Summary:Lessons on the road in a journey
through time. Existentialism, a Texas pow-wow, a '67 Mustang, a
bar brawl, Pocahontas, and Jack Kerouac. Sometimes, family is
chosen, even if they're not who we expect. c. 18,500 words
Characters: Jasper
Hale/Whitlock, Leah and Seth Clearwater, Edward Cullen; regular canon
pairings assumed. Warning: Gratuitous
reading lists, random philosophy, and a little bad language.
Notes: This is not a romance. It's about
friendship and family. We don't come from nowhere. See end
for rest.
This story won the 2009 Indie
Twific Award for "Best Alternate Universe."
This
Story is not a Western
This story is not a Western. Even if it has cowboys and
Indians. No, it's a road trip across the plains with a pretty
Mustang and nobody wears a black hat -- or a white one. (Jasper's
is brown.)
It begins, of course, with a quarrel. It ends at a graveside in
Texas. But it's not in order, because that's not always the best
way to tell a story. In between, we have existential philosophy,
a stray tornado, Achilles and Pocahontas, a pow-wow, a few history
lessons and a kidnapped, brooding groom. Oh, and a thrown punch
that starts a bar brawl. (Because even if it's not a Western, every
good story needs at least one bar brawl.)
That it involves two vampires and two werewolves is somewhat less
important.
***
1.
But It's Not in Order
They are headed south on I-29, half an hour outside St. Joseph on the
Missouri side of the river. "A stop on the Historical Lewis and
Clark Highway" says a brown sign. "Founded in 1843" says another,
and he blinks. The city is as old as he is.
But Jasper isn't really thinking about Lewis and Clark, or his
age. He's thinking about stopping at this St. Joe Boot Company he
keeps seeing advertised on billboards, because he wants a new pair of
Tony Lamas. His old ones are looking a tad beat-up. Then
again -- and whatever Alice thinks -- no self-respecting boots bear no scuff marks. "I need me
some new boots," he says abruptly. In the rearview mirror, he can
see Edward grimace. Only Italian leather loafers grace Edward's
toes, unless he's hiking or playing baseball. Jasper is sure
Edward considers boots "uncouth," which is all the more reason to drag
him into a boot shop.
Leah looks over from where she rides shotgun. The window is down,
blowing her hair, although most of it is caught up in a
ponytail. She says nothing, just lifts one leg to prop her
booted foot against the wing glass. She grins. He grins
back. In the seat behind, her brother has his head out the
window, looking for all the world like an over-excited puppy, which has
more to do with the fact he's 14 than with his unexpected genetic
mutation. Or maybe he's just trying to get away from the scent of
vampire, which is why the windows are down in the first place.
Jasper and Edward are no more pleased by the hot, wet-dog smell of two
werewolves than Leah and Seth are by the sweet, overripe perfume of
vampires.
"You don't need boots," Edward says.
"You just don't wanna stop," Jasper tells him.
"Not for boots you don't need."
"I need the restroom, one way or the other," Leah breaks in.
"Pea-bladder," Seth says. She throws a wadded-up napkin at him
without looking; it's almost whipped out the window by the wind.
"I'm hungry," he adds.
Knowing his wish to keep going will be overruled, Edward sighs.
It is a long-suffering sound. "It's about the journey, little
brother," Jasper tells him, smiling slightly. "Not the
destination."
"Please don't quote Jack Kerouac to me."
"That wasn't Jack Kerouac. It's Chinese philosophy."
"It sounds like Kerouac."
"Not if you'd actually read anything he's written. On the Road is iconic, Edward."
"The Beats were high or dunk most of the time -- including Kerouac;
that's not art."
"My mom like the Beatles," Seth blurts out. "She says they're classic."
The rest of them laugh. "Beat poetry,
not the Beatles," Edward explains, patiently. "Although the
Beatles credited Kerouac for inspiration. So did Bob Dylan."
"'The only people for me are the mad
ones,'" Jasper quotes, "'the
ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of
everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a
commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow Roman
candles exploding like spiders across the stars, and in the middle, you
see the blue center-light pop, and everybody goes ahh . . . '"
His voice is sad, however. Could vampires be called 'mad to
live,' or just plain mad from living too long?
"You gonna add that to my reading list, Old Man?" Leah asks him,
glancing over.
"Consider it added," Jasper tells her. "Along with Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance
and The Tao of Pooh, too."
"Please tell me they're easier than Machiavelli. Or Homer."
"They are."
"Hallelujah." She turns back to stare out the window, her eyes
scrunched up against the blaze of a setting sun. She wears no
sunglasses. Jasper sees another sign for the St. Joe Boot
Company, and wonders if there will be shadow enough around the store
for him to sneak in, or if he should take a rain check.
"So," he says after a minute, "we talked about my reading list for you,
but we never talked about the books you had me read."
Leah doesn't answer immediately, just continues to stare out the
window. Seth listens with his chin resting on the back of the
front seat while Edward ignores them, staring out his own window at the
rolling prairie. He's smiling, expression a bit dopey, and from
the emotions radiating off him, Jasper doesn't have to ask what he's
thinking about. He's on this trip under duress.
Finally, Leah asks only, "What did you think of them?"
He considers it. A mile or two passes. "They were angry
books -- not unfairly. I learned things I hadn't known, and it
made me angry. The
non-fiction was easier in some ways than the fiction, though."
Her curiosity sparks in oranges and pinks and she turns to look at
him. "Why? I'd think the fiction would be easier."
"Stories bring it home better," Jasper explains. "They reach the
gut, not just the head -- touch the capacity of the heart. They
make it real because you feel
it." This is something he understands all too well, the power of
emotion. It's why he struggles for a stoical equilibrium. Ataraxia. "But the stories
didn't always go in order. That took me a mite to get used to."
"They went in order," Leah corrects. "They just didn't go
chronologically. Sometimes that's not the best way to tell the
story."
Minisinoo