Post by VINCE EVERETT MOORE on Jun 26, 2013 11:27:04 GMT -8
| [atrb=style,width: 420px; background-color: efefef; background-image: url(http://24.media.tumblr.com/0478144b9f16c95a37367d1aca56b45c/tumblr_mkfax8tDxp1s97ldco1_500.png); padding: 5px, bTable] VINCE E. MOORE THIRTY | HETEROSEXUAL | FIREFIGHTER | EMERGENCY CREW | HENRY CAVILL EARTH The ground beneath my feet, my father, the boots that carry me from burning bricks, Georgia soil and clay. It was dawn when he was born. Blue eyes stayed closed, satisfied with the warmth of his mother's touch. His older sister didn't fall in love immediately. At first, she clung to her father's leg, afraid of the tiny creature in her mother's hands. Vanessa didn't know she would grow to love him just as much as her father. The moment they came back to their tiny plot of land, the young couple set the baby down to feel the earth that was now his home. For the next eighteen years, he was to take care of the family farm -- then he was off to college, hopefully UGA, and he could make them proud. But then, the steady economy began to shake, and he worked on the farm past his high school days. Throughout his whole life, he had dreams of playing football for the bulldogs in his home state. UGA was going to be the home of his legacy. It was the only thing he looked forward to. At Collins Hill High School, he was the kind of person no one spoke to. He had a few close friends here and there, but at that point, he was Fat Moore. None of the girls wanted to talk to the rock of a guy who played defense. After games, he went straight home, almost always regretting the money he had to invest into the sport, and woke up every morning to till the land. But the land was what he had always been taught to love. His father, an ambitious mountain climber, had even crafted a middle name for his son that spoke his dreams. Mount Everest in the form of a middle name was what the substitutes called in school. Each time they muttered it and checked the box beside Vince's birth name, he thought of his dad: traveling, trekking, trying to be the man Vince believed he was. Douglas Moore called his stops at home "visits" because to him, the mountain top was his real home. His whole life was spent training for the monster of a mountain, a murderer, a mission. Someday, he would conquer it, and make his son and wife proud. After all, Douglas was no quitter. Sarah had known that. This family was the support system for a man who needed his feet in the mountain snow and nose in the mountain air to survive. Now, his son stomps out fires in his own boots. They lodge themselves into dry or wet dirt to hold a hose that could save lives. The Brunswick land is not like Georgia loam, but he has become accustomed to this new life. It is easier than what he had before. Sometimes, he remembers his mother's voice, the pecan pie she set by the window, the way she would sit outside and listen to the creek. WATER Soothing calm, aloe on a burn, a cool creek behind the house, my savior. At five, he put his tiny feet into the tiny stream behind the trees, waiting for his mother to finish rinsing her clothes. The washing machine was broken again. He watched the soap bubble and run downstream. "You miss daddy?" she asked him, suddenly appearing to ruffle his hair. He grinned up at her. "It's always been this way, Mama. Besides, my dad is Superman!" He pointed at the cape that was hanging to dry. Sarah took a look and laughed melodically before going back inside. School was going to start soon, and Vincent had to get to his grandparents' home. There, he would play Chinese checkers with his veteran grandfather and eat homemade peach ice cream. The Georgia summer was growing more humid by the day, and if they didn't stay entertained, the heat waves would overpower their energy. Then, his grandfather died, leaving a rainy Sunday open for the Christian family to visit the funeral home. Old age had a way of confusing nine-year-olds. While some had believed Hal would have had money to give to his family, it was true that he had very little. For that reason, his widowed wife had to move in with her son and take care of her grandson. Sarah would take him to school with her while she taught fourth grade. Then, they would head home and wait for Doug to come home. His family saw him every other month, but it wasn't enough for Vince to know his father well. The boy admired him, kept those black-and-white photos hung on his wall, in frames, and on the fridge, but he barely knew him. Of course, he just knew that he looked up to him. He loved his laugh. It was like an avalanche of joy. Now, the rain is a shower of relief. No wildfires are possible in such wet weather. Vince Moore could sit on his couch in an apartment nicer than his former home, watch ESPN, and sip a cold beer. This was not the life he had always promised himself: no college education, no Georgia lake days, no wife. Then again, the weatherman had promised sunshine -- and maybe a small breeze -- only to watch rain pour. WIND The cold we quelled with a fire pit, what mother used to listen to, Paige's dress spinning in a sunflower field, the sound my father heard when he finally climbed Everest. Thank God for bars. The weather was freezing today -- the humid kind of cold. As the doors opened for Vanessa and Vince Moore, warm air rushed at them like welcoming arms. Southern hospitality was a part of the atmosphere, too. "Happy birthday, Paige!" his sister cried. When his eyes followed his sister's, he found the most beautiful sight he could have experienced: a slender brunette with the best smile. She was from money, he could see. While he stood in a coat handed down from his dead grandfather's closet, she had a brand-new watch on her arm, a clean white tee, and pretty black boots. Yes, she was way out of his league. Soon enough, though, his charm would do much for him. In time, the two were to marry, struggle together, plan together, love together. For now, all he could wonder was if she would grace him with a dance. Her birthday ended with a stranger's kiss. A year later, they were buying a house together with money her parents had given them. Her mother thought he was a nice boy, but she didn't trust his finances. After all, he was a farmer's son -- a farmer who now climbed mountains. Vince's job was to sell crops, and he didn't even have an education. Unlike Paige, he never went to college. But Paige loved him, took care of him, and kept up with her job. She was a dental assistant at the local office. Their honeymoon was spent in the Blue Ridge Mountains. It was their home state still, but the cozy cabin was where Vince confessed his deepest secrets to her. Then, those secrets had seemed so heavy. "Heavy, don't you think?" he asked his father as Douglas packed his car. "It's Everest, son." He ruffled his sons hair. Like a child, Vince smiled back and nodded at Paige, who closed the trunk. Vince could remember the times when the two had been hiking together -- just father and son. Easily, he could remember climbing Mount Elbrus with his old man. Douglas was forty-two now, just the right age for this kind of climb. Younger would have been better, but this opportunity was unique. He was sponsored now. Then, he would find the time to write his own book about breathing high-altitude air and drinking up false winters on mountain tops. Twenty-one years ago, he had birthed Vince, and now, he trusted Paige to take care of him. She was two years older than her husband, but she would learn to look after him like his own mother. Now, with his father's book on the night stand and no wife to take care of him, Vince enjoys the breeze at his back porch. The screen protects him from mosquitoes so he can comfortably listen to the sound of Brunswick wind. Like Suwanee, the small town provides him with peace. At times, he wonders where Paige is now and whether or not her children are doing well. She and Phillip liked each other very much right before the divorce, so it would provide for a nice home. He is happy for her because he was destructive to her goals. He never deserved her, and he had accepted that. Love is hard. It takes work. Love takes patience. Love is a fire. FIRE An enemy, a persistent destroyer, a monster. You took her away. "We can't keep living like this," she told him. They had skipped two electric bills. Most nights were spent at his mother's, in the room his grandmother used to occupy. The economy was falling apart, farming was replaced with factories, and Vince had little to do. His wife was a hard-worker; Paige was constantly picking up shifts, trying to make ends meet. He heard a story once about a woman who burned down three houses to get insurance money. It must have worked -- twice -- for her to do it so often. For months, he thought of that story, wondering if he was insane for actually considering it. He was just tired of watching Paige cry, tired of not being able to upgrade that shitty diamond on her finger, tired of not being happy in their now-shoddy home. A poor man couldn't provide for a woman who wanted children, a better life, a middle-class culture. Her parents thought Vince was pathetic; he was barely welcome at their home, even for dinner. He would always be a byproduct of a poor couple -- nothing more. Vanessa offered her own help. She, of course, was a mere waitress. She worked on some interior design projects for neighbors, but she had nothing stable. Despite that fact, Vanessa offered a few hundred a month, trying to make sure her baby brother knew that she cared. It only made him feel less capable. He tried so hard to get a job, but the places were filled. Then, the taxes came, stealing more away from him. It was time to take back, so he waited until Paige was gone at work to consider lighting that fire. Then, before he knew it, the whole place was going down. A scream. Paige is home? He ran inside, gathered her body in his arms, and saved her. She thanked him so many times, tears and all, without realizing that the fire had everything to do with his own intentions. He should have checked the house more thoroughly, but what could a man without a formal education do? He was an idiot. Now, he would always call himself an idiot. She healed. Within a year, she had gone through enough plastic surgery to be recognizable. Her scars would never go away, though, and despite the fact that he still thought she was beautiful, he could never tell her the truth about what he had done to her. He couldn't tell anyone that he just wanted money to support her. Soon, they moved into an apartment to pay for her physical therapy. When he realized that she had feelings for Phillip, he did nothing. He became so distant that the divorce was more of a destination than a surprise. He was glad it came; he couldn't live with the guilt of seeing her face and remembering the fire. He signed the papers and moved away as soon as possible, telling his mother nothing about his whereabouts. A friend of his, a friend in Brunswick, offered him major training. At twenty-six, he was moving to a shitty apartment to pick up hours in training. While he got his life in order, he worked at Home Depot. Once he was finally done, he was twenty-seven and ready to fight what had destroyed his marriage. It was an ironic twist -- hard at first, especially with the memories that came back. But if he could stop the flames, he could repeatedly stop that awful event that took her away. Only too late. Always too late. Now, he plants his feet in the ground, wraps a hand around the hose, breathes in ashy air, and puts out the fire. BEHIND THE MASK lam | seventeen | east east east | CHEE CHAR | u no u no  |
