Tom walked with the bag slung around him. He opened his door for the last time. Closed it as softly as he could.
He walked down that old, old hallway that he's walked across all his life.
So many memories, so many years-these last few, not so good. His whole life was spent here in this small town.
Tom walked down those stairs. Each second, he moved with a shallow breath, stepping in those right places he had memorized years back; Each second, he expected to hear an opening door or a voice behind him or something, hoping for nothing. And he got nothing-just a silent night to match his own silent footsteps. He reached the bottom of the stairs and looked back, up those old worn steps. He had so many adventures to take.
He continued.
Tom put on his shoes and took the rest of that old bread loaf, and another that was fresher. He would need it if he wanted to walk a few days without stopping-they'd be looking for him, no doubt. They'd be wanting him to come back.
The thought of actually, finally leaving gave him a thrill. He hadn't felt the excitement of an adventure in a long time.
Tom reached the big creaky wooden front door. He reached his hand out and grabbed the cold handle. One last adventure to last a lifetime. That's all he needed, now.
He opened that door. As slowly as he could, but his breath was shallow and rising and his heartbeat took over him, and he needed to leave before he was caught. He moved the drawing to his bag, to a place it wouldn't get wet.
He walked through the doorway and closed it behind him, making sure it closed as silently as it could. Tom looked-- the bird was still there, but he knew it would be gone with the rain by morning.
It had to be now.
But before he could go, he had to say his goodbyes.
He wouldn't tell Sid or Aunt Polly-- they would just stop him. But he knew Sid would understand, and Aunt Polly would grow to accept it, too.
Tom stepped off the porch. He closed his eyes and let the rain soak through him, each flick of water making his body tense and cold and freezing-- but it was the best thing he had ever felt. He was going to be free.
Tom walked through town, struggling against the storm. He held his bag against his stomach and he curled into it-hopefully the things inside weren't getting too wet, but Tom knew they probably were. It was alright.
He went to see Becky.
There were no streetlamps on, but he didn't need them-years and years of them being together, he knew the way. Each step made him lighter, made his stomach turn faster. This felt right. This, finally, finally, was what he needed.
In the dark, he looked up. Couldn't see much but dark and darker, but he knew Becky's house was right ahead of him. This rain was weighing down his body, pushing him to the ground with every drop, and still he continued.
Tom walked to Becky's house. Knocked on their big door-a few echo-y raps, thick and full. The energy of the night was all around him, so Alive. He felt it in him now.
Tom Sawyer stood at their door in the middle of the night, waiting.
He knocked again. They were all probably sleeping. But this was urgent-either they answered now, or he would be gone without a trace.
The door opened, and the warm air from inside the house blew in. Judge Thatcher was standing at the door. Tom's stomach dropped sickly, but he stood there, composed, watching the tiredness in the man's eyes mix with a confusion, an annoyance.
"You're at my house again, Tom." He said with a deep, tired, rough voice.
"Yessir. It's the last time, I swear." Tom said over the rain. He smiled, nervous, running a drenched hand through his dripping hair. Judge Thatcher looked at him, and then his formidable figure started to slouch and turn, looking up at the air, letting out an exhale.
"Your Aunt'll hear of this."
"I know. Thank you, sir. I'm really sorry-- Can I speak with Becky?" Tom asked. Judge Thatcher sighed again.
"Yes. One moment-come in here, boy. You aren't about to catch cold on my property." Judge Thatcher said, setting a big warm hand on Tom's shoulder, ushering him inside. Judge Thatcher closed the door, trapping the warm air inside once more. "Hold on." He said, walking through the house to retrieve Becky.
In this silence, Tom let himself feel his thrumming heartbeat. He let himself feel the shaking, hot pit in his stomach. By the time the sun was up, he'd be on his way. By then, he'd be out of here. He'd be up and gone and no one would be able to catch him an bring him back just to be married, just to be controlled, just to be whipped-he'd run and he wouldn't have anything else that he needed to do except live. He'd be happy. And he wasn't going to give that up anymore.
Tom waited. In the dark of the big house, he could hear the rain and its pattering and its breaks of thunder.
He could hear whisperings from the edge of the hall, out of view. A voice he didn't recognize-probably one of Becky's cousins who had come for the wedding. Tom's cousin was probably on her way right now, coming in right before the wedding and leaving right after-- An awful shame their families were coming for nothing.
Judge Thatcher returned. Becky was trailing after him, smoothing her dress and her hair. Tom thought the sight of her one last time would raise a feeling in him. But it didn't-just that constant fear; just that constant familiarity.
Becky reached Tom, standing right in front of him. She turned to her father.
"Thank you-please get some rest, okay? It's alright." Becky said with a soft smile in her voice. He nodded and left, leaving them alone.
The rain surrounded him. Filled his stomach.
"Well hey, Becky." Tom said, looking down into her tired eyes. This was not proper wedding etiquette.
"What are you coming here for, Tom? It's the middle of the night." Becky said, smiling tiredly. But there was something behind her eyes in the same way there was something behind his. She could tell this wasn't his regular kind of strange. They could both feel how the rain had pulled the ground up, rising dust through their fragile chests.
Tom had to look away for a moment. Past her, through her dark house-then he had to close his eyes, focusing on the rain and the thunder and its dotting wash in order to prevent his eyes from stinging and him just leaving right then.
He felt the chill of the rain soaking through him. They had known each other half their lives. She was like a friend to him. But she wasn't looking for a friend.
He was freezing-- Becky reached a hand out and lightly touched his shoulder, and he flinched. She pulled away.
"I'll get you a towel, Tom-"
"No," Tom said quickly as air, and then a tired, weak, nervous laugh came to him. "I'm okay, Becky." He said. He ran a hand through his hair. Drips of water came down to his feet.
"No, you're not, Tom." She said in that quiet way she had. And it made that pit in his stomach rise and fall like the river, like steam. Thunder rocked the flooring; flashes filled the walls. They met each other's eyes.
"You're right." He said quietly. He closed his eyes, feeling the silence in their voices. "Becky," he started. Her name gave nothing to him but sadness, "remember when I didn't even want to go to the fair? And-and I never wanted to adventure?"
"Yes, of course." She said, a smile forming. He shook his head.
"I was waiting for something that I never thought would come." Tom said. These were the words that brought emotion to his chest. Becky tilted her head, smoothed her dress, and then Tom took her warm hands. The rain kept him going, but he could hardly get the words out to free himself.
"Tom, why... Are you alright?" She asked. He thought this would be different. He thought he could just say the words and leave. He thought this would be easier.
"Becky," He said, and his words were heaving and soft and broken. She took a step towards him and he took a step back. "We don't want the same things. We-" Tom looked around sharply, up at the high ceiling and the sturdy walls and at her, the one person who was there for him before Huck came back- "We don't want the same life." He said. She gripped him tighter, her eyes flicking, trying to scan and see through him.
"What? Tom, yes we do. To be married. To have children. To be together."
"We've never even talked about that." Tom pulled his hands away, running them over his face and through his hair. "Becky," He whispered frantically, "what I've been doing to you is awful, and I'm so sorry." He said. She stared at him, confounded, frozen. "We don't want the same things. And I can't go through with our marriage if it'll only end with us being unhappy. I can't do that to you or to myself."
"Tom. We've been planning this for months." She said. She watched him, bewildered. Her words gained a sharpness, an indignation. "At any point, you could've said that. But now?" She asked. The rain and the thunder dripped and crackled and fell like buckets splashing.
"I'm sorry." He said. She was furious, of course. "I thought I could keep this going. I thought I," He talked in breaths, in breaks, and she started to turn away, but Tom gripped her shoulders and she stayed and he continued. "I thought I could stay on top of my schoolwork, and stay social, and keep being what you wanted me to be. But Becky, I just can't. Every second I spend doing that, I feel myself falling apart. I can't keep giving you anything but what I am, and you need better than me, Becky." The rain swelled.
It felt like this storm was never going away. Tom could feel its wind and its dousing cold in his heart, in his soul. "I can't marry you, Becky." He was breaking inside, but it was just the worst parts of himself. He felt relief with the sting of every syllable.
She stared at him, and he closed his mouth, staring back through this thick darkness. Lightning flashed again. There were tears on her face. His face, too-of course there were. How could he expect breaking apart a marriage to not end like this?
"Tom, I..."
"I'm sure, Becky." He said. The house felt so empty in this darkness, but there was still a rawness around them. He felt like he was watched, all the time. It felt like the whole town was waiting for him to change his mind, to come back. He wouldn't, and that felt so freeing. He would be away from the prying eyes and the intrusive opinions and thoughts and feelings of the townsfolk.
"No." She glared helplessly at him. "No. Tom, it's the middle of the night-you... You're not thinking right." She stuttered. Reached for words that couldn't be said; nothing would convince him. She shook her head, smoothed her dress, blinked harshly. "We can talk in the morning. When we've slept. When it's not raining. We'll figure this out-" She said, but Tom just shook and shook his head.
"Becky, I'm leaving." He said. It made the sting in his eyes worse; it brought a heaving to his chest; it made him smile. "I don't think I'm coming back." His sight was blurred and his stomach ached.
"Please. Please. I'll go wherever you go, Tom." She whispered. He shook his head. He really was hurting her, but... He was saving their futures. He couldn't let this strife go on.
"You can find better, Becky. Half the boys in town probably got their eyes on you right now." He said. She just stared at him, her hands gripping the edges of her dress.
Tom turned to go, and she reached out quickly, frantically, grabbing his hand.
He glanced at her one last time, seeing the tears in her shiny eyes. A moment of silence, hearing the storm, hearing their breaths, feeling each other's heartbeats through their palms.
"Do you love Huckleberry?" She asked softly. Tom's body lost its tension, and their faces melted to sadness.
"Yeah, Becky. I believe I do." He said. She nodded imperceptibly. More tears formed in her eyes.
"We're gonna miss you, Tom." She said. Her voice was warbling, waving, turning with the rain drops. Tom nodded. Her eyes closed, and she let him go.
"I'll miss you all, too... I'll miss you, Becky." Tom said. "I'm real sorry. But there's no other way for both of us to end up happy."
Tom turned, opening the big door. He walked out into the rain, letting its sharp and cutting chill envelop him. He heard Becky close the door, and then he was alone.
Rain and thunder echoed around him. Lightning lit the ground.
Tom looked up at the sky, letting his tears and the rain mix, falling; After everything, he was so relieved, so light; The pain in his chest was so much larger than before, but he was free.
Tom walked through the mud and grass and the fizzing, flooding water. To the Widow Douglas' house. To Huck.