Installment #17
Him
He fingered his scar as he watched from his roost. The little fag boy was there with his little fag friend. Meg was happy to see them. She hugged them both. Both of them! Not just her son. He could have forgiven that, but both of them. Like that was her daughter-in-law. Couldn’t she see how wrong that was?
They were both men, for God’s sake! He could see that Kevin was going to have to meet with something bigger than life. Maybe on the way back home. San Francisco was a lot of miles away and a lot could happen. Or maybe when he got home there would be a very big earthquake. Yes! God had his way of dealing with these people. Oh, and now there was that jerk from up North to deal with. Life had sure been simple before he managed to sync his computer with hers and become part of her network. He could not believe his eyes when he saw the redranger invite himself to Denver and then ask her to join him. He was aghast when she acccepted. Was she a common trollop? She was actually going to meet that man in Denver. That Eldon. Where? Who knew. Probably his motel room. Well, that would happen over somebody’s dead body. And it was not going to be his. He reached in his shirt pocket and pulled out the salve that he kept there for just that use. This had some sort of Novocain or something in it that numbed it just enough to make the pain bearable. As he rubbed it he thought back to that summer night on the river. They were knee deep in mud in the heart of Viet Cong territory. It was a stealth operation as they crept closer to the big paddle boat. He could hear them laughing and they seemed to be passing something around. No doubt it was some sort of liquor because they were normally more vigilant than they were tonight. The first soldier reached the barge, pulled the pin on the grenade and heaved it over the side. The concussion was instantaneous and more than they expected. As the Viet Cong were thrown in the air, so was he. He learned later that he had landed face down on an iron piling. His eye was gone. His face a mess of an open wound from his left eyebrow to his right jawbone. The doctors talked of reconstruction, but they were not very experienced at this sort of thing. By the time he was stateside it was apparent that everything that had been done was the extent of it and what he was left with was just something he would live with. Viet Nam was not a popular war. He had mustered out in Wichita, Kansas of all places.
By this time he was used to the stares, but not ready for what lay ahead. Mom, Dad and Jeffery had met him at the station and returned him to Tulsa, Oklahoma where they were living at the time. Dad was a banking consultant so he moved around a lot. Oklahoma had some great catfish and Dad did like to fish so what better way to live than doing what he liked? Dad and Jeffery had looked at his face and studied it. Then it was accepted and they went to the next subject. Not Mom. She had recoiled. She had stared. She had lost her voice. She did not touch him. His own mother did not want to touch him. He remembered a time when she could not get enough of him. He massaged his scar and thought of her. He hated her.
He had left Oklahoma and when he shook the Oklahoma red dirt off his boots, he shook his mother off also. He kept in touch with Dad and Jeffery, but just barely. When mom died he did not go home for the funeral. And he was not very surprised when Dad found some woman and retired in Vermont. Little town called Brattleboro. Jeffery had drifted away and he had let him. He needed no one. He wanted Meg, but he did not need her. He had thought once that he needed his mother, but that was a wasted thought. That was when he was a needy little boy, but that little boy was gone long ago.
He leaned forward as the door opened and Meg, Kevin and Greg came out followed by the dogs. He knew by the knapsack that they were going for a walk or run or maybe a little of both. He had watched Meg and Kevin in California so he knew the routine. Course Greg would be a health nut like Kevin. That was alright. Just so they stayed in California and left Meg alone out here. He could spare a few days. What was a few more days when he had already waited over three years?
He had never been very good with the ladies. Never learned the fine art of wooing and winning one of the fair sex. Fair sex? He snorted. Bitches every one. His mother first and the way she had always fawned over Jeffery. No “atta boys” for him. Do this and do that, but no “thank you, son.” Not from her or the old man. He remembered suddenly, like a misty memory from way back in the deepest recesses of his mind coming home from school and running into the kitchen. His mother was there and so was the neighbor man. Forgot his name. He remembered his mother being red in her face and the neighbor man fumbling with his overalls. Funny smell. He had learned things since that day and he knew what his mother was.
He thought of the girls in high school. He was a jock and the girls hung around the field. After the game on Friday night there was always a party and always one of the girls wanting to spread her legs and think it was love. Love! He spat. No way. If he ever fell in love it would not be with one of these sluts. It would be with a woman the direct opposite of his mother. A woman who held herself above the fray and tumult of every day living. A woman who emitted a light, like the one he saw when he looked at the Virgin Mary. That one. And when they consummated on the wedding night she would hold very still. That would be her duty. And of course, she would conceive that night and they would not have to do that again until they wanted another baby. He would cherish her. They would talk about things like his work. The house would be spotless. The child would be perfect and never cry. And every day she would make cookies for him. No more of that crap in cellophane on the grocery shelf. Fresh cookies. On a plate with a napkin under them.
He realized that the threesome and the dogs had rounded the bend in the road and were now out of sight. He let himself drift for a moment thinking of Meg Parker and dreaming of what their life would be like. He envisioned her standing in the door of the cabin in a very pale blue dress. There was lace at the throat. The hem fell well below her knees. She wore sturdy shoes. And an apron of gingham. Oh, and a plate of cookies. She knew he liked cookies. How did she always manage to have a plate of fresh cookies when she never knew when he was coming home? She was wonderful. Everything he had hoped she would be. She stared at him like he was her complete world. Her eyes were wet like she was about to cry because she was so full of love for him that it was overwhelming. And he kissed her lightly on the forehead. His world was perfect. And the best part was that she was past the child bearing years so they did not need to do the dirty, despicable act to procreate. They did not need a child to make their world complete; they had each other.
With this vision in his mind he climbed down from his perch, checked the limbs at the base of the tree, took the seven steps to the opening, stepped inside and hurried back to his cabin. He secured the door behind himself. He opened a can of Campbell’s Bean and Bacon soup and put it on to heat. He made a cold ham sandwich. He ate at the table with a small glass of red wine. He was nothing if not civilized at all times. Then he opened the refrigerator and took out his bottle of Scotch. It was the one vice he allowed himself and only here and only when he was ready for bed. He dropped four ice cubes in a tumbler and splashed the Scotch over them. He swirled the glass as he put on his pajama’s. Then he sat in his recliner and leaned back at a 45 degree angle with his feet elevated so he could just see tips of the felted gray slippers peeking over the mound that was his stomach.
He sipped the drink as he let images flit through his mind. Meg in her flannel night gown. Meg lying quietly on her side of the bed. Meg with her hungry eyes looking at him. Of course he had on his cotton pin striped pajama’s. He took her hand because this was how they usually slept. He realized how soft her hand was. For some reason unknown to him, he kissed her fingertips. Her eyes flew open in surprise. He had never made a gesture like this in the three months they had been together. He sat bolt upright in the recliner and his feet hit the floor. My God! What was he thinking? Kissing her finger tips was a very intimate and erotic gesture. Those were not words in his vocabulary, yet they were in his mind. Where did they come from. Was he secretly thinking of sex? Sex! Sex with a woman? Sex with Meg? He ran to the bathroom and retched. His stomach spasmed until there was nothing left to lose. He must not think like this. But if not that, then what did he want? Did he want to spend the rest of his life lying in bed with a woman and never touching her? That was not realistic. Could he do it without seeing his mother and farmer Brown from next door grunting in the kitchen.
He must think. Yes, he must think and have a plan, but not tonight. It frightened him too much. He climbed into bed and curled into a fetal position and cried himself to sleep.
Him
He fingered his scar as he watched from his roost. The little fag boy was there with his little fag friend. Meg was happy to see them. She hugged them both. Both of them! Not just her son. He could have forgiven that, but both of them. Like that was her daughter-in-law. Couldn’t she see how wrong that was?
They were both men, for God’s sake! He could see that Kevin was going to have to meet with something bigger than life. Maybe on the way back home. San Francisco was a lot of miles away and a lot could happen. Or maybe when he got home there would be a very big earthquake. Yes! God had his way of dealing with these people. Oh, and now there was that jerk from up North to deal with. Life had sure been simple before he managed to sync his computer with hers and become part of her network. He could not believe his eyes when he saw the redranger invite himself to Denver and then ask her to join him. He was aghast when she acccepted. Was she a common trollop? She was actually going to meet that man in Denver. That Eldon. Where? Who knew. Probably his motel room. Well, that would happen over somebody’s dead body. And it was not going to be his. He reached in his shirt pocket and pulled out the salve that he kept there for just that use. This had some sort of Novocain or something in it that numbed it just enough to make the pain bearable. As he rubbed it he thought back to that summer night on the river. They were knee deep in mud in the heart of Viet Cong territory. It was a stealth operation as they crept closer to the big paddle boat. He could hear them laughing and they seemed to be passing something around. No doubt it was some sort of liquor because they were normally more vigilant than they were tonight. The first soldier reached the barge, pulled the pin on the grenade and heaved it over the side. The concussion was instantaneous and more than they expected. As the Viet Cong were thrown in the air, so was he. He learned later that he had landed face down on an iron piling. His eye was gone. His face a mess of an open wound from his left eyebrow to his right jawbone. The doctors talked of reconstruction, but they were not very experienced at this sort of thing. By the time he was stateside it was apparent that everything that had been done was the extent of it and what he was left with was just something he would live with. Viet Nam was not a popular war. He had mustered out in Wichita, Kansas of all places.
By this time he was used to the stares, but not ready for what lay ahead. Mom, Dad and Jeffery had met him at the station and returned him to Tulsa, Oklahoma where they were living at the time. Dad was a banking consultant so he moved around a lot. Oklahoma had some great catfish and Dad did like to fish so what better way to live than doing what he liked? Dad and Jeffery had looked at his face and studied it. Then it was accepted and they went to the next subject. Not Mom. She had recoiled. She had stared. She had lost her voice. She did not touch him. His own mother did not want to touch him. He remembered a time when she could not get enough of him. He massaged his scar and thought of her. He hated her.
He had left Oklahoma and when he shook the Oklahoma red dirt off his boots, he shook his mother off also. He kept in touch with Dad and Jeffery, but just barely. When mom died he did not go home for the funeral. And he was not very surprised when Dad found some woman and retired in Vermont. Little town called Brattleboro. Jeffery had drifted away and he had let him. He needed no one. He wanted Meg, but he did not need her. He had thought once that he needed his mother, but that was a wasted thought. That was when he was a needy little boy, but that little boy was gone long ago.
He leaned forward as the door opened and Meg, Kevin and Greg came out followed by the dogs. He knew by the knapsack that they were going for a walk or run or maybe a little of both. He had watched Meg and Kevin in California so he knew the routine. Course Greg would be a health nut like Kevin. That was alright. Just so they stayed in California and left Meg alone out here. He could spare a few days. What was a few more days when he had already waited over three years?
He had never been very good with the ladies. Never learned the fine art of wooing and winning one of the fair sex. Fair sex? He snorted. Bitches every one. His mother first and the way she had always fawned over Jeffery. No “atta boys” for him. Do this and do that, but no “thank you, son.” Not from her or the old man. He remembered suddenly, like a misty memory from way back in the deepest recesses of his mind coming home from school and running into the kitchen. His mother was there and so was the neighbor man. Forgot his name. He remembered his mother being red in her face and the neighbor man fumbling with his overalls. Funny smell. He had learned things since that day and he knew what his mother was.
He thought of the girls in high school. He was a jock and the girls hung around the field. After the game on Friday night there was always a party and always one of the girls wanting to spread her legs and think it was love. Love! He spat. No way. If he ever fell in love it would not be with one of these sluts. It would be with a woman the direct opposite of his mother. A woman who held herself above the fray and tumult of every day living. A woman who emitted a light, like the one he saw when he looked at the Virgin Mary. That one. And when they consummated on the wedding night she would hold very still. That would be her duty. And of course, she would conceive that night and they would not have to do that again until they wanted another baby. He would cherish her. They would talk about things like his work. The house would be spotless. The child would be perfect and never cry. And every day she would make cookies for him. No more of that crap in cellophane on the grocery shelf. Fresh cookies. On a plate with a napkin under them.
He realized that the threesome and the dogs had rounded the bend in the road and were now out of sight. He let himself drift for a moment thinking of Meg Parker and dreaming of what their life would be like. He envisioned her standing in the door of the cabin in a very pale blue dress. There was lace at the throat. The hem fell well below her knees. She wore sturdy shoes. And an apron of gingham. Oh, and a plate of cookies. She knew he liked cookies. How did she always manage to have a plate of fresh cookies when she never knew when he was coming home? She was wonderful. Everything he had hoped she would be. She stared at him like he was her complete world. Her eyes were wet like she was about to cry because she was so full of love for him that it was overwhelming. And he kissed her lightly on the forehead. His world was perfect. And the best part was that she was past the child bearing years so they did not need to do the dirty, despicable act to procreate. They did not need a child to make their world complete; they had each other.
With this vision in his mind he climbed down from his perch, checked the limbs at the base of the tree, took the seven steps to the opening, stepped inside and hurried back to his cabin. He secured the door behind himself. He opened a can of Campbell’s Bean and Bacon soup and put it on to heat. He made a cold ham sandwich. He ate at the table with a small glass of red wine. He was nothing if not civilized at all times. Then he opened the refrigerator and took out his bottle of Scotch. It was the one vice he allowed himself and only here and only when he was ready for bed. He dropped four ice cubes in a tumbler and splashed the Scotch over them. He swirled the glass as he put on his pajama’s. Then he sat in his recliner and leaned back at a 45 degree angle with his feet elevated so he could just see tips of the felted gray slippers peeking over the mound that was his stomach.
He sipped the drink as he let images flit through his mind. Meg in her flannel night gown. Meg lying quietly on her side of the bed. Meg with her hungry eyes looking at him. Of course he had on his cotton pin striped pajama’s. He took her hand because this was how they usually slept. He realized how soft her hand was. For some reason unknown to him, he kissed her fingertips. Her eyes flew open in surprise. He had never made a gesture like this in the three months they had been together. He sat bolt upright in the recliner and his feet hit the floor. My God! What was he thinking? Kissing her finger tips was a very intimate and erotic gesture. Those were not words in his vocabulary, yet they were in his mind. Where did they come from. Was he secretly thinking of sex? Sex! Sex with a woman? Sex with Meg? He ran to the bathroom and retched. His stomach spasmed until there was nothing left to lose. He must not think like this. But if not that, then what did he want? Did he want to spend the rest of his life lying in bed with a woman and never touching her? That was not realistic. Could he do it without seeing his mother and farmer Brown from next door grunting in the kitchen.
He must think. Yes, he must think and have a plan, but not tonight. It frightened him too much. He climbed into bed and curled into a fetal position and cried himself to sleep.
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