The more, the merrier? [the immortal frumtum]

R U M  T U M

TMorning breaks through the set of cedars and I’m the first up. Getting up at sunrise when the world is still new gives me a sense of calm to start the day. I’ll sit by the embers of the fire pit and breathe in the smokey smell while the world still offers a chill, before the heat of the day has set in. It’s been weeks since I’ve set out on a trip toward six, and the truth is I got turned around a few times when some bad storms blew us off course toward the colony. Even after all the years I’ve spend reading the stars and tracing directions from the way shadows cast from the tree branches overhead, nature still has a way of showing us we’re not the ones in control.

First rule I teach anyone stepping out of a district is that their future, their life? No longer, and probably never was, in their hands. We’re bound together, better or worse, until we reach the colony. And all the miles that we walk, it only takes a freak accident or a few wrong turns to put an end to whatever history they were planning to write. It’s usually enough to scare some of the knuckle heads of their bad attitudes, and for some of the good ones, shuts them up the first few days. Of course, I let them know I’ve spent my whole life outside the confines of a district and made plenty of wrong turns, so maybe they needed to take it with a grain of salt.

Wandering taught me that – at least, was the first teacher to point it out to me – walking through unfamiliar terrain, the power of the unknown was greater than we’d ever be.

I’d picked up an older woman who didn’t speak much. I compared her to an owl, with big eyes and a way of trying to look bigger than she actually was. That and she didn’t seem to sleep much at night, always waking me to ask what’s that noise? The first week or so I’d humored it, telling her that I’d get up and give a look, most of the time finding nothing but crickets and darkness. Once I found a set of toads that seemed to be making most ungodly thumping. By the end of the second week, I let her know that she could always get up on her feet, take a flashlight, and get a look for herself.

It’s hard to let go of that control for them, I think. It’s like being reborn when they step outside of the districts. Whoever they were between those walls doesn’t exist anymore, at least, it won’t in the same way they’d always known. No one out here would care if you’d been the mayor, or some career that’d trained six ways to kill a man. They were stripped away to the fundamentals. How much could they listen? How could they express themselves? Could they connect with others in a way that was genuine?

It’s amazing how few people seemed to grasp concepts children could without much prompting.

You get too comfortable in seeing yourself folding into the picture of your life. You invest in whatever image brings that safety and security; all that you’ve worked for becomes wrapped up in the ephemeral. When that fades away, they’re left naked, in a sense. They can’t imagine who they’ll be in this new space, having to start all over again. How could they? They’ve lived in a world that’s always taught them the only way they’d ever be happy was to see how well they’d lived based on someone else’s standards.

Out here, under cloudless skies and flush with trees, you couldn’t hide from who you truly were.

Which isn’t to say that most people turned out badly. Just the opposite. They warmed to the freedom of starting again – that simple, invaluable chance to start over – and become the sort of person they’d thought they could be.

Accept the heart and listen to your head (and never neglect the gut). I’d tell the ones that trekked along with me. You’ve got to be smart to survive, but you’ll never be able to go it alone. Not long enough for any of this freedom to matter. That would be a waste, wouldn’t it?

When we approach the colony it’s midday, and I can hear the sounds of hammers going. Another house must’ve been going up, or maybe an expansion. Sherrie, the woman who’d been huffing and puffing alongside me, could hardly believe the sight of our little village. She tried to speak but couldn’t help but start to cry.

Most folks got a little misty eyed. I think when they’d heard about the colony, they thought it was some sort of folklore. That there’d been two fools who’d started the whole lie as a laugh, and after all these years, it’d be nothing more than a wide patch of earth with nothing to show for it.

But together – mostly Freya, but sometimes me – had cleared out the land and fixed up a set of structures that kept us safe. And we borrowed the power of what the capitol had forgotten, the diverse and beautiful set of minds that joined us to start a better tomorrow.

I spent a few minutes hugging Sherrie to let her know, you’re home now. Away from all the sadness that weighed on her. Gone from the oppression of a place that’d told her she’d never survive without them. In the fresh air of a space where she could finally discover her truth. It was my favorite part, hold them through that painful moment of saying goodbye to the person they’d used to be.

When she’d gone off to get settled into one of the living quarters and have a good long nap, I made my way toward the edge of a porch that I’d been dying to see for the three weeks I’d been gone.

“Freya!” I called out, hands around my mouth to get a good echo going. “Freeeeya.” I grinned and clapped my hands. “Fenriiiir.” I started my little coming home dance, shimmying my shoulders and stepping from side to side. A little tradition for the happiest of moments, getting to see the woman I loved, and my boy, after too long away.

“I’m home!”

R U M  T U M

That kiss.

Freya’s lips pressed against mine and I close my eyes, forgetting the moment before when she almost knocked me over. More on account of my legs wanting to give out because I’m so tired, but because I just want to tumble down to the grass with her for a while. She’s soft and sweet like honeysuckle, her hands on my back light me up like the afternoon sun. I want to stay lost in this embrace, to measure out the moment so it gets filed away for when I’m out on a trek in the winds and rain, and could think about only this.

“I love you,” I whispered out, my hands around her waist, kissing her again, “Gosh I love you,” I repeated myself because I’ve been gone these weeks and she likely hasn’t heard it enough; I’d have to say it a hundred more times before I left again, enough for her to have a few for every day I might be gone.

I shivered at her touch, the hair on my arm spiking as she ran her fingers down them. These years haven’t been unkind to me, but I’ve met with my share of scrapes and bruises. I didn’t put much stock into it, so long as I could patch up what needed fixing. I liked to think it was the year or so I’d spent blind, never knowing if I’d see a damn thing again, that sweating the little things was a shallow understanding of the body, and beauty.

When I saw her a bit misty eyed, I couldn't help but swallow down the lump in my throat, too. She'd always make me feel that way, light on my feet and ready to tip over, whenever I saw her smiling like that.

“Food would be good,” I managed to get out as Freya started, already a freight train ready to leave the station. Fenrir was in school, which had taken extra pains to convince him was necessary, especially after revealing the sort of formal training that I’d had. He’d still get all of that, especially when he was old enough to start making long trips with me, too. But for now he needed the sort of teaching that these folks could provide, a proper understanding of maths and letters, of science and philosophy. He hadn’t been convinced, but then Fenrir had a bit of a rebellious sort of way about him. (Gee, who could he have gotten that from, I would tease).

Freya recounted Fenrir’s progress, and I nodded along. He’d talk to anyone about anything (and who did he get that from), and the energy of a lit firecracker, too. A tempest ready to spin himself up into a frenzy, especially if someone were there to wind him up.

I smiled through it, though I could feel a heaviness cross my chest. All those little moments that I was missing each time that I went out to get another districter. I’d think about him when I’d be sunning under a tree, thinking about how he’d be out on the dock fishing or listening to a story at night. Times that were fading fast enough, each year running on just a touch faster than the last. How much he’d grown from the toddler that’d spent most of his afternoons over my shoulder.

'I’m so proud of you, you know?' My ears perked up at the mention of it, and I cocked my head. She’d been running a mile a minute, only to end all of it with a compliment. She’d had a habit of winding up with excitement, only to give a flash of something else building up underneath. A sort of – but – that was coming, but never so up front as it was something that I’d have to parse out.

Her voice was soft as she finished, asking about how the run had been.

I scratched my chin and pointed over to where Sherrie had started to chat with a fellow in front of the makeshift infirmary.

“Yeah, Sherrie… she’s a good addition, I think. Grew up in six and is a nurse, so she’ll be able to help out with that sort of thing. Quick on her feet, single, so she might find someone here, too.” They’d left a note for us months ago about her, the folks on the network in the business of shepherding people out.

“She lost her family in something awful,” I said all quiet. “Said that things are bad in the districts, you know? Apparently someone set off a bunch of bombs in district six half a year ago. Blew up some of the hospitals. Fires everywhere.” We hadn’t talked much more about it, save that she said the folks that had mattered to her had been lost in the fires. She’d been one of the few with a night off when the bombs had exploded. If she hadn’t been, she said she’d have been standing in one of the operating rooms that was vaporized.

“Not too much in the way of trouble. Thought we might have come across a capitol drone but seems like a false alarm.” I looked back from Sherrie to her.

“Things okay here? Sorry if it took a little bit longer to get back. We got a little turned around in the storms.”


And how are you, I wanted to say, but was afraid it might’ve been too much too soon. Better to let things settle before pressing on.

R U M  T U M

Watch her eyes.

The nervous energy told a whole story if you learned to peel off what lay on top.

There’s something to the years that are bound between us that lays out ever wrinkle, every crooked smile, every tear, so that when you turn to look over your shoulder, a look can be more than a giveaway. That’s the secret to all those quiet moments in the woods, even when we weren’t saying much to one another. Staring off at the sight of a white mountain peak, you listen to her heartbeat against yours. You take in the fears, when the thunder rolls out overhead, and you have to plug leaks in a ceiling that wasn’t done just right. When hunger runs through a growing colony and people turn to us for some sort of direction.

But it’s those years that’ve taught me to see Freya as more than just the woman I love (though that’d be quite enough, too). To stay in love and stay together was discovering the world off balance and finding the way to right it again. It was to see that there may not have been an answer in the moment, but to lean in a little closer, to listen, and to feel.

Our hearts aren’t perfect reflections of one another. We’re not teenagers anymore, so I doubt either of us sees a sunset the same way. No matter how much we wish we could be those kids at the foot of the lighthouse, we’re older now, a son between us, and roaming days fewer and farther between.

These old bones haven’t changed so much, though. Still have the same sinews overtop, ligaments stretching and aching at the end of a long day. Same freckles and moles dotting along my shoulder, and down my back. I thought I’d be more afraid to get older, but Freya’s brought me more peace than I ever could’ve had out at the edge of the world. A slow and steady rhythm that pulses next to my own, someone to fall asleep next to, and when I woke in the morning, to wrap my arms around once again.

You breathe in all of that, ten years or more, and when her voice quivers, or she starts to hide behind what she’s said, you notice.

“All right, all right,” I agreed with her. Fenrir away for a few more hours meant that it was just the two of us, and it’d been too many weeks since I’d had that. Even back here, I was surprised a whole crowd hadn’t formed to ask Freya questions, or ask a favor of me. Could you fix up the windows, Rum Tum? What should I do about the stove? Could you help me move a set of logs? I trailed along behind her, and as she finished at the dock, couldn’t help but watch her strip away every piece of fabric before jumping into the water.

I pulled off my shirt and shimmied out of my pants, started with a laugh, and gave a yell before canon-balling into the water.

I spat up a mouthful across the waves and turned to face Freya. The cold had me swim closer to her, and I moved to offer an embrace so we could both float.

“Miss Hanig,” I put on my best capitolite accent and scrunched up my face, before dropping my voice lower. Softer. I embraced the drift of the waves. Marveled at the way the water clung to her hair and dripped down her cheeks awash in sunlight. “Freya.”

I think the greatest freedom I’d ever gotten, was knowing that our love was because of, and not in spite of, the world we’d created together.

“It’s nice to take a rest sometimes, isn’t it?” I whispered. “Been too long, I think. Especially at going it alone.” I didn’t want to press too hard or let on too much. “Things are always better when you’re around.”