shooting position.

"Raise your chin a little." In another life, I might actually make a decent coach, but that's not the kind of guy I aspire to be.