For the hell of it...

[Dano]

Reprinting Lost Roads for no other reason than because I can.

Chapter One - Hear No Evil

Blindness. Pain behind my eyes. Cotton mouth. Sweating and chilled. Even the hair on my arms hurts. I fumble blindly for the lamp, hoping that by knocking it off the table, I can make the sunlight go away.

I open my eyes and try to focus. My blanket lies in a heap on the floor, along with most of my clothes. A few books and a few more spent matches and cigarette butts litter the floor. Up on the table, I can see my hotplate with last night's dinner still in the pot. Several beer cans and an empty pint bottle of Southern Comfort stand sentinel over the red beans and rice.

I curl up into a sitting position, but that proves to be too painful, and I bury my head in my hands. Taking quick, shallow breaths, I focus on my feet, trying to ignore the pain.

Hot coffee. A hot shower. More hot coffee. A big meal. A few dozen cigarettes. Then I'll be able to start the day.

I hear Mrs. McIntyre shuffling slowly up the stairs. Her knock sets off fireworks inside my head. "Charles? Are you awake yet?"
I try to talk, but my voice won't work. I try to get some saliva going, and when I can finally squeak, I manage, "No, but I will be soon."
There's a slight pause while she considers this. "Well, when you're ready, come down and I'll make you some lunch."
Lunch? Is it that late?
"And then I'd like to talk to you about some work I have for you in the garage. Ok?"
"Um, yeah. Fine."

I look up at the clock. Jesus, it's after 2 in the afternoon already. Time flies when you're having fun. I stand up (very slowly) and scratch. I pull on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt so I can make my way downstairs to the bathroom. As usual, a 12-pack is the enemy of the bladder first thing in the morning. One of these days I'm going to piss the bed.

Hot coffee. A hot shower. More hot coffee. A big meal. A few dozen cigarettes. Then I'll be able to start the day.

* * * * *

Showered and dressed, I feel much better. Still need some coffee and food though. Downstairs in the kitchen, I find fresh coffee and a big roast beef sandwich and fried potatoes waiting for me. Mrs. McIntyre is waiting as well.

"I'm glad to see you Charles." She stood there, looking at me like a fourth-grade teacher. "Eat up, you probably need it after last night."
I stopped chewing momentarily, but resumed, washing it down with a gulp of coffee. "I'm sorry, was I playing my music too loud again?"
She sighed, "Yes, that and the singing along with them. I don't mind it so much if you'd just learn to keep it down and stop at a decent hour."
"Yes ma'am." I felt like a little kid who'd been caught talking in class.

"I think that from now on if you're going to be drinking and carrying on like you do sometimes, I would appreciate it if you did it somewhere else. Or not at all, actually. You're still a young man, but at the rate you're going, you aren't going to make it past 30."

I tried to hide in the potatoes. I looked up quickly and realized that she could still see me. I swallowed hard, then coughed. "Sure, I understand. I need to slow down. I've just had a rough time since?" I drifted off.

Her face softened. "I know you have dear. But that's no excuse. By the way, the hospital called today and wanted me to remind you about your appointment on Thursday."

"Thank you ma'am." The beef was a little dry, and the way I was shovelling it into my mouth didn't help. Slow down Charlie, this isn't a race. I really didn't want to go to the VA, but I couldn't really get out of it, either. Just another thing to deal with.

"Well, when you're done with your lunch, I'd like you to please go out to the garage and clean it up a bit. It doesn't need to be perfect, but I'm having trouble finding my gardening things the last few days. Just throw out the trash and put things away."
"Yes ma'am."
"And then I'd appreciate it if before it gets too dark you could get into the tree and get that kite out. Those children told me they'd have it out yesterday, but you know how children are."
"Oh sure, they probably forgot about it by now."

She sat there and watched me eat, occasionally mentioning something about what was in the paper or on the TV. After I finished, I put my plate in the sink and rinsed out my cup. I filled it with cold water and gulped it down. Mrs. McIntyre didn't like me smoking in the house (other than my room), so I excused myself to head out into the garage and get to work.

* * * * *

I decided after I was done with the chores that I would eat dinner with the rest of the tenants, and then go up to my room and read. Try and see if I could make it through one night without drinking myself stupid. And then another. And then another.

Dinner was good. Boyd talked about how his job at the lumber yard was going, saying he may be able to move out soon and get his own place again. The usual crap from Ray, nothing but snide comments and smart-assed questions. Mrs. McIntyre tried to shut him up, but once he gets going, there isn't much you can do. Finally, Ray and Tony got into it, and she sent them both out of the dining room.

I was sitting next to Tony, and after he left, I reached over and snaked the rest of his meatloaf. I looked up and it didn't seem like Mrs. McIntyre saw me, but Boyd did, and he smiled as he kicked me under the table. I kicked him back, and you know how all that goes. We were like brothers sometimes. Mrs. McIntyre got mad, even though we were just horsing around, and made us clear the table so Ray and Tony could do the dishes.

Boyd and I went out onto the porch to have a smoke.

"So, the job's going good?"
"Oh, yeah. Great, great. My foreman told me yesterday that I'm one of the better guys he's got. How's he put it? 'Boyd, you're never going to set the world on fire, but you're a good, solid guy and I can count on you every day.'"
"Wow, that's great."
"Yeah. You have any luck getting a job yet?"
"No. Nothing seems right."
"Yeah."
"Not since?"
"Yeah, I know."

I wanted to talk about it. I really did. But I could tell that Boyd didn't. He wasn't really a guy you could talk to like that. He was a good guy and all, but not someone you could spill your guts out to.

He blew some smoke out his nose. "When I was over there, in the Navy, I had it easy compared to you guys."

I looked off into the distance. The sun was setting behind the big oak tree in the yard across the street.

"I mean, shit, you were over there three years?"

A guy was coming down the street, walking his dog. He still had on his shirt and tie from work, and his glasses kept slipping down, almost off his nose. He'd prop them up, but they'd always be back down in a second or two.

"Um, yeah. 3 years. I guess. I don't really remember."
"That's weird. I mean, don't you remember anything?"

The dog stopped and sniffed around the oak. I didn't want to watch it, so I turned back to Boyd. Maybe he did want to talk about it.

"Well, I remember my multiplication tables. I remember most of the Presidents. I even know my Social Security Number."
"Yeah, but that's it? You don't remember anything about being there? What about your family? Do you even have one?"

Suddenly, I started getting a headache, and the muscle under my right eye started twitching. I shut my eyes and took a drag. My heart was speeding up a little and I felt a chill. I looked up, and the guy walking his dog was looking at me and Boyd.

"Hello. Nice evening."
I heard Boyd behind me, "Sure is."

I looked up at the corner of the roof, where the big hornet's nest was. I heard the buzzing in my head, and I knew it wasn't coming from the nest, which scared the shit out of me.

I looked back at Boyd, who now seemed engrossed in the wood of the porch railing. I knew what it was. I was weirding him out. I probably looked like some sort of freak, standing there shaking and sweating and about ready to jump out of my fucking skin if I didn't do something I was gonna just start screaming and yelling and make it all stop?

I hopped over the fence and started walking. She didn't want me drinking in the house? Fine. I'll go to the god-damned fucking bar then. Stupid old hag. The guy with the dog was smiling at me, and it was all I could do not to knock his glasses off his idiot face. Boyd was yelling something at me, but I didn't really hear him. I just flipped him off over my shoulder.

[Dano]

Cunningham's was about 5 blocks away. I usually just went in and got some stuff to take with me, but tonight I guess I had to stick around.

It was a younger place, where all the neighborhood 'kids' went. A couple of TVs, a few pool tables and a dartboard took up most of the space in one corner. Directly across from that was a stage where the occasional band would play. Sometimes they'd even have open-mic comedy or poetry readings. The bar itself was pretty small, but that wasn't a big deal, since no one ever really ordered anything except pitchers of beer.

I'd calmed down on the walk over. The buzzing in my head was gone, and the headache had receded to a dull throbbing at the base of my skull, just enough to notice. I felt bad about acting the way I had to Boyd and all, but dammit, sometimes my mind seemed to be taken over or something. It was like a dark fog enveloped me, and I couldn't see or hear anything quite clearly, double vision and an echo.

The bartender saw me and nodded. "Hey Charlie. What'll it be tonight?"

"Um, I'm actually staying here, so how about a shot of SoCo and a beer?"

"Sure. Just let me know if you need anything to take with you from the cooler."

He got my drinks, and I sat there staring at them for a while. I really, really didn't want to drink them. But, I really, really needed to. I'll just drink these two, then head home and get some sleep. I downed the shot, and it was like fire and ice all at once, bracing me up from what was going on. My headache dulled immediately. I grabbed the beer, the glass soothingly cold in my hand. I savored the sensation for a moment before diving in.

I looked around. Typical young crowd. College kids sitting at the tables, talking and laughing the laugh of the unconcerned. Not entirely ignorant of the world going on outside, but not really concerned either. Local working kids littered in here and there, mostly at the bar or the pool tables. I saw a guy at the jukebox, poring over the selections.

"Hey John, hurry up!"

He looked over at one of the pool tables and waved at his friends, pretending he didn't hear them. He had on a jacket from the car dealership over the hill, and his jeans were covered in oil and dirt. Definitely a working guy.

I took another sip of my beer, an suddenly heard something that caught my attention?

"KICK OUT THE JAMS MOTHERFUCKERS!"

Holy shit? I'd never heard that song outside my room before. What the hell was it doing in a jukebox? It's not like it was a big hit or even a well-liked party song. These thoughts were swept aside pretty quickly as I got lost in the music. I closed my eyes and listened. The sound system here was awesome compared to my weak old boom-box at the house. I didn't realize it right away, but I was pounding on the bar, drumming along. I opened my eyes, and saw the bartender looking at me with a grin on his face.

"I'M GONNA KICK IT OUT!"

He laughed at me singing along and went to the other end of the bar to help some redhead in a Creighton sweatshirt. She looked my way and corkscrewed her face into some sort of disapproving star. I blew her a kiss and hit the crash cymbal right on beat.

I scanned around, looking for the guy who was playing such great music. He was standing there at the pool table, nodding and smiling at me. I shot him a thumbs-up and went into a fill.

I looked up again and the bartender was there with another shot of SoCo. "On the house." He popped it down and laughed again.

To be honest, I don't know what had gotten into me. I would sing along with music at the house, but acting like this in public in front of a bar full of people I didn't even know was crazy. Not to mention the fact that I shouldn't have really been drinking like that.

"THE GIRLS CAN'T STAND IT WHEN YOU'RE DOING IT RIGHT? DON'T YOU SEE WHO I AM?"

Fuck it, like I've got anything to lose.

The car guy was shooting, cleaning up the table fairly well, actually. The song ended, and there were a few seconds in-between. He stood up and looked at me, waiting for the next song to start. I knew the riff immediately. Man, this guy had taste.

"I'M A STREET-WALKING CHEETAH WITH A HEART FULL OF NAPALM?"

You've got to appreciate the classics.

He laughed at me while I sang along with Iggy. All right, this was the coolest jukebox in the world, hands down. I got up and wandered over to see what else was going on. He handed his stick to one of his buddies and met me there.

"Hey, I'm John."
"Charlie."
"Nice to meet you."
"Yeah, totally. Man, this jukebox is fucking great!"
"Yeah, Dave keeps it stocked with just enough cool stuff to keep me happy. These frat-boy dicks don't like it though."
I looked over at the tables, the ones that weren't leaving were looking at us with disdain. "Fuck them. Hey, let me get you a beer."
"All right, let me finish my game and I'll come over to the bar."
"Right on."

I wandered back over, and caught the eye of the redhead again. I courteously moved a chair out of her way so she could get through, and when she turned to thank me, I grabbed her hand and kissed it. She looked at me like I had the plague or something, so I just laughed and winked at her.

"I'M THE WORLD'S FORGOTTEN BOY, THE ONE WHO SEARCHES AND DESTROYS?"

* * * * *

Blindness. Pain behind my eyes. Cotton mouth. Sweating and chilled. Even the hair on the back of my arms hurts. I fumble blindly for the lamp, hoping that by knocking?

Wait. There's no wall on that side of my bed.

I open my eyes and try to focus. I'm completely unfamiliar with my surroundings. Where the hell am I? Ok, I'm on a bed, so at least I'm probably safe. I look around, and see books. Nothing but books, bookshelves, rows and rows of pages bound together.

Ok, what was that guy's name? Jim? Jack? John? John. His name was John. Ok, so I hope I'm at his place. I scan around, and don't see him. There's a clock on a table that says?

Oh man, Mrs. McIntyre is going to kill me. I get up (slowly, painfully, miraculously) and notice I'm fully dressed. Must have passed out. Man, I must have made a huge dick of myself.

I open the door and peer down the hall. I see a set of stairs leading down, and I head for them, trying not to creak the floor too much. I experience some slight vertigo on the way down, but nothing hot coffee, a hot shower, more hot coffee, a big meal and a few dozen cigarettes won't be able to help.

I make it downstairs and see a middle-aged woman sitting in the living room, watching TV. She looks up and smiles. "Hello, you must be Charlie."
Who is this, his mother? "Um, yeah. Is John around?"
"No, he went to work hours ago. He told me you were up there, and that I should just let you sleep. My name's Maureen." She stood up and walked over, offering her hand. I shook it, waiting for some sort of lecture.

"John said you were too drunk to find your way home last night, so we let you sleep here. And what a sound sleeper you are!" she laughed. What the hell is going on?
"Um, yeah. Sorry about that."
"Oh, it's no problem at all. I understand what it is to be young. It hasn't been all that long for me, you know."

I stood there, incredibly uncomfortable. I looked around the room, and it a was pretty nice house. Clean, nicely furnished, typical suburban middle-class. Which struck me as odd for John, but since he lived with his parents, who knows?

She sensed my mood and offered to drive me home. I declined, saying that the walk would help wake me up. She argued with me, but not for long. I probably still had alcohol on my breath.

We said our good-byes and I stepped out into the sunlight. My head immediately swelled up to 112 times it's normal size, and the dull thud started. Ok, where the hell am I and how do I get home?

[Dano]

Chapeter Two ? Bullet Hole Memory

Two days later I was back at John?s house. His mother had told him to invite me over for dinner. It was Thursday, and I had skipped my trip to the VA. The last thing I needed was to hear all of that.

I stood on the porch, delaying ringing the bell. Don?t ask me why, I had no reason to. Hey, a good home-cooked meal is always welcome, especially if I don?t have to put up with the guys I live with.

I went ahead and knocked. It was a glass door, and a cat walked by without even looking up. Suddenly, John bounded down the stairs and smiled. He crossed his arms and asked, ?What?s the password??

?Open the stupid door.?

?Good enough.? He was laughing like a little kid as he opened the door. He was dressed in normal clothes, not the work uniform I had seen him in the last two nights. Clean jeans and shirt, his hair combed, no shoes or socks.

?Johnny, if that?s your friend, just tell him to make himself at home.?
?Um, my mom says you have to go now, sorry.? He started shoving me towards the door.

I got around him and walked into the living room. Man, this guy was cool and all, but he needed to stop touching me so much. I saw the same lazy cat sitting on the back of the couch. I walked over and reached out to pet it. Without even looking at me, it hopped down off the couch and disappeared out the door.

?So, you?ve met Clyde, our resident sociopath.? He flopped down onto the couch and motioned for me to do the same. He had sat really close to the middle, and I felt uncomfortable being that close to him. The TV was on, and the news was reporting a story about what was going on overseas. Another short, decisive battle had been fought, nearly obliterating an entire town. The anchor sat there with this smug look on his face, as if to say, ?I told you so.? Fucking asshole.

His mother came into the room and reached out her hand. ?Hello Charles, how are you today??
?Oh, I?m alright, I guess, Mrs. Flaherty.?
?Nope, not in this house. None of that formal business. You just call me Maureen and we?ll be just fine.? She smiled and (I may be wrong about this) winked. Then she turned right around and headed back into the kitchen.
John turned to me. ?Sorry, she?s a little too hip for her own good sometimes.? He settled back and watched the sports.

I wasn?t really interested in high school track meets, so I stood up and wandered around the room, looking at the pictures and other brick-a-brack. There were plenty of pictures of John and his two brothers, in various poses of boyish fun. Hunting, playing football, standing around a car. Almost made me wish I was back home with my brother?

No. Push it out. Push it away. You don?t need to freak out here. Calm down. The same feeling started over me. I was cold and sweaty, shaking a little, with that buzzing in my head. I looked down at the floor, trying to lose myself in the pattern of the rug.

?Hey Mom! The old man?s home.? I turned and watched John hop up and run towards the kitchen, probably to the back door. Somehow, that was enough of a distraction to calm me down enough to move again. I wandered in the direction of the kitchen.

When I walked in, I could see John outside, talking to his father by the car. His dad looked tired, and seemed to be telling John that they?d talk about it later. But, John being John, he wouldn?t let it go. It?s amazing how well I felt like I knew this kid (and he was a kid, about 8 years younger than me), even though I?d only spent a few evenings with him at Cunningham?s.

Maureen looked up and asked me to hand her a the jug of milk on the counter. I did, and she poured it into a saucepan, making some sort of gravy. The whole kitchen smelled like fried chicken, and not that cheap drive-through crap, but real fried chicken.

?Look John, we?ll talk about it later. Can I at least get in the damn door?? John?s father walked in. He looked like a dad. Thin but built, balding with a reasonable comb-over, tired and wired. He looked at me and extended his hand.

?You must be Charlie. Tom, Tom Flaherty.?

* * * * *

?Look, all I?m saying is that as long as you?re wasting a college degree anyway, you may as well enlist.?

Tom was shaking his fork at John. It was getting really uncomfortable in here. The meal was good, and the company had been too until Maureen mentioned John?s brother being discharged in a few weeks.

?I?m not wasting my degree, Dad.?
?Well, what the hell are you doing working on cars with a marketing degree then? You should go get a real job.?
?I have a real job. 9-5, five days a week. I even get a paycheck.?
?No, smartass, a real job. Where you work with other professional people, using your education. Not hanging out with a bunch of grease-monkey burnouts.?

I keep finding myself trying to escape during meals. There?s definitely a reason I try to eat alone.

?Tom, if he?s happy what he?s doing, I think we should just let him be.?
?No, that?s the trouble. The kid has no discipline. Hey, don?t look at me like that. You go out, spend my money of a college education, and what happens after you graduate? You just keep on working at the garage.?
?I?m happy Dad, it?s what I like doing.?
?Then why the hell did you go to college in the first place??
?We?ve been over this before.?

Tom looked at me. He just sat there, considering me for a few silent moments.

?So, Charlie. Did you serve??
The buzzing got louder. ?Um, yeah. 3 years.?
?You enlist??
?Yeah.?
?See that? A young man who knows how to defend his country.?
?Dad, he didn?t defend anything. We aren?t defending anything. This is an entirely offensive war on our part. We invaded them.?
?Well, it?s a pre-emptive strike. Had to nip that whole situation in the bud.?
?I can?t believe I?m hearing this.?
?So, Charlie, what branch??
Can?t he just leave me alone? ?Army, infantry. So they tell me.?
He looked at me strangely. ?I don?t follow.?

I was shaking so hard that I couldn?t hold the fork any more. It dropped, but I couldn?t hear it. The buzzing was so loud. I could hear the whole family talking, talking, talking, but I couldn?t focus on what they were saying. I close my eyes and tried to concentrate on the pattern on the plate.

Come on Charlie, not here, pull it together. Finish the meal, go get hammered, and keep on forgetting.

The edges of my vision blurred, growing until all I could see was the pattern on the plate. Blue flowers intertwined like vines on white porcelain.

The flowers went black, then the white went black.

Black. Quiet. Calm. Safe.

* * * * *

Well, here I was again, the VA. Lying on a bed, unwilling to get up. I?ve been down this road a few times before.

There?s a window off to my right with bars on the outside, preventing patients who may be suicidal from flinging themselves onto the street below. To be honest, I had never given that much thought until I saw the bars. Now I have a low-level desire to prove them wrong.

On the table next to me is a vase with some flowers in it that the Flahertys sent up to me. They hadn?t visited, but I don?t really expect them to. John maybe, but definitely not his parents.

I?m wired and tired, unwilling to get up, unable to stay still. I don?t know what anti-depressants they?ve got me on, but they aren?t having quite the effect they had hoped for, I?m sure.

Yesterday, Dr. Baker had come by and mentioned hypnotism again. I told him again, I really, really don?t want to remember. I mean, yeah, there?s all kinds of holes in my life that need filling up, like my family and all, but I don?t want to have to remember what happened to me that took those other memories away. To me, the price isn?t worth the payoff.

Mrs McIntyre and Boyd stopped by this morning. They didn?t have much to say, just letting me know they?d probably be releasing me in about a week or so, as long as I kept taking my meds. Lovely. I can?t wait to spend the rest of my life keyed up all day and comatose at night.

She also dropped off a letter from my wife and a picture that my oldest daughter drew for me. She set it down on the table and asked me to please at least read it before I threw it away. If nothing else, to just let Katie know that I still think about her and the girls.

But that?s the thing, I don?t. I try not to, anyway. I came home after the shitstorm, and had no idea who these people were. My wife, my daughters, my mother and brother. Nothing.

I tried, I really did. I sat there and smiled and tried to play a role, but I just couldn?t do it. The longer I was there, the more I felt like I was invading, like I didn?t belong. This may be my family, but if I can?t remember and don?t feel anything, do I really have a right to be there? I may as well have died on that battlefield.

Six months, then I started drinking. I made it that long. Looking back on it now, considering what I can throw back in an average day, I can?t believe I made it that long.