Tuck Sinn

18

When the sun was up in the sky, Becky went inside.

Tom walked back to his own house, feeling light, finally with a full grin on his face. He opened and closed that old creaky door as quietly as he could, going through the house and up to his room. He went into his room, falling onto his bed, his hands coming up to his head. A muffled laugh left him. His face pressed against his sheets.

His closed eyes replayed the sun, the glow in Becky's eyes, and the wideness of the morning air. The first good day in a while. His sheets were soft and worn against his tired face. The air of the house was so quiet, and he settled in that silence of early daylight. In that warm feeling, buzzing through him and staying in his chest. The air was cold against his skin, and had been, but he could only feel it now-- The outside of him touching the freshness of the air, and the inside of him, a fever spreading. Tom smiled against the sheets, feeling so light and swirling. He felt alright again.

The next day, Tom went to church.

Aunt Polly was up early, moving around in the kitchen. The noise of her lifting pots and pans-- of the metal clacking against another metal, of the scrapes and thumps of cooking-- woke him up, and his eyes drearily looked around his room, out the window at the sun, hardly lit. He felt a tiredness, even with being used to getting up this early, and wanted to go back to bed.

Tom let his head fall down to his pillow again, his face against it. The darkness of it surrounded his eyes as if it was the middle of the night.

"Tom! Sid!" Aunt Polly called their names in her thin voice. Tom pushed his head against the pillow harder, even with hardly able to breathe through all the fabric. "Boys, get down here! I'm not suited for yelling like this." She said, and Tom sat up, sighed, and leaned out of bed. It couldn't be helped; he would just have to be tired. Tom turned his body, his feet hanging over the edge of his bed. He got up, and his feet hit the cold hard floor, and he shuffled to find nice clothes to wear, even though it was always Aunt Polly and Becky with an eye for these things, not him.

Tom did his best and got dressed, and as he took off one shirt and replaced it with another, the air hit him coldly.

Now dressed, he walked out of his room and down those creaky steps. The noises were quiet and short and sharp, and then low and thick and as if the step would break, even though they've held up for years and years.

He could hear Sid's door open and close like wind, and could hear Sid's feet padding down the stairs, could feel Sid's bony and sharp shoulder bump against his. It took Tom off his balance, and made him stop; Sid moved past him, each step hardly a second on each stair, not enough time for them to even creak. And then Sid was at the bottom of the stairs, smiling at Aunt Polly.

"Why, thank you, Sid. Tom, hurry yourself up!" She said it in one small breath-- praising Sid, like she had been for years, and then the rest. Tom kept walking again, sighing, letting his eyes roll up to glance at the ceiling. Always a competition he was losing to Sid-- always something for Aunt Polly to get on him about. That turning hot feeling came back to his stomach, and his eyes thinned down to a tired, finished look. He reached the bottom of the steps.

"Come and get yourself food, Tom. We'll be going in a few minutes." Aunt Polly said. She had made eggs, and Tom got himself a plate of them. They ate and then Aunt Polly rushed them out the door.

They could see other families making their way towards the church. "Hurry yourselves up, boys." Aunt Polly said, but her own steps were slow. Moving like she was wading through water. Tom and Sid walked beside her, their hands hovering by her back as they walked. Their feet moved slowly across the old dirt roads.

When they got to the building, went inside to sit, it was already mostly full. They walked slowly to empty spots and sat next to each other, Aunt Polly being the barrier to Tom and Sid. Aunt Polly set her things down and then got up again.

"Why don't you two socialize with your neighbors?" Aunt Polly said, hardly turning to them before walking slowly through the room, her face stretching to smile at the people she approached.

Tom looked around. He just wanted to see Becky. From his seat, Tom looked past faces and smiled at others. He looked and looked and could hardly hear the soft footsteps coming up to him.

"Hello, Tom." Becky said in her gentle voice, and Tom looked to the noise.

"Oh, hi, Becky." He ran a hand through his hair and smiled.

"Well don't I get a greeting?" Sid interjected, and Becky looked over. Tom glared at him quickly.

"Oh, hi, Sid. It's been a while since I've seen you." She said, smiling with a closed mouth.

"That was probably the last time he's taken a shower-- say, Becky," Tom smiled at Sid's scoff, his flusters, and Becky closed her eyes a moment, shook her head, a smile still lingering. "You look real nice today."

"Thank you, Tom. You both look well-put." She said, and then the pastor came to the front of the room and told everyone to take their seats. "See you later, boys." Becky said, walking quickly to where she should be.

Aunt Polly came back and looked at Tom a moment. There was a frown on her face that immediately spread to Tom's.

"We'll talk after." She said, and it left a jumping, a spiking in Tom's breath and heart. But then Aunt Polly looked away and the expression left her face as if it was hardly there at all. And Tom sat and stood and sang through the whole thing, a worry building in the back of him.

The service and the whole thing ended, and they left the church house slowly. People lingered and talked, but Aunt Polly told Tom and Sid to wait while she said her quick goodbyes. They started back home quickly.

As they walked, Tom kicked his shoes against the dirt road, feeling the gritty slide as he did so. Tom hadn't even had a chance to talk with Becky after the service-- Aunt Polly would've given him a look and maybe a whipping if he had walked away from Sid when she told them to wait there.

He was already tired-- he hoped Aunt Polly would just beat him and send him to bed early.

They reached the house and they went inside. Aunt Polly told him to change his clothes, and he did so quickly, hoping Aunt Polly wouldn't see fit to give him a spanking. Sid went to the top of the stairs and waited and watched with one of his sour grins as Tom went back down and Aunt Polly led him to the back of the house.

"Now, I heard from Judge Thatcher in church today." Aunt Polly said, and Tom held in a sigh, running a hand through his hair. "Well? Look at me, Tom." She said, and he dropped his hand, his eyes flicking to hers.
She may have been old and short, but in her eyes and her shriveled voice there was still a harshness that always struck him. "I heard that you have gone to his house in the middle of the night, on multiple occasions. Now why would you do that, Tom? Up and interrupt their sleep?" She asked.
Tom took a breath, opening his mouth. "I don't wanna hear it, Tom. How dare you embarrass me like that! Now pick up these buckets. I'm too tired to be doing heavy lifting." She said, motioning down to buckets of whitewash. Tom exhaled slowly, a sad decompression in his chest.

He picked up the buckets, and Aunt Polly bent down and picked up a big brush. She led him slowly over to their fence on the other side of the house. "The only reason you should'a interrupted their night was to tell Becky Thatcher you want to marry her. Now, you ought to whitewash this fence until it looks fresh as when it was put in here. Don't come to me before that saying it's done." She said, and handed him the brush. The comment left Tom motionless for a moment, and then she shook the brush in her hand to draw his  attention back.

"I'm awfully sorry, Aunt Polly. But I had to--"

"I don't wanna hear it, I said! Get to whitewashing, Tom." She said, and Tom bent down, dipping the brush into the thinned white paint. She started to walk away, then, back inside. "I'm getting too old for this..." Tom could hear her say, and he looked back sadly at her, a darkened, aching curl coming to his heart. He sighed and painted the fence.

The whitewash had faded since last time. It had gotten darker, dirtier, and in other spots chipped, showing the streaky, chipped wood.

He continued.