Speak Our Minds
They passed a sign ... "thank you for visiting Newton County, where Agriculture and Industry meet" ...
"Final score ... "
Slap!
Radio ... off.
Fuzzy, paws on the wheel, turned his head. Furry, red mane catching the dim light from the spaced-out lampposts.
Field stared straight ahead. Nose and whiskers twitching quietly.
The lion tried not to chuckle. "You shouldn't do that."
The mouse's neck turned. He blinked.
"Punch the radio, I mean."
"I didn't punch it." His voice was quietly defensive.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, I slapped it."
"Oh." A nod. "Well ... " The lion couldn't keep the smile at bay.
Field looked forward again, and then out the side window. It was too dim now ... to see the endless fields. The horizon. The land that was flat and went for miles. Corn. Grain. Open sky. It was there. All there. Paradise. And the full, pale moon, the harvest moon (nestled in October chill) ... showcased some of it. But only a portion. It was like the dark was stealing everything it could get its paws on. Even one's breath. You exhaled, and it became vapor, and then the dark ... took the vapor away. Took your breath away. Sneaky thing.
"It's only a game."
"It's bogus, is what it is," was Field's response, gaze back on the lion, whose own gaze was forward. On the road. "I mean ... give me a break."
"Honey ... " A smile.
"Notre Dame was robbed. They were ... robbed," the mouse said, deflating. "Mm." A pause. "Yeah."
"Robbed?"
"Yes." Another pause. Silent fuming. "USC my tail ... "
"Your tail?" A chuckle. "Don't you mean your ... "
"I don't use cuss words." Pause. "You know that."
"And you're cuter for it," the lion teased.
Field bit his lip, smiling lightly. "I don't know what it is," he remarked, "about Indiana teams that ... they're not allowed to win the big games. They're not ... they get so close, but it ... never happens."
"Mm," went Fuzzy.
Field was looking out the window. "You don't even care, do you?"
"Field, it's just a game ... they're just games. Just ... sports."
"No, it's ... Hoosier teams competing on a national scale, and ... representing my home, and I want them to bloody win," the mouse emphasized. He sighed.
A chuckle.
"Darling, it's not funny."
Continued chuckling. "Well ... it is, though."
"Mm," went Field, smiling a bit. And looking out the window. They were on their way back from a wedding. A wedding in Newton County. Kentland. "Never been to Newton County before, you know."
Fuzzy nodded.
"You haven't, either."
"No."
"Well, we've been to a new place. I ... I like that. I like that we've been to a new place together. I mean, no ... just a place, you know. All these fields and ... in the middle of nowhere." A brighter smile. "The best places are in the middle of nowhere."
"That so?"
"Yeah," the mouse said. Dreamily. And he caught a green mile-marker sign. "Indianapolis: 105 miles." The mouse took a breath. "105 miles from home. That's ... two hours."
"I know ... "
"I love it, darling. I mean ... you know, it's ... I love this place. Our home. I want to visit every county. Every small town. I want to stand in the middle of the expanses ... and see nothing but ... horizon all around. In the winter. When it's white and grey ... and in the summer, too, when it's lush."
"You've already seen all that ... you lived on a farm for 21 years."
"You never see it all," the mouse whispered. "And, even when you have, you ... that doesn't rid you of the desire to see it again and again and ... you know, these fields ... they're my oceans. My struggles are my mountains, and ... you know, it's ... beautiful."
"Mm ... "
Field sighed.
"Sorry, honey, I just ... think it's kind of boring. There's nothing here."
"But there ... is," the mouse emphasized. "It's simplicity. It's ... detail. It's ... prairie. Frontier. I don't know. It's ... " A breath. "I don't know."
"Sounds like you do know ... "
"Yeah, but it's ... taking too many words to whittle it down, so ... I'll say I don't," said the mouse.
The lion's paws were on the wheel. Staring ahead.
"You're not sleepy, are you?"
Fuzzy shook his head.
"Alright." Pause. "You don't need me to drive, do you?"
Another shake of the head. "Baby, it's alright."
"I'm a bad driver."
"I didn't say that."
"I'm saying it," said the mouse. "I'm saying it ... so you don't have to."
A slight smile.
"Anyway, just ... anyway ... "
"You almost fell asleep on the way here, you know," said Fuzzy. "Nodded off a few times."
Field nodded.
Fuzzy chuckled.
Field smiled and gave a little squeak, whiskers twitching. Nose sniffing. And ears going ... swivel-swivel.
"Got your energy now, though, I see."
A nod. "Yeah," said the mouse, and he leaned back in his seat. Adjusted his seatbelt. And was quiet for a moment. And then furrowed his brow, saying, "I wonder where they met."
"What?"
"I wonder ... "
"Who?"
"Agriculture and Industry. The sign coming into Newton County ... said 'Where Agriculture and Industry Meet'. Wonder where they met. Or meet. Whichever."
A chuckle. "Mm ... don't know."
"They don't seem like they would get along."
"Maybe they met online. Like us."
"I doubt Agriculture has a computer, though." Pause. "Industry has one, no doubt. Broad-band. If Agriculture does have one, it's dial-up."
The lion chuckled, taking a breath. "Mm ... you're silly."
The mouse smiled.
"I like it when you ... let your silly side through."
"Yeah?" Still wearing the smile.
"Uh-huh."
Quiet.
The radio still ... off.
The mouse reached and turned it back on. Turned it to the "CD" setting. And, after a few seconds, turned it back off. Leaned back.
Quiet.
"Turn it back on," asked the lion.
"Mm?"
"Some music or something."
"Well ... I wanted to, but ... I don't, you know. I just ... wanna talk. I like it ... just us. No noise."
Fuzzy turned on his turn signal. Switched from the left to right lane.
"Weddings depress me," said Field.
"What?"
"I hate going to these things." Pause. A breath. "I mean, I like the traveling, and ... the going, and ... but being there, at that celebration, it's ... "
"Why's that?"
"Darling ... "
"Is it because ... "
" ... yes. It is."
"Well, do we ... "
"Look, I just ... " The mouse's words faltered. He swallowed. Whiskers twitching. He held his thin, silky tail in his paws. Submissively. Voice going quiet. "You know how ... religious I am."
A quiet nod from his mate.
"I just ... and I'm not allowed to get married. It's ... whenever I'm invited to a wedding, I ... doesn't make me jealous. Just makes me sad, I guess. You know?"
"Well, we're mates, honey. It's ... "
"I know. And that's good enough a bond, for me. That's ... deep. I'm ... I know. I just ... tradition, you know, and ... the trappings of my faith. The ... we're mates, yeah, but ... I don't know. It's ... I don't know," he said, losing his train of thought.
"But you do know, Field."
"But I don't," he insisted.
"But," Fuzzy countered, "you do."
"Darling, I just ... " A sigh. "I don't."
Quiet. Save for the car. Which was going 75 miles per hour. The speed limit was 70. Traffic was sparse.
The mouse twitched. "I just wasn't sure, you know, if ... if it were allowed ... if you would want to." Pause. "Marry me, I mean." Pause. "I didn't know if ... it would have the same meaning for you." Another pause. "It's why I've never mentioned it."
"But ... we're mates."
"Darling, I know we're mates," said Field, opening and closing his paws over his own tail. "I ... I know, okay. And that's ... I'm just saying, you know."
"So ... what, you think that God won't recognize our love unless it's stamped by a church?"
"No. No, that's not what I'm saying."
"No?"
"No." Pause. "It's just what I grew up with. It's ... part of my faith." Pause. "But it can't happen, and ... so, I know. So ... and being mates is just as good. It's special."
"There are places that allow it ... you know."
"But I don't want ... I want to do it here, if I did that ... if we did that, I would want it here. This is my home. I don't care if our mate-ship is recognized in ... Vermont or wherever. I want it validated here."
"You want validation?"
"Well ... "
"Is the opinion of others really that important to you? Do you really ... "
"Darling, seriously ... that's not ... no, I don't need our love to be validated. It's very real to me. You know that. And no one can deny it."
"So ... what's the problem?" Fuzzy asked, gripping the wheel.
"There is," Field insisted, "no problem." A sigh. "I'm just speaking my mind, is all. Just ... rambling. I'm saying," Field said, "that when I go to weddings, it makes me sad. Cause everyone's so happy and celebrating, and I know that ... what they're having and feeling at that moment, surrounded by family, food, lights ... we can't have that. We can't be open with our love. We can't shower it over the world. Can't brighten others with it ... because they don't want to see it." A breath. "The problem," Field finished, "is that no one wants to be happy for us. Because of who we are. No one's ever gonna let us have a party like that."
"Field," said Fuzzy, voice quiet.
The mouse's whiskers twitched.
"Field, just ... you know, don't let it get to you. It's not that important."
The mouse remained quiet.
"We're mates. We love each other. We live together. No one can quiet our love, okay? And if they don't like it, then ... it's none of their business."
"I just ... wish I could be open."
"Honey ... "
"Anyway, weddings ... make me wistful." Pause. "I wanted to dance with you."
"What?" A blink.
"When they were playing all those songs. I kept looking at you ... you were watching the furs dance, and I was watching you, and I kept thinking ... how much I wanted to dance with you. Just ... sway with you in the middle of the gym floor."
A blush. "Yeah?"
A nod. A quiet squeak. "But I was afraid. So, of course, I ... didn't."
"It's okay. I understand ... "
Field nodded quietly.
The sound of the car. The motor.
"The cake was bad. I didn't like their cake," said Field.
A chuckle.
"Did you?" The mouse turned to meet his gaze.
Fuzzy half-way met it ... still half-way looking at the road. "It was okay."
"It was dry."
A chuckle.
"The punch had raspberry sherbet in it ... it was okay." Pause. "I prefer the ginger ale and pineapple juice and orange juice concentrate. And sugar. I like our punch better."
"Ah, your secret punch recipe."
"It's not a secret. You know the ingredients."
"But you act like it's ... "
" ... a good punch? Cause it is," Field insisted.
"You're gonna make that when we get home, aren't you?" A smile.
"Don't have the ingredients."
"Damn," said Fuzzy.
The mouse giggled. "What's that for?"
"What's what for?"
"That word."
"What word?"
"You're trying to get me to curse," the mouse noted.
"Am I?" A cheeky grin.
"It's not gonna work." Pause. "Anyway, what was that for?" Another pause. "You don't like my punch?"
"I do, but ... "
The mouse waited. Ears going ... swivel-swivel.
"You over-inflate its quality. It's good, but ... "
"Well, I can see ... "
" ... it's not that ... Field ... "
" ... see that you know nothing," the mouse said, smiling, looking out the window, "about punch."
A chuckle. A shake of the head.
Field adjusted his seatbelt again. Licked his dry lips. "How many miles?"
"Dozens and dozens," said Fuzzy. "We've got quite a while still."
The mouse breathed. "Well, that's ... more together time." The mouse leaned over and kissed Fuzzy's cheek. And again. Again.
A chuckle.
"More time to speak our minds," said Field, leaning back. Smiling.
"What shall," Fuzzy inquired, "we speak of next?"
"Mm ... yiff."
A laugh.
"No, we'll save yiffy talk for ... later," said the mouse. Knowingly. Smiling shyly. "Mm." And a sigh. And ... the beginnings of fidgeting. "Mm ... "
"What?"
"I shouldn't have drank so much ... raspberry punch."
"Honey ... "
A whispered, "Darling ... I have to go to the bathroom."
"There's an exit in five miles."
An embarrassed nod. "Are we there yet?"
A chuckle.
A smile. "Mm." A giggle-squeak.
Fuzzy purred.
"Can we get something to eat when we stop?" Field asked.
"We ate at the reception ... "
"Well, that was ... wedding food. I want real food," said Field.
Fuzzy laughed. "Like what, exactly?"
"Mm ... French fries ... "
"I've never known you to eat a French fry."
"I'm feeling crazy. I'm liable to do anything at all." A grin.
"I believe it," the lion replied.
And Field sighed. And leaned back in his chair. "I'm not feeling all that tired." A moment of quiet. "Are you?"
"Not at all," was the reply.
A pause. The mouse suggesting, "We can ... we could dance ... when we get home. Would you?"
"You'll lead, right?" A sly grin.
The mouse giggled and shook his head. "No. You'll lead."
"I thought submissive mouses liked taking the lead in dances."
"No ... no ... "
"We'll dance," said Fuzzy. Smiling.
"Don't let me trip over my own foot-paws," Field asked.
"I won't. I won't let you fall."
Field closed his eyes and breathed. And knew it was true.