Okay, kind of ominous title. I promise we start out fine.
It just kind of goes down hill at some point.
But we are still in the transition/exposition phase, so there's nothing too bad yet.
Also sorry for not introducing a concept in Part 1 of this story that is historically accurate but I'm springing it on you now.
Ready for some fluff before the angst?
Enjoy! :)
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Race swings through the air gracefully on the trapeze, in his happy place, high above the ground and all the other problems in the world. He makes it to the other platform, breathing heavily, adrenaline running.
Down below him, Spot claps wildly.
Race grins. Down below him, smiling and clapping, is his other happy place.
He'll never get tired of Spot watching his practices adoringly.
Race begins to climb down. It's the end of the day; it's time to go home.
And Spot's here to walk him home.
"You know, if you missed the circus that much, you could always join this one," Race tells him. Ever since Spot quit his circus and found a new job, Race has been trying to get Spot to rejoin the circus.
Spot huffs good naturedly. "No, that's okay."
"Is this just because it's the Ringling Brothers?"
"Maybe."
"It is!"
"Okay, maybe you're right," Spot chuckles. "But I'm okay with the job I have right now."
"Whatever you say."
Spot grabs Race's hand. "I'm glad you aren't a part of the traveling circus."
Race squeezes his hand. "Me too." Not only does he like the people he performs with, he's glad that it means he can live with Spot and the others.
"Mush is making his special dinner tonight," Spot says.
"Pane?"
"Yes, but he's making more than just bread."
"Oh come on! Bread could be the whole meal!"
"Race, I know the Italian in you loves bread, but you gotta have more food than just bread."
"Ho bisogno di pane, e solo pane."
"Whatever you say."
And so their banter continues as they continue walking home.
Jack and David each got home from work just a little before Spot and Race do.
"Dinner's ready!" Mush calls from the kitchen. "Tell David to move the mail off the table!"
Jack chuckles. Even without looking, Mush knows that when David brought home the mail, he put it all on the table. David huffs indignantly, trying to find words to defend himself, then sighs when he comes up with nothing.
"I thought mail was important," he grumbles under his breath as he moves the mail off the table and onto a chair in the living room.
"Yeah, but you know how Mush is about dinner," Jack still can't help smiling, and it takes all his might not to laugh.
"Alright, that's true," David gives in goodnaturedly. "Although I am curious about why there's so much mail."
"I wonder if any of it is from Race's brother," Jack murmurs.
They go quiet for a moment.
Not too long ago, when the U.S. joined the war, Race's younger brother got drafted. Race tries hard not to let it show how stressed he is, but they all see it in the way that he's tense a lot of the time. They try not to bring the war up too much around him, because then he'll get even more tense and worry even more about his brother. He's only 24. Even if he's not a small little kid anymore, Race still worries about him. And they don't blame him.
And so, for Race's sake and sanity, they hope that at least one of these letters is from his brother.
Jack is about to start looking through the mail, curious to why there's so much, when Spot and Race open the door. He leaves it alone; they should all look at it together--after they finish the meal Mush cooked for them, that is. There will be no looking at mail until they've finished dinner.
Mush beams brightly as Race and Spot come in. "Welcome home!"
Race inhales deeply. "I smell something amazing!"
Mush's smile somehow grows wider. "Yep! Dinner is ready!"
Quickly, they all set the table, and begin to eat dinner. And yes, there is bread.
"So how was your day at work, Race?" Mush asks, making conversation, and also because he knows these stories can get wild--Race working at the circus and everything.
"Honestly, nothing much happened today," Race responds. "We aren't performing for a week or so, which is nice, but that means we spend extra time rehearsing." He takes a bite of bread. "Oh, a guy almost got set on fire."
David is so close to spitting out his water.
Spot raises his eyebrows. "A guy almost got set on fire?"
"I said almost!"
"That doesn't make it any better, Race," Jack chuckles.
"Honestly, part of the freaking show is that a guy almost gets set on fire," Race continues, indignant at their outbursts. "It's literally how the circus works. This isn't exactly out of the ordinary. Well, I guess this time he almost got set on fire unintentionally, so I guess it's a tad out of the ordinary."
David snorts. "A tad."
"You try working for the circus," Race returns. "You see so much crazy stuff."
"I think the craziest I need is when you and Spot terrified a gang with literal lions and tigers," David retorts.
They all chuckle.
"That was amazing," Race says.
"I can't believe that was four years ago," Mush comments. "Time has been moving way too fast."
"We've been living together for four years now," Jack remarks.
David grabs Jack's hand. "And I wouldn't change anything about it."
"Me neither," Race declares, Spot nodding empathetically beside him.
"I don't know what I did to deserve all of you," Mush tells them, eyes glistening.
"We got lucky," Jack agrees.
"And nothing will tear us apart," Race adds.
And so dinner goes on, everyone telling little stories from their day and reminiscing on the past, all smiling and laughing.
Most days, this is what dinner looks like for them.
And they wouldn't change a thing.
After everyone's finished, they start clearing the table. Then David gets the mail, and spreads it out on the table.
"One's addressed to Edward E. Higgins," David comments. He hands it to Race, who has his water glass still in hand, and is still standing up.
Race's eyebrows knot, but he doesn't say anything. It looks official. Maybe it's from his brother.
He opens it up and starts reading.
And then as his heart stops, he drops the envelope and his water glass, which shatters.
They jump up, on high alert, immediately concerned.
"Race!" "What's wrong?"
"I..." Race swallows. He feels a lump in his throat. "I got drafted."
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Oh, no.
Let me just-let me just take a second-
I am feeling so much right now.
So I have done a lot of research. A lot of it involving when people in the U.S. got drafted into WW1. The first registration was June 5, 1917, for men ages 21-31. The second was June 5, 1918, for "those who attained age 21 after June 5, 1917". The third was on September 12, 1918, for men between 18 and 45.
Race is currently 34.
So yes, we have now began Part 2 of the story: WW1.
What do you all think of that?
Please, no homophobia, profanities, hate etc in the comment section at all times.
Best,
~Your Beloved Author (who has been listening to David Duchovny's Tessera on repeat for the past no clue how many minutes)