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"Michael?"
Michael drops his dirty and torn backpack, his knees trembling as he sees his mother. She looks frightened as she inches forward, her fingers reaching out to rub at the dirt on Michael's cheek. Michael's face crumbles despite all the practice he's put into meeting his mother again for the first time. His eyes water heavily, flowing freely down his cheek, creating trails through the grime.
"Mom--" he chokes out, his mouth fishing for the words he had practiced. Michael's mother just shakes her head and pulls him in for a hug, the pair's arms tightly clinging to one another.
"I'm so sorry," Michael finally gets out, his brain rewiring itself. "I--I didn't mean to cause you any harm."
"You're here now," Michael's mother passes his words. "You can tell me what happened later. Right now, you can get cleaned up. I'll start making you something to eat." His mother rubs at his wet cheeks, wiping her hands on her jeans. She pulls away and moves quickly down the hall, leaving Michael to wander through the house he hasn't seen in years.
When Michael sees his face in the mirror, he isn't prepared for who's looking back at him. Sure, he knew he was growing facial hair along with on other parts of his body, but he didn't think he had a full beard. His whiskers are curly, draped over his top lip. His hair is a mess as it always was, but he's kept it short with his Boy Scouts pocket knife. What really escapes him is the aging of the face, the roughness of his skin and the sharpness of his bones. Ten years really shapes a man.
"I'm Luke," a short blonde kid introduces himself. Michael nods at him, but the kid clearly expects him to shake his hand. Michael sighs and reaches out, taking Luke's hand in his. "What's your name?"
"Michael," Michael answers simply, moving his gaze back to his comics.
"How old are you?" Luke asks, his eyes peering over the front cover of Michael's magazine.
"Eleven." Michael reads over the page a second time.
"I'm ten. What superheroes do you like?" And then Michael looks up at Luke, his eyebrow raised in question. All that stares back at him is complete curiosity from Luke. Michael's face grows in a smile.
Michael scampers down the hallway to his own bedroom, shutting the door behind him. He turns around and takes in a sharp breath when he sees the familiarity yet the somewhat distant view of his room. He goes over to his dresser, opening the top drawer, a cloud of dust greeting him. He looks inside and finds all of his old clothes, and he realizes none of this will fit him anymore.
He wanders over to his bed, which looks at least a little less covered in dust, and there's a pile of what looks like men's clothing sitting at the end. Michael shrugs on what fits, and spends a few more minutes getting reacquainted with his room.
Something bright of color flashes in the corner of his eye, and he turns to his nightstand. He brushes away the dust with shaky fingers, and finds his old camp name across the top of a picture frame, letters glued on. He sees his eleven year old self staring back at him along with a boy his same age, Luke. Michael fights the panic creeping up to his throat and turns the picture frame over to be forgotten.
"Luke, Michael! Stick with the group!" a camp counselor yells at them, and they both groan at each other before continuing on their hike. It's not even a moment later before Michael is plopping himself down on the ground.
"I need a break," Michael moans, reaching into his backpack for his water bottle. He chugs generously as Luke stops to turn and look at him. He looks back up to the group then back at Michael and decides to sit with his friend instead of enduring any more suffering.
Luke reaches into his own backpack and grabs his water bottle, drinking considerably slower than Michael. Pretty soon, all sounds of their group disappears, and it's just the two of them and the expanse of the woods. Luke looks at Michael and smiles. "We're the worst Boy Scouts ever if we can't even hike up a mountain."
Michael rolls his eyes. "Don't need to know how to climb up a mountain to be able to survive. Only need to know how to run down one because of bears." Luke laughs and takes another sip of his water.
Luke looks up at Michael again and notices something reddish-orange behind him peeking through the trees. "What's that?" he wonders, standing up.
Michael peers over his shoulder, not seeing what Luke does. "What?"
Luke slings his backpack back over his shoulders, motioning for Michael to follow him. "C'mon." Michael stands up reluctantly and throws his own bag over his shoulder. He follows Luke through the tall trees, careful where he steps.
The trees are thick, but they break away enough for Michael to see what Luke is talking about. He's suddenly just as curious as Luke. As they get closer, the shape takes form, and they stand in awe at its side.
"It looks like a fort," Luke observes, walking around to the side opposite of where they came from. Michael gazes at the mountain of huge red rocks piled on top of each other, an overhang just long enough to provide shade. Michael agrees; this is definitely manmade.
Luke is about to step inside when the boys hear their names being called from the way they came. Luke whips around to Michael. "We can't let them see this! We need to go." Luke grabs Michael by the arm and starts sprinting back to the trail.
"How much longer?" Michael pants out, his face drenched in sweat. He shines his flashlight over the trees along the side of the hiking trail.
"We should be getting close," Luke answers. It was his idea to come out here at night when they had no responsibilities and even less people looking for them. Luke shines his flashlight through the woods, too, and then he shouts, "there!"
Luke and Michael climb through the woods again, coming into the clearing with the red rock fort. As Luke looks up, he notices the break in the trees offers a nice viewing area of the stars.
He chatters excitedly to Michael, "Look up! Oh, wow! That's the Little Dipper right there. And Orion's Belt! Oh, man, this place is great for looking at stars. They're so bright!"
Michael looks up and thinks they look pretty, but he's clearly not as excited as Luke. "You know, I love the stars. I want to be an astronomer when I grow up. I have my own telescope! I brought it to camp, too! We should bring it up here next time."
Michael lets Luke keep talking as he steps inside the fort, shining his flashlight on the red stones. The walls of the fort are in layers, too thick to see through. It almost looks like no one was ever here, but Michael knows better since it exists in the first place.
"This place is cool," he tells Luke.
Michael fidgets his fingers as he sits across the room from his mother. She has a strong hold of her gaze on him, but he can't meet her eye. His full stomach churns from his meal, and it doesn't help with how unsettling it is that he's in this house again after such a long time.
"You look so different," his mother supplies. He knows it's true. Not only is his beard new, but he's much taller, which shows in how his pant legs, even men's, don't reach his ankles. He's broad, too, his button up stretching across his back. He's thin, you can see his ribs, but he has a healthy glow to him without all the dirt and grime covering his skin. His biceps and calves bulge with muscles that he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to pull off with his baby fat as a child. His face is weathered from the many years spent in the forest, working to not only survive, but to live easily. He's grown in both strength and skill. He's very much a young man and not at all a prepubescent boy. "You still have those beautiful eyes of yours," his mother counters, pointing her first finger at him.
"You look older, but good," Michael comments on his mother's own appearance. There are permanent droops underneath her eyes, but they're thrown off by the smile lines etched into her face, ones that Michael is glad to see.
Michael runs his finger over the armrest of his chair, his nails scratching at the wood. His mother oozes curiosity, and its nerve wracking.
"How'd you survive?" she asks simply, as if the whole question of death was common. Michael wonders if it actually was for her.
"Boy Scouts," Michael answers, a smile appearing on his face, foreign to his skin. "First thing I did was make a fire."
"How did you eat?"
"I hunted. And fished. It stops having an effect on you after the twelfth animal or so."
"How did you stay dry?"
"I built a shelter for the first few days. Then I found an abandoned cabin and moved in there. When I got older, I was able to fix it up a little bit. I never had electricity or running water, but that's what Boy Scouts taught me to handle."
"How did you bathe?"
"I'd go down to the creek every few days. Also got my water there."
"What did you carry in your backpack?"
"Mostly hiking stuff from Boy Scouts, but it was filled with everything I needed to get started with living in the woods by my own."
"Where were you living?"
"Miles into the woods, at least. Far enough away that no one looked for me there. I never saw any people."
"Why'd you run away?"
And this is the question that Michael gets stuck on. His voice won't come out, although part of that might be from not speaking to anyone for years. But another part of it makes his eyes water, his chest clench up, his hands clamping down on the armrests.
"Luke," he manages to choke out.
"Look at this," Luke orders him, pulling Michael in by the hairs on the back of his head. He shoves Michael's face in front of the telescope, angled towards the clearing of the trees in the sky. Michael leans in to view, closing one eye.
"Wow," he breathes, shifting to sit in a better position. "What is that?"
"It's Jupiter," Luke answers. "Or, I think it's Jupiter. I'm still learning what the planets look like in a telescope."
"It's cool," Michael comments, not really caring. He turns to the fire they built, small, but enough to keep them warm under the fort. Maybe it wasn't the best idea to build a fire while simultaneously trying to look at stars with the smoke and all, but they hadn't thought of that yet.
"Maybe I could get a book from that store down the road from camp," Luke wonders aloud, pulling a chip from his bag and stuffing it in his mouth. "Where would I get the money?"
It's silent between the two of them. Well, aside from the crackle of the fire and the munching on chips.
"Sell your clothes," Michael suggests.
Luke's mother, Mrs. Hemmings, shifts through miscellaneous items at one of the better quality thrift stores nearby. She passes over hundreds of clothes, her fingers already familiar with the textures. She moves from her size to the boy's section, thinking maybe she'll find something for her son.
She's skimming through the clothes before something catches her eye. Just something that reminded her of Luke, but she can't pinpoint why exactly. She picks up the piece of clothing, thinking maybe Luke will like it. She continues searching, and she keeps having that same feeling, and it isn't until she holds them up again to see that they're clothes she has already bought for Luke.
She thinks it's kind of weird that so much of the clothes have shown up in the same place. Did she donate recently? Except she realizes that they're all Luke's size. She knows Luke must have sold them, then.
She doesn't ask questions.
Michael knows Luke has been to the fort without him even though Michael's asked him not to. It's dangerous to be alone in the woods. He also knows that Luke has come back every single time.
When they're together, fire ablaze in their usual spot for it, is when Michael hears the snap of a twig outside the fort. He immediately goes on high alert, his brain already imagining the worst things possible. Luke looks at ease.
Michael gets up carefully, peers around the rock walls. He doesn't see anything. He steps slowly outside of the fort, circling it.
He sees the deer lately, and it's almost in front of him. He jumps back, hitting the right side of his body against the outside for walls. One of the rocks falls out of place.
It's like something out of a movie, Michael thinks. One rock falls, the rest follows after it. Michael can hardly warn Luke before the entire fort crumbles around him, trapping Luke inside. A cloud of dust and smoke from the smothered fire billows in the air above the mess, which only worsens Michael's shocked cough. The deer is long gone.
"Luke!" he screams, scrambling over to the rubble. He shines his flashlight over the rocks, looking for any sign of his friend. All he sees is red. Red, red, and more red.
Nothing moves. Nothing makes a noise. He wonders if Luke is even in there. Then he sees a chunk of Luke's hair sticking out from the rocks, dyed by the dust. Michael moves over, pulling at the heavy rocks until he sees his friends face.
Luke's face is hardly recognizable, blood smeared over his cheeks and nose broken and bent out of shape. His eyes are open, and Michael knows they'll stay open.
Michael sobs heavily, his brain running a mile a minute. His chest heaves, his arms shake as he picks up his backpack and starts running. He has no idea where he's going, but he can't stay. He just killed his friend; he can't stay.
"I didn't mean to," Michael cries in front of his mother. He wipes his eyes, angry with himself that he's still so emotional about it ten years from when it happened. "I didn't mean it! I jumped! I hit the rocks."
"Honey," his mother calls him, and then takes him in her arms. He doesn't remember her moving from her seat. "It's not your fault."
"I killed him!" Michael yells, but his body breaks down in her embrace. His chest hurts with his deep breaths.
"You didn't. It was an accident. You didn't do it on purpose." Michael's mother runs a hand over his back, soothing his flushed skin.
"I knocked it over," Michael weakly argues.
"It's not your fault."
"I like you, Michael," Luke tells him nonchalantly one day. "I can tell we'll be the best of friends. We'll spend our whole lives together."