Author’s Notes: inspired by the brilliant song “Ol’ Man River”, the (brown) waters of the Mississippi that I saw many years ago, and my wanting to read a T/H story. I haven’t had the book in hand for ages, a couple of years in fact. If I mess up, please excuse me.

There are many tales the Mississippi could tell those who are willing to listen; tales of despair, of hate, of passion, and some of love lost and found. But most enduring are the stories of friendships formed, of people drifting apart and finding their way back to entwine their hearts as the currents of the river weave the lapping waves together with the shore along the wide bed.

~

Two boys sat on a raft, gently swaying as it rode across the waves of the river, the shore slowly passing by it.

“I kissed Becky. On the lips.”

“She like it?”

“She blushed and didn’t look at me again. Said we were too old to play ‘round.”

The taller boy laughed. “That means she liked it, Tom.”

“How d’ya know?”

“Girls are easy.”

“How would’ya know?”

“I’ve kissed plenty.”

“Sure.”

Tom drew out the word with just a hint of exasperation in his tone. He wasn’t going to believe that so easily. Huck wasn’t lying, just bragging a bit, trying to win respect. Tom grinned slyly, watching his friend out of the corner of his eye, “Can ya prove it?”

“Ask the girls in town.”

The answer was more confident than he had anticipated. But Huck had never talked about kissing girls before. Not to him anyway.

“Don’t believe me, Tom?”

“Nah.”

“I’m the best kisser in all of Hannibal.”

“Ya’re a bragger, Huck Finn.”

“Ya’re just jealous, Tom Sawyer.”

Tom swatted the other boy on the head. The raft bounced a little. Huck grinned, using the slight wobble to catch his friend off-balance, grab his wrist and pin it behind his back, pushing him down onto the float with his own weight.

“I ain’t no bragger,” he whispered, then he leaned down and kissed Tom firmly on the lips. Once, then a second time, more gently. When he pulled back, the other boy’s eyes were closed. Huck smiled, letting go. Tom blushed slightly, sitting up and punching his friend in the side. They both started laughing.

~

“What’ll you do when you grow up, Huck?”

“I won’t.”

“Won’t what?”

“Grow up, Tom. I won’t. Don’t want to, won’t do it.”

Huck’s face was open, smiling, but with an edge of determination. Tom didn’t say a word; they both knew they couldn’t escape. It was the last summer of their boyhood together - the following year Huck left, to be apprenticed at a newspaper. He hadn’t spoken about it, though Tom had known from Aunt Polly. If not for his pre-occupation with Becky, he might have taken it to heart more.

It was only when he was on the river again, alone, the tiny waves rocking the float he had built with his friend that he realized life was no longer as simple as it had been. He was still a young boy, but Huck was growing up.

~

“Good day, Tom.”

Huck’s hand was warm and dry in his. He hadn’t noticed before; it was the first time their greeting was so formal, the first time they treated each other like adults. Tom didn’t like it.

“I’m going fishing, wanna come along?”

“Thanks, Tom. But I’ve got this article to finish…”

“Kay. You know where to find me.”

Huck nodded, Tom left. The pen that had so busily scraped across the paper before lay idly in his hand. He hadn’t wanted to grow up. And the main reason for it had just walked out the door - taller than he remembered, a little more gangly, a little more serious. His best friend, the only boy he’d ever played with. He sighed. An hour later, the sunlight filtered through the window onto his empty seat, the pen neatly placed on top of a pile of papers.

Tom smiled when Huck sat down beside him, shirtsleeves bunched up, coat and vest left behind, barefoot. He handed his friend some string, a hook, and a stick, watching out of the corner of his eye as Huck’s nimble fingers quickly made a fishing rod. They sat in silence, the water lapping at their feet.

“Wanna try further down the bank?”

“Sure.”

“Let’s take the float.”

“You’ve been using it often?”

“Yeah, only way to make sure Aunt Polly won’t find me.”

Tom winked, Huck smiled. He felt very old, and very much out of place. Tom was a boy, and he was a man. The years between them had stretched and become a chasm all of a sudden. They waded into the river, pulling the float until the water was up to their knees. Then they got onto their raft and pushed it away from the shore into the current. Almost like the old days. Huck settled down on one side, Tom on the other, balancing the float with their weight. They used to sit beside each other in the middle, but that no longer seemed like a good idea.

“Becky’s got a suitor.”

Huck’s heart skipped a beat, “You planning to settle down, Tom?”

“Nah, it’s not me. Some guy working for the shipping company, couple of years older than her.”

“Jealous?”

“Guess so.”

Tom didn’t say that the last time he had kissed Becky, he had actually thought of Huck. That he had liked being pinned down by his friend. He didn’t say that sometimes he woke up at night, with the memory of sun-warmed wood at his back, the smell of water in his mind and the sensation of a firm, gentle kiss on his lips.

“I’m going to be a lawyer.”

“Hm.”

“I’m leaving Hannibal in a few weeks.”

Huck wanted to ask his friend to write. But they had never written to each other. He hadn’t written while he was away. It didn’t seem right somehow.

“You looking forward to it?”

“Sure.”

Tom’s eyes were distant and his smile tinged with sadness. Huck turned his back on his friend, letting the river wash around his calves, concentrating on the cool, slick wetness against his skin. Tom had smelt of soap and sweat, his lips had tasted of sugar, from the lemonade he had drunk. He’d not kissed anyone since then, even though there were enough pretty girls to choose from. It wouldn’t have been the same. He was a grown man now, and a kiss meant more than it once had.

~

Becky had married -- or so Huck had heard; he hadn’t been in Hannibal for ages, and the widow’s chatty letters held little information about Tom -- merely that he hadn’t visited for a while and that everyone attributed it to a broken heart. Huck wasn’t so sure that was the reason, rather that his friend, like himself, found it hard to return to the place that was full of his boyhood memories - a grown man who didn’t quite fit any longer.

When the widow wrote to tell him that the Hannibal Herald was looking for a reporter, Huck replied with suitable interest; it was only after he was told, in no uncertain terms, that he had no future in the newspaper industry that he decided to apply for the job. His editor wasn’t exactly open to discussing Huck’s writing for the title page -- or any other big story for that matter -- but at least he wasn’t told he had no talent.

Returning to the sleepy town he had grown up in, took a lot of getting used to, as did the seeing of the same well-known faces. It wasn’t easy either to convince people he was no longer a prankster -- the bad boy had grown up to be a responsible young men. Huck had a dream now that was different to any he had ever had before - he wanted to be the best reporter this small town had ever seen, and after he had made his name in Hannibal, he would travel up the river and spread the word about it until, one day, he would write for the most prestigious newspapers in America.

No one should ever underestimate Huckleberry Finn, he told the river as he walked along its shores. The float was still in its hide-out, but he didn’t take it out. To reach his goal he had to forget about his youth, as he needed to forget about the boy who had been his friend when he had no other. Thoughts of Tom brought memories of times when he had not been reluctant to laugh out loud; recollections of cool water against his skin, the scent of damp vegetation, sweat in the summer heat, a wide warm smile, and lips that tasted of sugar.

~

The city with all its bustle was enough to take Tom’s mind off many things, yet there were always some that managed to creep into his dreams -- copper hair, golden in the sunlight, sticking out at odd angles, an abundance of freckles dancing when Huck laughed. They had faded with the years, the last time he had seen his friend he had counted only twelve around his nose.

Tom often sat at the open window while he worked, unconcerned with the stench that came from the street. It was better than the simmering heat inside the room that never failed to remind him of lazy summer days, stretched out on their float beside Huck, drifting down the river. Aunt Polly had written to tell him that his friend had come home, a silent question to him, a plea to come back as well. The old lady had no one to look after her and much as he didn’t want to think of it, Tom knew she was asking him to come to her so she wouldn’t be alone in her last years.

When he packed his bags - for a summer vacation in Hannibal - he was in fact leaving town for good; Aunt Polly hadn’t been doing well and he felt he owed her too much to keep away now she needed him. The journey on the river was much as he remembered it, though he was breathing easier in the clean air and the scent of the water around him soothed him.

Stepping on shore in Hannibal, Tom didn’t lose any time, purposefully striding towards Judge Thatcher’s office.

~

“Tom is back in town.”

“I heard.”

“Haven’t you met him yet? You haven’t seen each for so long!”

“I was busy at work. We’ll catch up.”

Huck’s voice was steady, there was no trace of the resentment he had felt when he had heard about “the return”. It was supposedly something good. He personally wasn’t all that sure if he wanted to be reminded of certain things -- of freedom, laughter. It was Tom really. It came down to the fact that his youth had been so much better ever since he met that boy. Mischief aside, he’d never known a better friend. Apart from Jim, but then again, Jim had always been a grown man, he’d always treated Huck as such. It wasn’t the same. The memories were different.

~

Tom wound his way through the thick bushes to where he had hidden the float. It was still there, though in slight disrepair. Knowing that Huck had been in Hannibal for a good year that surprised him somewhat. He had thought his friend would go out on the river, since he loved that part of their home so much more than all others. Obviously, he hadn’t. As he hadn’t come to see Tom. They’d met on the street a few days ago, shaken hands, smiled politely. There was no recognition of what they’d once meant to each other. In fact, it almost seemed as if the man in front of him wasn’t Huck, but some stranger.

~

Three months. He had counted them, counted the days and nights that Tom had spent in Hannibal. Counted and failed to understand why he was doing it; why the slanting of the sun across the room in the morning, the red-gold autumn leaves and the stronger breeze unnerved him so; and most of all, why he did no longer walk along the river, as if afraid of something.

But this was, perhaps, the one question that he could find an answer to, in his constant avoidance of his former friend. He knew it was best this way; they wouldn’t find anything to talk about, there wouldn’t be the same easy familiarity they had felt with each other. Their childhood was past them, and the memories gave him pain. He wished he could have held on to their last summer, to the last time they had laughed with each other, the summer before he had left, the summer he had kissed Tom.

~

It was a lovely morning, deep yellows and reds had painted the trees with a blazing fire of colour, and the wind was warm. Huck hadn’t slept well, but he’d been up with dawn, to take a walk. He hadn’t passed by the river, just gone along the streets till it was time to go to work.

“Letter for you,” his editor informed him, indicating his small desk, piled as usual with his papers, books and the array of pens.

He sat down, the tiny ‘Huckleberry Finn’ in capital letters the only indication the message was meant for him. The writing was somewhat familiar, though he had never actually gotten a note from Tom before.

I repaired the float.
Will be going out on the
river tonight.
Leaving at 5.30
See you then
Tom

It wasn’t an eloquent invitation; it was more of a command, really, but Huck didn’t even consider not going. He didn’t think about it too much, just went home after work, changed into older clothes, took a warm overcoat and went to meet Tom.

The other man smiled at him as they waded into the cold water, shivering slightly as the wind picked up. They climbed onto their raft as the current took them and they began a slow journey down the river, the lights of Hannibal’s houses dimming out between the trees until they were alone in the twilight, the cloudless sky swathed in red, orange, and violet, with a tinge of black at the edge heralding the cloak of stars they would soon see above them.

They sat side by side in the middle of the float, keeping their cold feet as far away from the water as they could. The evening was cool, and the wind became a little chilly as the light waned, their silence unbroken.

It was Tom who spoke, finally, in a whisper, “I’m glad you came.”

Huck didn’t answer. The moonlight didn’t fully illuminate the river yet, but it framed the other man’s face - a strong face, a stark contrast to the soft, boyish lines he had been so familiar with. He felt an overwhelming sense of something precious lost along the way, irretrievably, and it saddened him.

“Remember our last summer?”

Tom smiled, nodded. “You said you wouldn’t grow up.”

“But I did.”

“I hadn’t noticed.”

A grin tugged at the corner’s of Huck’s mouth, “Really? How come?”

“Haven’t seen you for a while. Too busy kissing all the pretty girls?”

“Jealous?” It came out the wrong way, somehow. It was what Huck had wanted to say, if he was honest with himself, but it wasn’t what he had meant to say. Tom punched his side, smiling, “I guess.”

They looked at each other for a moment, though nightfall had taken all definition from their features and darkened their eyes so they were inscrutable to each other. Finally Huck whispered, “What’ll you do about it?”

Tom’s lips weren’t sweet, but warm and pliant, and the strong body in his arms moulded itself against his as the current rocked gently, in time with their touches and sighs, carried along the river on the autumn wind.

Finis.