(It's) Always There
Copyright© 2026 by Daniel Tors
Chapter 21
Damn that form stayed good. Eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty–
The count of his reps breathed at the apex of each, “Seven, eight, nine, ten,” then quieter, “forty,” and normal again, “One, two, three,” Case’s rhomboids ... or traps or the name for whatever muscle escaped her jutting and shyest of meeting over the spine at his chin’s lowest distance from the ground, nearly touching carpet, back straight, pushes down and up taking more effort, yet none at al–
“Fifty. A hundred. Two hundred.” The wolf held, then kneeled, heaving once only. Having or having not done more she didn’t see, presumably four sets of fifty push-ups, one then – snap! – to the next without any drift or pause or anything was quite ... Navy couldn’t do that. In the dark, too.
“Yeah?”
Navy released his room’s doorknob, and smoothed her dress. “Since lunch isn’t a lot of time to, I know, but have you decided yet? A-and sorry again for telling you so late. I forgot.”
... Rising fully, he noted, “Said that already.” Her boyfriend stilled, as was the indoor air, then he replied with kept eye-contact and returning animation, “I’m ready. Let’s go.”
Movement toward implied she ought to allow him past. She didn’t, and he noticed before getting too close. She gave a different type of allowance. “Nobody expects you to be there. That’s not a guess, e-either; Mallory told me they skipped a community thing right when we got here, and this is just ... that. I’m guessing she only asked me to ask you because ... we know each other, and you could go, but it’s like you were requested. Hane’s still working tonight, and so are lots of people, and some are just staying home, so ... th-that’s all I’m saying. We ... Or, you don’t have to go.”
Nothing perceivably came from that. Motioned to move aside, Navy did.
In the living area Case got his boots and fastened them on. “Your friend invited me to her birthday. I’m going.”
... From the front of their home, ready to leave, Case turned to her and wondered, “Coming?”
“Yeah, this will be good. There’ll be people to meet, and food, and ... it’s proper for us to show up and participate, considering.” The distance hadn’t yet been closed. Navy left the doorway and went to him, stopping shortly behind. He’d open the door, and the park was a little ways down their road.
...
Attracted from nowhere, she grasped the end of words left in the air. “Do you want to go?”
“ ... We...” All on her. “We should go. Yes.”
And forth they went, light off, lock secured from the outside, ground she led him on seen through dusk at its furthest wane and the sheer intensity of towering, cold light seeping inward. Mostly, she couldn’t see more than a blur, or hear past the mix of their steps ... until the setup in Ballinger’s park could be viewed as intended, semi-warm bulbs casting into the almost-night, murmurs at a distance becoming the clear chatterings of dozens while the two got closer. Picnic tables were aligned in columns of three, distance between most, and others connected for more patrons to sit together. A stage also made of planks aligned with the center, a worker or two doing something for it. The start-time had passed. Maybe two dozen had gathered, or maybe not. Navy didn’t recognize them. A girl at the middle left table saw the pair arriving just as the reverse did, the surprise, joy, and ecstatic wave beckoning them over to join. A cacophony of sound entered Navy’s right ear; none of it made sense. Mallory, and Ledger beside, displaced themselves to stand and say hi. People were still talking. The sounds’ direction changed as Navy passed it, then went to her friend. Her stomach lurched. An overexcited girl nearly jumped in place. The bulldog said something, and Navy responded. She spoke again. Ledger got put elsewhere, and the two they met moved to the table’s other side, words spilling, things in Navy’s vision, senses suggesting movement of her own, pain of rough wood. Ledger and Mallory exchanged ... ex ... Hh.
Person. A person ... Case nudged her shoulder.
Mallory ... was politely telling Ledger ... an argument. “ ... o they can get a good view. I’ll still get to see, and they can sit together.”
“And I gotta see past you giant fuckin’ head now. Guess I’m just, uh ... spoiled milk.”
Verbally and physically, she slouched. “C’mo–”
“No, no, I get it. Big bad birthday girl gets more than one person at her table and suddenly I don’t get considered anymore.”
“Ohmygod shut up. ‘WAHWAHWAH! Nobody’s thinking about me!’ DON’T CARE. Be a princess somewhere else, twat.”
Ledger puffed up. “Or what? Gonna shove me? Do it, dude; see what happens. Start it and I get to beat th’ shit outta you.”
The bulldog’s jaw protruded, making an ugly, infuriated, determined face. “Quit acting like an ass. They haven’t been here before, so I’d really appreciate it if you. were. nice. or. quiet. or. both.”
His arms crossed.
“For five seconds while I say what I wanted to them?”
... Eyes rolling, sitting back, he agreed in thick Southern, “Fine.”
“Thank you,” with her own exasperation. Right as Mallory nearly began to them, she reached to the side and clamped the other dog’s maw closed, which Ledger allowed for some reason. “Anyway,” partially resuming her usual demeanor, she explained, “there’s no spiders under the tables ‘cause they got ‘em earlier, so don’t worry about bugs crawling around.” And his mouth was released. “That was literally all you interrupted.”
“I...” Ledger minded the glare, “will be very polite.”
Across the field a man – an older man – stared at Navy, walking toward them.
... Did someone say something?
Mallory twisted to the unknown person, and greeted, “Oh, hi again.”
The strap of his hand-sized journal was undone, pen at the ready to write something down. “You two are late. Any exclusions to the menu?”
Casual-formal with a buttoned shirt and loose bow-tie made sense to her, then, and the tone they were met with implied they ought to get on with it. So the tiger inquired, “What’s on it?”
... No change in expression, his waist and neck curved at ... a floor stand by where they entered which could only have had the menu on its other side – the unreadable side. Mallory smoothed over with the man, “That’s alright; it’s short anyway.”
“Hm.” Wasn’t fond of that. “Flatbread, butter, assorted vegetables, and a fruit desert. I can be more specific, if you’d like.”
“No that’s ... good.” And Case shrugged with indifference.
“Booze, water, or both. We’ve got cider.”
... Navy wasn’t... “I’m not twenty-one yet.”
...
Posture nor attitude changed, almost as though she wasn’t heard. The girl in front of her stepped in, “I’m having some. You don’t have to be that old.”
“Orders say you’re having two glasses.”
A roll of the eyes wasn’t kept inside. “Yes ... Thank you, Greere.”
Well she could ... try cider. Apple, presumably? “Then, uh, sure. I’ll have both.”
“Same,” Case informed.
The man’s journal snapped shut, and he was gone without further word. Mallory reassured, “He wasn’t being mean. He’s like that to every–”
A whistle pierced conversation, making the crowd’s background rumble hush as all those attending found who called; a man in his early middle ages, whom she’d never met, was on stage, fingers situated as though his call was for a horse down-range. Projecting for those at the back to hear, the host started, “Quiet, if you would. I’ll keep myself short so you can enjoy what y’re here for, which isn’t me. Most important, I’ve been told food and drink will be here shortly. Second, I’d like us all to appreciate that our favorite, the ever-lovely Ms. Mallory has allowed you to attend, and for us backstage, to put on, her party this year – an honor, as always. Go ahead give a ‘Happy Birthday’ for her nineteenth.” Most of the crowd shouted, “Happy Birthday!” in unison, some varying the words, a couple whooping or whistling as it tapered, the girl squirming in place while she gave a small acknowledgment and wave to the eyes that surrounded. A big smile on him, the announcer continued, “At her table as well are a couple guests who have just recently been with us for two weeks, so let’s make sure they come back next time, yeah?” Navy didn’t like the attention either.
Approached by Ms. Tiller from behind their stage, the host listened to what she whispered. After, he said for everyone to hear, “Alright our first performers are ready, so I’ll let them get on; and be sure to give our wonderful Youth ... I don’t know what name they picked this time. They’ll tell you. But give a round of applause for their hard work once they’re all up here. Enjoy yourselves, everyone,” and he stepped down, a troupe of five kids aged ten to early-mid teen joining their teacher on stage accompanied by smatterings of applause. For their equipment, three had bows and filled quivers on their back, the eldest, or perhaps just tallest, boy wore heavily padded sports gear over most of him, and a young boy she’d seen before held a trumpet. All wore neat, olden attire – subtle plaids, buttoned coats and whatnot.
Ms. Tiller introduced, “Clive ... our trumpet player, if you didn’t know, mostly wrote this on his own with some participation from the class and only a little editing from me. So, this is Noonday on Our Terrace by The Tin Welders.” Implied by a shrug, not even she knew what that meant.
Everyone got to their places: the host and Ms. Tiller raised and spanned a large canvas between two poles, Clive jumped down to the front left, the archers went off stage left, and the boy in protective gear stood at the right of ... what might be the background as the adults staked it into position, afterward standing behind either end for support.
First checking a booklet he laid open at eye level, Clive spoke, “Having com...” Projecting louder, he tried again with a deepened voice and air of refinement, “Having completed a morning stroll on the day fifth of September, eighteen-ninety, two sporting folk convene on their patio, feeling spurred to act.” Two pops, “[BU-DUP]”, were blared from his trumpet to accentuate. Paired, the elder archers – maybe thirteen for the boy and the girl was slightly older – jaunted on “set”.
“A fine morn indeed, Lilac. I thank you for propositioning such,” the boy said, vocally similar to the narrator.
Lilac agreed. “Even I knew not its beauty. And say, my fellow Arthur, a view such as this must not be wasted. Those pheasants will cook well ... but a still bird is no challenge for us. Don’t we have a servant for this very situation?”
“On duty, good madam and sir.” He didn’t sound as enthused ... although, the intent of his period-inappropriate helmet and pads was beginning come together.
“Dutiful!” Arthur exclaimed. “A challenge, then! My talent is surely above yours.”
From her quiver she drew an arrow tipped with a dull ball, Lilac telling the narrator, “Peasant boy. You shall trumpet for every struck target, and I’ll reward you a dime.”
Their narrator/musical child noted to the audience, “And so they began the honorable joust.”
“THROW!” and up went a metal plate, Arthur drawing, their target hit simultaneously at its peak with a [THUNG] and promised “[DR-RUP]”. Sounded cool.
His sparring partner allowed, “ ... If not for your spiffing aim, I’d be annoyed. The next is mine, however.” Stanced, she directed, “And ... THROW!”
Her body formed a half-circle curve, the string was pulled, and the target hit ... at the same time Arthur did exactly as Lilac, only mirrored. “[BRrRrREP]”. Regaining balance took longer than intended for the boy, his fellow actor almost stepping over to help, though he stood upright on his own. Resuming... “How are we to score if you keep up this jest?”
“Simple. I started late, yet hit no worse. The tallies are mine.”
From him the bow was snatched. “Then I shall bring down two at once to even us.”
Two were drawn, the bow canted, two were thrown, and both were flung into canvas at the tune of, “[RUPRUP]”.
“One quick and low!” and the next went just after, her competitor placing the weapon beneath his knee – huh? – then thwacking center-mass ... with peculiarly intense oomph (and for a kid ... Damn), to their trumpet’s fanfare.
“Thrower, do exactly as you had done for her, or risk a strike from under-leg to your chest.” Then to Lilac, “I’ll leave no room for doubt,” one arrow readied, and another held deftly with the same hand.
The actors paused during narration. “Alas, such a daring feat would have to wait. One aged woman had observed their sportsmanship, and called upon them, wishing to introduce her intentions.”
...
For a brief time they tried idling in character, everyone soon looking off to the stage’s left at the third archer – the little girl supposed to come up – and the crowd stared as well. Facing her team, the idea of speaking only manifested after a while, though she didn’t. From the background Ms. Tiller leaned out, mouthing, “Go,” while waving her on. Except the smile and encouragement budged the girl none.
Making eye contact, the teacher saw something they couldn’t. She left the canvas and its pole, a low kneeling position taken by the girl, hand held as she asked what looked like, “What’s the matter?” unhearable conversation had between them except for the high-pitched cracks in the girl’s voice on the rare few times she could get out a word, no trembling or bawling as far as Navy could tell, just soft speaking, assurances of how much she’s done, and attempts to build confidence that clearly wouldn’t change anything for right then.
Someone ... the father, it only made sense, climbed from a filled table and rushed over, Ms. Tiller with the girl already picked up and clinging to her by the time he arrived, what they already knew soon told to the host as the two adults walked off to care for her. “She’s not going.”
The class remaining didn’t have any idea what to ... do; so the host salvaged, “It, uh ... You four line up on stage please.” To all present, “I’ve personally helped Leslie train for today, and ... I thought she’d be ready. Unfortunately it seems she was a bit too shy to show us how talented she’s gotten, so tonight’s show from our kids is gonna have to wait. I’m confident we’ll get to see it in full some time. Until then, they’ve all done a lot to put this on for us old folks, so show them how much you’d like ‘em to keep working and end it proper.”
More than when they first showed, cheers and whistles were sent for the kids’ awkward acceptance, four of them suddenly dragged out of their focus while the fifth was still in view somewhere distant, benched with her guardians. Navy couldn’t clap, or whistle on their level, and it would be out of place to holler.
How many stars were in the sky? Not in the universe; in the perfect, uncovered sky that she could look up and see. Somewhere in a book she’d read about that number – a generality of it – and it could be multiple or several dozen if you were city-folk ... but most lived-places on Earth, those less urban than towers parting clouds, to towns that got drowsy at night but never truly went to sleep, clear skies past dusk would give hundreds of twinkling diamonds of fire from so unfathomably far away. And ... on her day, though she lived in a town, beside a city, a flood of white at its defenses and warm reddish yellow in her midst, even through the distractions of people she didn’t know conversing with who they pleased, Navy could arch her neck to the heavens and thousands would sink their shine in her, thousands and millions of years traveling as a particle in space all to pass through her cornea, meet the retina behind, and then it was hers to perceive ... to remember.
In so much of history, that’s how many you could see up there. But some never saw theirs fully. Some never saw it like her.
Shit.
“ ... has WAY BETTER things to do than listen.”
Contrary to that ... Well, Navy set her food down and tried to repair with the girl, “I was just, uh,” poorly, “thinking about how good the food is. I heard you.” Bad move. No she didn’t. Mallory’s expression was deviously aware, and would stay annoyed.
“How do we make flatbread, exactly?”
... Nope. Should probably ... to find that in her head ... starrrre? at? theee? item on her plate? That would ... bring the explanation back. “ ... Uhhh...”
“Dude, I said that forever ago! You asked! But no, I’m too boring for miss head-in-her-[ahem]. Electric stoves, ovens, and fancy cooking are so dull.” Mallory would get thousands of chances in future to rectify this, and knew that, and was being a devil for fun ... Seriously, though, Navy should have been listening. That was careless.
One disinterested huff and switch to another at the table, the bulldog consoled, “Case was listening, so I don’t care.” Then a beckoning, “Right?”
“Yep.”
Ledger bowed with respect. “Truly, I” and not-so-respectfully, “just tell her to shove it. It’s your fault for getting her going on about this crap.”
Well Nav– From a man at the table next to theirs, “Darling,” intended for the tiger, “he flunked bein’ a cook. One step from hearin’ a rock tell ya movin’ is f’r pussies.” Sounded, himself, like one step from a deep-west prospector, just without the hooting and missing teeth; very coarse in ... every sense.
The stranger recoiled barely and grinned at a good jab to his shoulder, Ledger accompanying it as he returned to them, “Fag.”
“Errand boy. Prolly piss ‘imself if big boys wasn’t here to kill bad guys – can’t even pry our things we lent some fell’r if’n they ask nice. No fightin’ needed, just a firm back an’ he can’t do it.”
Fazed about zero percent ... okay, like ten percent, Ledger was done with him, and the man in kind, the table as a whole chortling among themselves indistinctly.
Their introduction, “Boss. Cunt.”
“Stop swearing,” his friend shorted. “Say... damn, at least.”
“‘Boss. Damn.’ Better?”
“You know that’s not ... The C word is too much, and don’t say the F one either.”
He guessed, “Fuck? Fucker? Fuckface? Fucktwit? Fu–”
“[UGH] No, the ... Yes, those, but the other F one. You know ... F-A-G. That one.”
“Why?” sounding incredulous, “He called me a pussy.”
“Stopswearing!” On her other point, “It means things, so don’t say it.”
“Words mean things.”
To the sky, “CASE. Please tell him he’s being ob-tuse. Obviously I’m right.”
First, either slipped by or ignored, Ledger mouthed with slight audio, “‘Obtuse’ isn’t very nice...” Then something clicked. “The hell’s he got to do with it?!”
Her wish was granted, he that Mallory chose regurgitating, “She’s right, obviously.” Kind of shocking he’d bother. Navy learned pretty quick not to when they were in a spat – guess he hadn’t.
Politely from the girl, “Thank you.”
...
Depletion couldn’t have been the issue. Somewhere that man had a depot of stashed comebacks, ready to pelt, and on the incident between them he ... could, for who-knows-how-long, stay the course and not drop alert or energy. So those glances to her, initially prolonged then momentary, brought with them decidedly, tactically ... nothing, until Mallory got it. Something they both knew. Something Ledger could barely refrain from, due to how amused he’d soon be.
Addressed to both Navy and Case, “I caught–”
“Ledger.” Whatever it could be, her voice and movement had wound industrial wire tight.
“ ... So it does work. I c’n stop her heart, just like that.”
Two tasks needed doing: maintain a casual appearance, and by any means keep Ledger from talking about it. Nearly-audible, creaking effort went in to every very normal motion and twitch, not so much thought given to where her gaze pointed. As for how to get her friend to back off, that needed a plan, which needed time and thinking. She did not have those. Nobody was convinced by the act.
... Navy stopped thinking it was funny.
The bulldog tried to have a normal, joking voice, but failed. Instead she got from her bench, got Ledger to as well, and required, “We’re talking over there.” From that, Ledger was dragged away by the arm, a conversation Mallory didn’t want to have given space and made unhearable.
Probably for the best Navy wasn’t part of it.
... A man, Greere, was at Navy’s side, drinks on a platter passed out by him and others alike having caused the increased rumblings from around. Four on the table. She thanked him, but watched the pair from a distance. They were in close proximity, body-language showing the girl’s fraught nerves and an attentive friend that wanted to listen.
...
However the method, whatever the issue, Mallory was confident enough to drag him back. “Ooh! Drinks are here.”
Uh, yeah, they were. Possibly as a result of the unpleasant smell, Navy immediately likened it to a glass filled by someone who didn’t drink much water – i.e., dark yellow piss. That association, and the layer of foam on top, did not mix well. Not that she’d ever heard alcohol tasted good, the link between it and actually enjoyable food made more and ... Guh, it was pungent up close.
As the only one to have real experience, the eldest at their table sucked a quarter-fill at once, girl beside slurping with only a mild wince of disgust, veiling a burp to cap. “‘Scuse me.”
Down the hatch, then ... Mostly foam, then the piss [ahem] cider itself, which tasted true to its making. Apples had indeed been juiced then left to sit with germs that ate all the sugar and made it expired and gross yet consumable. Compared to canned apples ... Actually, those were shelved for a least a decade and also weird. Compared to real apples, plain dried or juiced, hard cider was just worse. Not bad though. It was alright. Fizz bubbling in the drink tickled her, a welcome side-show to it’s flavor.
Hop Tango!, Trade Trader, Pipeline, Animal Kingdom, and ... dude that text was styled unreadable and upside down; the hell, man. From game-procurer Mallory, “‘Twisters are Lost in New York! PLUS Flip-Volcanoes!’ and trust me ... that’s like the best one.”
... Was Navy supposed to have done something?
“Who’s picking?” asked the birthday girl.
“You, dumbfuck.”
“But I’ve played all of these a billion times. Somebody else should ... How ‘bout you, Case? Navy’s already done these with me.”
“The middle one.”
Disappointed, and slouching, “You don’t know anything about them yet!”
“Top one, then. I know you said it’s the best.”
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