Beasts Bounding Through Time

I tried so hard to keep in contact with people for a few years, but it got tiring after a while. People just didn’t want to put in the effort to keep up with others lives, even if they said they were interested and adored you oh so fucking much. I was one of these people, and often it never bothered me, but when I saw Jaska’s smile that helped express his quirky facial expressions, I did feel a stirring inside of me that the angel on my shoulder tugged at. I hated the white halo crowned bastard.

Anyway, I thought I had a right not to contact Jaska because I left Lapland in an unsettling manner the last time I was there. My actions embarrassed me, and I figured the man would not want to keep in contact with me anymore. Deep down, there was that inner knowledge I wanted to ignore that knew I was yet again fucking up my life and making excuses for myself.

“You look just as lovely as usual Sylvie,” his husky voice broke the chilled air between us. I nodded simply in gratitude.

“Same,” I murmured as my eyes looked over his slim muscular figure that hid under a semi upscale attire. He wore a burgundy button up shirt under a long, thick, black jacket. Jaska also wore a black bow tie along with black suspenders, but simply wore dark jeans that fitted the form of his legs well. The outfit was tied off with black boots and a dark purple beanie that hid his short chestnut hair that spiked up when not thoroughly washed. A small well trimmed beard and mustache covered his face that made him look older and quite handsome. He was a bit of a goof when it came to his fashion, but it defiantly worked with his upbeat personality. Even though he lived way up North away from a hectic civilization he still tried to pull together a simple outfit that would make him stand out amongst the reindeer herders. I liked to think I influenced him because I was from the city.

As he led me towards the entrance of the restaurant I watched his bouncing gait. It made him look like a puppy who is excited to get further ahead of its’ owner who is in constant worry that it will choke itself from the tightening of the leash. Jaska was always cheerful and willing to make the best of things. I suppose we are polar opposites at times; me being the one to be the pessimist most of the time. Even if Jaska’s lead tugged away from my bitterness to try to get me to follow him into the world, he always stayed close to me when I refused. He knew my limits.

Jaska was my friend. One of my only friends that had stayed by my side since I was a child. When my family vacationed in Lapland I would often play with Jaska who grew up in the small town. He was only a year older than me, but that mere year made him feel like he had to take care of me. Every summer and occasionally some winters we would continue our friendship as if a year had never passed since the last time we laid in fields to hide ourselves away in the hopes of catching a glimpse of some reindeer. There was shame and foolishness that crept inside of me for trying to push away the one person that actually wanted to put up with my tantrums.

We took our seats at the restaurant table that we were led to. He pulled my chair out, showing that rustic nature boy chivalry will never be dead in good old Lapland. He took off his jacket, placing it on the back of the chair. When he finally settled into his seat he placed his arms on the table. The shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing the silhouetted reindeer stag head that lived on the underside of his right forearm. It matched the one on my ribs, whose antlers curved slightly around my right breast. I smiled at the thought of the bond.

It took awhile for us to start conversing. He would try to start up a conversation, but I merely nodded or hummed a little tune as responses. My focus was on my finger that was circling the brim of my water glass. I was nervous about this rendezvous, as Valo put it.

“You need to stop picking at yer nails.” He pulled one of my hands away from it’s prying at the skin on the other. “Why are you nervous?” He noted that nervous habit years ago.

“It’s just...we left on a bad note. I haven’t kept in contact with you.”



“Nor have I kept in contact with you.”

“Well, you have every right not to be speaking to me considering my actions.”

“Sylvie, you’re my friend. I know how you work, so I decided to leave you alone for awhile.”

My eyes starred at his widened, brown, remorseful ones. “A year is an awful long time, ya know,” my voice had been quiet as we stumbled around the past events that cause us to drift and stay on opposite parts of Finland. Jaska in the North and I in the South.

“I’m sorry. I really am because I know what happened after you changed.” I flinched a little at the reminder that most of the people in my life had disappeared. It was odd to think that there used to be a bustle of people that constantly wanted to be graced with my presence and I wanted theirs. “I shouldn’t have left you.”



“Yeah, well, I survived. I found myself a new man to pester.”

“Oh?”

I waved my hand at him when I noticed his concerned look that was common for his face to wear. He sat back with a curious stare that told me he would eventually find out more about Ville.

The rest of the dinner went by well once he got me to laugh at one of his corny jokes. It was like a year never passed, as if it was like childhood all over again. After dinner I asked Jaska to read over a few of the poems I had scrawled out during the time I had spent already in the cabin, away from the bustle of the city, and even away from the man who was staying with me. My head was in a constant twisting dream because of all the pot I smoked. It had always been the typical standard way I worked, but it was starting to be used to calm my nerves. Ville staying with me challenged my social skills that were dwindling. He always thought that I was a people person because I would chat with him with a smile and sometimes if a certain person caught my eye in the cafe I would call over to have him join. I don’t think Ville knew that during the time spent between our meetings I was spending it alone in my apartment. I hardly got out.

I was happy that I could try to help Ville by allowing him to stay with me, but I felt far too awkward for my liking because I was afraid of how I would act around a person for more than an hour spent with their presence. The weed helped me zone out and rid those anxious stirrings. Unfortunately, it did cause me to ignore my guest unintentionally.

Jaska followed me into my warm cabin that was quiet. It was late and I figured Ville had gone to bed since he had been up for almost a full forty-eight hours. He was having a difficult time the night before with his guitar that refused to sound the way it did in his head.

“Hold on, I have to go up to the loft to get my moleskin.”



When I came back down he was seated on the couch, sinking himself into it with his feet propped onto the coffee table. His hands were folded in his lap and he stared around the room absent minded. “I’m glad you invited me back,” he mumbled when he noticed my presence.

“I’m glad too. I’m just happy that we’re on okay terms.” I plopped down next to him, shoving the book with chicken scratch on its’ pages into his hands.

He took a few minutes to read everything over and then insisted the need to skim back through some before he made his official opinion. Before I had met Ville my main go to critic was Jaska. It was nice to have somebody who wasn’t a creative type to take my work to because it gave me a different eye, the public eye. When Ville came around my writing was gracious to his knowledge of literature, well adapted emotions, and opinions. Without Ville around the year my childhood friend and I had parted I’m not sure what would have happened to my writing.

“Sylvie?” I looked up from where my eyes were wide at the book in the hands of the man who sat beside me. My patience was dwindling as he took his time.

“Oh, Ville. I thought you were asleep?”

My new critic had shuffled into the room with a dash of sleep in his eyes before he rubbed it out. He was in a pair of jeans and a zip up hoodie that was open, showing his bare skin. My eyes averted away from the tattoos on his torso.

“I was. I heard talking that wasn’t in my dream, and I woke up.” His gaze focused on Jaska who looked at me curiously and with betrayal. “Who’s this?” a finger was jabbed out.

“Ville, this is Jaska....I told you about him before I left. Jaska, this is Ville, a friend and fellow creative whiner.”

“Nice to meet you,” my old friend stood up with a hand reaching toward what looked like a skeptical man. They shook hands, and Jaska turned to me, “When you said you had another friend I didn’t believe you, but look at this fellow, he’s real.”

“Of course I’m real. Why wouldn’t Sylvie have friends?” Ville’s face contorted as if he was offended by the playful teasing that was not aimed towards him.