Tom stayed up until late, doing his homework on his bed in the dark. Papers and books-- a bible for the assigned reading tonight, as well as a thin math book-- were spread across his sheets. It was the first time in a while he had really put in the effort. His eyes stung and he felt so faint, so tired and done with it, when he finished. He pushed the papers into his backpack, not caring if they crumbled and folded together. At least it was done.
When he thought about what he had to do next, though, that tiredness went away, replaced with a sudden liveliness, a quickening pace of heart. Tom got up from where he was, pulling his hands through his hair. He needed to talk to Becky. She might not listen, but... there was still a chance.
Tom got up from his bed, feeling the cold in the air. He walked from his bed towards his door. He opened it quietly, carefully, not wanting to wake Sid or Aunt Polly.
He walked through the hall, down the creaky stairs in just the right spots to be almost silent. His heart was fast and he tried to contain his breaths. His footsteps padded across the wood floors of the house as he walked towards the front door.
He opened it gently, that big wooden door, letting the night air in. Tom slipped shoes on, because he would hardly be able to see where he was going out there.
He stepped outside.
The great door took Tom's focus. He pulled it closed, one second after another, hardly moving it each moment so it could close without a creek, without the usual pull that would let Aunt Polly know he was leaving. And finally, the air filling with Tom's shallow and numerous breaths, the door was closed, and Tom turned away from the house.
There were gas lamps throughout town-- hardly any, but still there, lighting up the street with a glassy, hazy amber-orange flickering glow of fire.
When Tom was in their range, he could see his shadow through the bright, sharp air, and couldn't see past the aura of the light, shining on the ground and the grass and the edges of fences. And when he was out of the range, he could see as his eyes adjusted, there were so many stars and the town had a calmness.
He wished Becky was out here. When he got to her house he would pull her out to look at the stars and she would forgive him and it would be great again.
Tom kept walking. Hoping. He moved past neighbors' houses quietly, hoping they couldn't see his flickering shadow through their windows and their curtains.
Eventually, he reached Becky's house. The big structure brought a turning to his chest. It was formidable in this dark blue air, and then when he stepped into the light of another gas lamp, the glow and the shine of the light swirled in his eyes. Becky would probably be asleep... He would disturb the whole town... still, Tom stepped through the house's gate.
He was trespassing, now, but... He just needed to knock on their door.
Each of his steps crunched against the gravel, the grainy dirt, the crisp blades of grass. His limbs felt light and hardly in his control. Almost numb, he was unable to feel his own movements when he put his hand in a fist. When he came up to their big house and knocked on their door.
And the sound was thick. It echoed through the silent air, through his ears. Even if it was probably quieter than hearing the sound of the steamboats and the lapping water of the river from right here-- even if it was silent-- he felt it shake through his hand and through his bones and resonate in his gut.
And he heard movement from inside the house. That brought a thrill to his heart. An ache to his muscles, now awake, more than before, as someone unlocked her front door and pulled it open.