A Man's Pride

The Rat

There's a chill in the air this early on in the morning. Light has barely crept its way onto the horizon. I love waking up at this hour, it gives me time to reflect and to read. Once everyone wakes up it's nearly impossible to get a moment of silence. I now sit with my back against the jagged texture of a tree trunk, the tips of my fingers touching a patch of moss. I read a line of text from the pages before me:

Vanity and pride are different things, though the words are often used synonymously. A person may be proud without being vain. Pride relates more to our opinion of ourselves, vanity to what we would have others think of us.

If only I could understand the essence of the human heart as well as Jane Austen did. I suspect I'd be a much wiser woman if I did, though I'd likely never be swept off my feet by a notorious outlaw and a boyishly handsome gunslinger if I were Miss Austen. If I remember correctly, she never married. Smart woman. Marriage is nothing more than a pretty piece of paper. It means nothing, which is why I doubt I'll ever go through with matrimony myself. I sympathize with young ladies who have no choice in the matter, a marriage without love is the unseen imprisonment of the female sex in this century. For those of us who are not so suppressed, it's a wretched thing to witness. I often wonder if sexual freedom is the only form of liberation most women have unless we're willing to adopt masculine roles, of course. I've never grasped why roles must be labelled by gender in the first place. This world traps us under a steel boot from the moment we're born. That's why people like us deviate from societal norms, I suppose. Freedom is all I've ever asked for, yet this supposedly free country has offered me nothing but eternal incarceration. That's why I'll fight for the life that we all deserve.

One thing I miss about travelling alone is that no one intrudes upon my privacy, which is what happens when Micah walks over to me, I'm dreading each step he takes. I figure it's safer to ignore him, so I pretend that I'm still reading.

"Whatcha doin' there cowgirl?" I nearly throw up at his use of the term cowgirl. Does he honestly believe he's being charming? Doubt it.

"If it's conversation you're looking for, Micah. I suggest the mirror, that's the only place you'll find it." He huffs in tainted amusement, seems like he finds humour in my cold suggestion.

"Oh, you're real funny, ain't you? Must've got that line from your old buddy Arthur... you two sure are close, huh?" Micah must really think he's the smartest man on earth to suggest such a thing. He's way out of line, though I doubt it's much more than a poorly thought-out insult to piss me off. I can't even begin to imagine what he's up to, I've got to find hard evidence on him sooner rather than later now

I toss my book carelessly to the side. "My friendships ain't none of your concern, Mr Bell. You best leave me alone now, go watch the grass grow if you're that bored." I walk away with determination towards the main door of our temporary home. Thankfully he doesn't follow me. I'll need to get him away from camp so that I can see what he's hiding in his belongings. That'll be a start, I presume.

I'm turning the corner when I crash into a dark brown-haired man, not significantly taller than me. I catch a glimpse of tanned skin. The scent of a fresh cigarette lingers on him, I'm so close I can taste it. It's familiar and safe like the taste of coffee in the morning. I want to embrace it, embrace him, but I can't. I haven't even begun to resolve how I feel about witnessing a kiss between John and Abigail.

He looks startled, pausing to recover before he apologizes uneasily. "Oh, um, sorry 'bout that. Thought no one else was up." He suavely leans on a nearby wall, getting comfortable for what he clearly expects to be a long conversation. "Where've you been hiding, Fetcher? Ain't seen you for a while..." Déjà vu practically slaps me in the face when he moves his forearm above my head, not leaving me much personal space.