𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐲 || 𝐚 𝐆𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐜

Gally's Recipe

"I'm gonna kill that shank," Gally mutters, as I come back alongside him on the cot.

I shake my head, thinking of that night at the circle. "Gally, please. You done enough to poor Ha-."

"He started that fight, yunno." Gally spat out the words, taking his best guess at what resided inside my mind. He guessed right.

I took a breath. Hank never told me. I assumed Gally had begun the whole feud. It seemed only fair, it was his nature. Wasn't it? My thoughts then falter back to what had happened only an hour or two prior. "And did Thomas start the one an hour ago too?" 

Gally grunts once more, ignoring me. I set the jar of cream in my lap as I sit next to him on the cot. As a ready the treatments, I feel his eyes on me. Feeling annoyed and somewhat awkward, I decide to continue the conversation. This time, trying for comical relief instead of edgy remarks. I recall my pact, my promise to myself to fight with kindness. "That seems to be the trend since I came up. Everyone winking at me or whoever I'm with." I try a sarcastic shaking of the head and eye roll, finishing with a grin. It fails.

"Yeah, well maybe they can keep their eye spasms to themselves." Gally darts his eyes at me, shifting from the somewhat peaceable stance they had resided seconds ago, from just watching me work. He said something with the same attitude earlier-- right after the greenie had first come up.

 I turn my treatments and materials away for a moment, my conscience urging for my attention and for action. "Gally, can't we stop this? I don't need you shielding me from-- whatever or whoever you disapprove of. I'm not your toy. I've only wanted to make things right." I could hear a choir of amens bouncing around inside my head. I needed to let him know I wasn't his to be messed with.

Gally's expression then softens, and good that, because for just a moment I worry I'd been too upfront. My heart pounds inside my chest, nervous for his response. We lock eyes and that's when I see. I now recognize that unidentifiable emotion I'd seen in Gally's eyes earlier when I'd caught him behind the shed with Thomas. It-- it was jealousy. 

Gally doesn't say anything, but in the next few minutes I can tell the tension between us has loosened. I want to ask why he felt a need to hold sway over me, make fun of me, and go off on the people I have a connection with. But something seems-- calmer about the air that hung over us. I didn't want to ruin it. I'll ask him later. I think. Gosh, there's so many things I need to confront him about-- to ask him about..

I feel assured some walls have fallen, and perhaps Gally now would let me touch his wound. And if not-- at least I let my feelings off my chest. I've only wanted to befriend this builder. I think. I reach my hand to his forehead. As it reaches his-- still clamped against his skin-- Gally moves it away. My gentle touch leading it elsewhere, his reluctance to be that close with me. I don't think anything of it. We don't exactly have to be the touchy type of friendly-- just as long as we make amends and become comrades by the end of it. Whatever 'it' even was. I wasn't going to rush things. I promise myself. Gally can come to me at his own pace. I needn't push-- at least not too hard. Friendship was never something to force upon someone-- just perhaps encouraged. Right? It's made in its own time, and grown stronger and more beautiful in its own time. Even for me though, it made me impatient and anxious, waiting for Gally's acceptance. I didn't like playing this one-sided. Unsettling feelings often settled in my stomach when I've yet to make things right with someone. But I would just have to ignore them, pushing them back to oblivion. Even if I am reluctant to. Gally had to come to his own amends about me.

As Gally removes his hand, I examine the situation. A knot was visible on his head, just above his eyebrows. There was a small gush of blood, coming from a cut about the size of my pinky finger. I open the jar and scoop out a bit of the cream, putting it on the back of my hand. I take the damp cloth and barely dab onto my hand, then reach up to Gally's forehead. I gently clean the wound. Gally lets me work in silence, with an exception of a couple groans as the anti-biotic soaks into the cut. I shush him, whispering words of relief: that the pain would be over soon enough. I had to clean it-- if I didn't, it might grow to infection. And I knew Gally couldn't deal with that. He's already going to be absent from work a day or two at most. Infection would only mean more. More time missed doing his favorite hobby: bossing around the rest of the builders. Like I said, Gally couldn't deal with that.