Page 32 of Our Own Light

“Alright, let’s head back,” Ollie said, holding out the rifle. “Here.”

Looking at the Vetterli, Floyd’s mouth set to a frown. He thought about how Ollie tended not to finish things. Like college. Or books. Which was a shame. Because Ollie had a real potential inside of him.

“Nope,” Floyd said. “We can head back once you hit one of them bottles.”

“Well, then I hope you like living in the woods,” Ollie said, sarcastic-like.

“It takes practice, is all.”

“I’ve been practicing.”

“You only fired a couple of rounds.”

“More than a couple,” Ollie said, starting to raise his voice. “I’m shit at this, Floyd. I can’t aim right.”

“You ain’t sh—” Floyd caught himself. “You ain’t that. Like I said, you need practice. Look how fast you’re taking to mining. Don’t sell yourself short, Ollie.” Floyd came up beside him. “I can help you. Ready your shot.”

Ollie brought up the rifle, and Floyd came up behind him. Floyd helped adjust Ollie’s positioning, lifting the butt a little higher so it would rest closer to his shoulder, rather than the fleshy part near his armpit, where he’d been steadying it before. Next, Floyd pressed Ollie’s elbows in and instructed him to keep them that way.

All the while Floyd’s heart was hammering ferociously in his chest again, and the intensity of it—the pure energy of it—made him think of an old Model T. It was like every touch between the two of them was one more turn of the hand crank, each one building upon the other ’til a spark of fierce yearning had roared to life inside of him. Desire continued to rumble, the force of it nearly causing Floyd’s body to shake.

“Alright, now you need to relax your body,” Floyd said, as much to himself as to Ollie. Backing off, he said, “Try to control your breathing. Slow and steady.”

Ollie fired. And missed. He lowered the rifle.

Before Ollie could protest, Floyd came up behind him and forced Ollie to lift it by raising his arms.

“Ollie, you can do this,” Floyd said close to Ollie’s ear, his voice low and stern. “I want you to try one more time.”

Ollie turned his head slightly, locking eyes with Floyd, and the two of them were close enough that Floyd could feel the warmth of each of Ollie’s exhales. He fought to keep his expression neutral, though on the inside, he was feeling what somehow seemed like two hundred crazy emotions at once.

“Alright,” Ollie finally said. “One more time.”

Floyd nodded curtly and backed away. Ollie took his time readying himself for this one. Floyd could feel a change in him, a tiny flame of determination, one that hadn’t been there before. He prayed to God that Ollie would succeed. Golly, how he wanted the two of them to celebrate together.

Ollie pulled the trigger, and then one of the bottles exploded.

“Holy Moses!” Ollie looked excited enough to leap out of his own skin. “I hit one!”

“Nice shot,” Floyd responded with a proud smile.

“Thank you,” Ollie said before holding out the rifle. “Can we head back now? I’m starving. All that success really worked up my appetite.”

“Yeah, we can. Go fetch the rest of them bottles. We can use ’em next time,” Floyd said, taking the rifle from him. “Be careful not to cut yourself.”

And Floyd’s still-hammering heart was happy that Ollie was happy too.

***

Later that evening, Floyd and Ollie were sitting together on the couch while Josephine and Effie finished cooking supper. Josephine liked to help in the kitchen sometimes, which was nice, though sometimes it meant that the food might be either a little too salty or too sweet, depending on what they were making. Floyd hoped that Ollie wouldn’t mind. It was just one of them things about having kids, especially when you’re someone like Effie, who liked encouraging Josephine’s independence and creativity, even at the expense of her taste buds.

“Supper’s ready!” Effie called.

They all sat together for some bean stew, which, surprisingly enough, wasn’t too overly seasoned, and Floyd was happy to see that Ollie seemed to like it, too. When Josephine caught Floyd’s eye, he threw her an appreciative wink, which had her giggling.

Throughout the meal, Ollie talked a little bit (or, well, Ollie was Ollie, so “a little bit” was maybe underselling the amount) about his life in New York City, mostly about the entertainment they had up there, not so much about his home life. He told them about music lounges and baseball games and vaudeville shows. It sounded real magical. Floyd had never been in the habit of coveting somebody else’s life, but it was hard not to feel a tad envious of Ollie’s time in New York. He had experienced so much in life already. It was a wonder that he had chosen to leave that style of living behind.

Josephine seemed a little bored of the conversation for a while, her eyes wandering to this and that, her shoulder slumping. But then Ollie started talking about the circus he had seen in Charleston, and once that happened, Josephine was visibly buzzing with energy—her eyes brightening and her face lighting up with excitement. Ollie was painting such an incredible picture of the circus with his words, telling them about people flying through the air and elephants performing tricks and even a man who could bend his body into the shape of a pretzel (Ollie had to explain what a pretzel was, which, once he had, made Josephine real eager to try one someday). Apparently, Ollie had seen the performance shortly before meeting with Fred Donohue.

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