Goin' Down: A Short Story
Author's Note: So, I wrote this story specifically for Lisa Boon. If you check out her collection of stories, titled, 'We'll Make Up a Story,' you'll see Chapter 22 is pretty heartbreaking. I was the first one she sent it to, and in response to this, I wrote this short story as a sort of 'punishment' for her, just to pull at her heart strings a bit. Since she published the crime, I am publishing the punishment. It's a cliffhanger, so please leave your theories in the form of a review! I'd love to read what you guys think will happen afterwards.
Thanks!
TimeSpace64
"She's an Oklahoma Backroom Dancer, watch her run!"
It sets the time. They have been struggling for four years now, and it is beginning to feel like they will not get anywhere. However, they were all powering through it. The year prior, exactly a year, to be exact, that bloody draft notice came in the mail, claiming one of their own. Now it was the three of them. Davy took up bass, and they all learned piano together, considering the fact that Davy didn't have the patience to learn by himself. On this particular day, the three men woke up, not knowing that yesterday was the last day they would live together as "normal" people.
They woke up that morning as if it were any morning. No sorrows, only hope. The three men sat at the breakfast table, joking around and goofing off as they had for the past four years. All bad things happen in threes, as we all know. As the three men were cleaning up their dishes, the first event occurred. The phone rang.
"I'll get it!" Micky declared, nearly jumping over the table and running to the chess table. "Hello, Monkees residence, Micky Dolenz speaking… Caroline! Hi honey, what's- What?" The other two noticed Micky's face fall. "You're… I… I don't…" He hung up the phone.
"What's up, babe?" Mike asked when Micky hung up.
Micky didn't reply. He just looked out towards the gilded orange windows. "I'm going for a walk along the beach," Was all he said.
"What happened?" Davy asked once Micky had left the building.
"I don't know, but my guess is that Caroline just broke up with him."
"But they've been dating for five years! How could she just call him up and call it off?"
Mike shrugged. "Now that, that is a mystery. I think we should go follow him to make sure he doesn't do anything stupid."
"I don't know, Mike," Davy said. "I think he needs his alone time. I wouldn't want the two of you bothering me if I was suffering from that much heartbreak. He truly did love her. He had told me just the other day how much he wanted to marry her. He was saving up for a ring and everything. He's crushed right now."
Time passed. Micky eventually returned, but he wasn't up to his highest potential. He resumed a normal persona, but both Mike and Davy could feel the disturbance in his playful banter. They didn't talk about it, though. Mike and Davy decided they would let him deal with it for a few days before talking to him about it. While the three of them were working on their set list for the gig they had that night, the second heartbreak knocked on their front door.
Micky got up and answered it with no announcement. He opened the door and saw a friendly face, which put a smile on his face. The man in the military uniform was a new friend of theirs, Private McCain. He had been delivering letters to them from Peter since Peter left for the war. His letters swelled with peace, with dread, and with hope. Peter hated the war, but that didn't get him out of being drafted. Sadly, he passed the health inspection as well. The first few weeks without Peter was devastating, but the first time the three men saw Private McCain, their hope was restored. Each letter they got from their friend reassured them that he was okay. That they would be whole again.
"Hi Charlie," Micky smiled at the soldier.
"Hey Mick," Private McCain said, a shy smile on his face. "I've got… Well, this." Private McCain handed Micky a telegram. Micky could feel something was off about the soldier. "Goodbye, fellas. It was nice getting to know you."
"What are you talking about, Charlie?" Mike asked, he and Davy approaching the two.
"You'll see. Goodbye, guys. I wish you three all the best with your music career." Private McCain turned around and walked away without another word.
Micky looked down at the letter, a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. He opened it and read it. By the first sentence his heart and hit the bottom of his stomach and he felt sick. His eyes hurt. He couldn't read it. He just couldn't. He pushed the telegram into Mike's chest and ran towards the cupboard where they kept all of Peter's letters. He pulled out the last one they had gotten and ran off, out the back doors again.
"I…" Mike began, but no words could be of any comfort to any of them. He read the letter himself. He then handed it to Davy. If they said it out loud, that would make it real. They couldn't do that to themselves. Once Davy had finished reading it, he folded it before his tears would stain the parchment.
"What do we do, Mike?" Davy asked, his heart broken.
"We move on. However, I think there is one thing we can do," Mike choked. "Follow me."
Davy followed Mike upstairs. Once in their three-bed bedroom, Mike flopped down onto the floor and dug underneath his bed. He pulled out a metal box and opened it.
"What's that?" Davy asked, wiping his face.
"Music that Peter wrote, but didn't have the guts to share with us. Like this one, it's called 'Stranger Things Have Happened.'" Mike handed the music to Davy. Davy read it over. He handed it back. This routine happened till both Davy and Mike had read everything in the box. "Think we should play it tonight?"
"Yeah, but we'll have to get Micky back in here to rehearse it," Davy said.
"Ah, I don't think we'll have time to rehearse. Our gig is in Jackson, which is a good hour from here. If we want to get there on time, we'll need to leave soon," Mike said. He closed the metal box and took it with him back downstairs. "You start packing up the car, I'll go find Micky."
Dear Michael, Micky, and Davy,
I hope you all receive this letter in good health. I can't wait to find my way home and sing with you guys again. How are things at home? Who is Davy's girlfriend this week? Are you getting any good gigs? Has anything crazy happened since I have been gone? Have you been noticed yet? I've be listening on the radio for you guys, just in case. When the day comes that you're famous, I'll be sad to have missed the opportunity, but I will be happy you three finally made it. Please don't turn down an opportunity because I am not there. I know I've said this a thousand times, but I think it is important that you guys do what you love, whether I am there or not. I love receiving your letters and cannot wait for the letter you send back in response to this one.
I miss you terribly. Today the sergeant said that we would be moving out tonight and sneak up on a village of Vietnamese people. I can't do it. It hurts me on an emotional level. What do I do? I can't kill people, I just can't. I've been able to avoid actual combat for this long, but I won't be able to avoid it any longer. I'm at a loss. What do I do, guys? Do I stay and kill innocent people? Do I desert and run away? Do I die? I don't know what to do… I hope your lives are less stressful than mine are at the moment. I love you all and cannot wait to come home and make music with you once again.
With Love and Peace,
Peter
Micky read it over and over again. Each time he finished reading the letter, his thoughts would go back to the telegram. Peter was missing in action. He couldn't wrap his head around it. Did he really run away? Silently, he was happy for him. However, it broke his heart. Most people who go missing in war never come home. They die without anyone knowing. He might as well have been dead. In that case, at least Micky would know with confidence Peter's fate.
"Micky," Mike said, grabbing a hold of the drummer's shoulder. "We've got a gig we need to get to."
"Yeah?" Micky asked, not acknowledging Mike's movements.
Mike sat down next to him. "It's in Jackson, remember? We need to leave soon. Davy's packing up the car." Micky still didn't move. "We need the money, Micky." Micky still didn't move. Mike sighed and moved so he was blocking Micky's view of the ocean. "Look man, the news that telegram brought hurts us just as much as it hurts you. And Peter said it himself, he wants us to move on, do what we can without him. He's missing in action, which means he might still be alive."
"But we don't know that," Micky said plainly. Out of the three of them, Micky was the closest to the bassist.
"No, but we can only hope." The only connection that had to Peter now was those letters. The letters that brought them hope and assurance that their friend would come home. All three of them knew what happened to people who went missing. There was a high chance they would never see Peter again. "Now let's go. We need this gig." Mike grabbed Micky's arm and walked him back up the beach.
"Man, this stuff is really good," Davy said to himself, the metal box in his lap. Mike drove, Davy sang, and Micky listened. "Folks, this little car of mine was like a kitten purring throatily. Sometimes it even seemed to soar into the heavens, my red MGB-GT." Davy sang.
They parked the MonkeeMobile in the parking lot of a fancy hotel. That night they were going to play for a wedding reception. The three of them got out and Davy and Mike began unloading the car. Micky stood for a second, checking out the scenery around them. It was quite wild. This hotel lot was covered in trees and bushes, a beautiful forest stretching out behind the building. Down a small hill, there was a large river.
"Micky, are you going to help us out with your drums or what?" Davy called out to him, not realizing that the third and final terror was about to strike them down.
"What?" Micky spun around, getting shaken out of a dreamworld. "Oh, yeah. Coming!" Mike and Davy left the lot, their arms full of instruments. Micky began heading towards the front doors with his bass drum, but once Mike and Davy were out of sight, he dropped it and ran towards the river.
"Floatin' down the river with a saturated liver…"
The water chilled him to the bone. He struggled to touch the bottom, but there was none. The water blurred his vision, and he quickly had no idea which way was which. However, he didn't really think about that. Or at least he didn't try to. His mind kept racing back to the love that gave him up and the friend he will never see again. Those were the only two people he could see. Her long, red hair. That pretty smile. Her soothing voice. His skilled fingers. That underappreciated voice. The laughs. The memories. They were all lost forever. There was no one he could share those with, so what was the point anymore?
"Comin' up for air, it's pretty stuffy under there there. I'd like to say I didn't care, but I forgot to leave a note and it's so hard to stay afloat. I'm soakin' wet without a boat and I knew I should have taken off my shoes…"
"Micky?" Davy called out. "Where the hell did he go?"
"He damaged his bass drum," Mike observed, checking out the damaged instrument. "He would never do that."
"Do you think someone took him?" Davy asked.
"I don't know, Micky's pretty good at running." Mike stood and looked around. "Which is what I'm afraid he might have done. MICKY?"
"MICKY! Where are you?"
"Micky, come on, man, this isn't funny."
"Micky!"
"Now the sky is gettin' light and everything will be all right. Think I finally got the knack, just floatin' here lazy on my back…"
There was running. A lot of it. And screaming. The little girl screamed a lot. Could you blame her, though? When you're sitting next to the river that goes through your grandparent's property, you don't expect to see a body floating down the river. The screams notified the grandparents and her older sister. Her sister was the one who jumped in after him. To all of their surprise, she managed to fish the body out. However, the man was unaware of all of this. What do you think?
"I'm floatin' on down to New Orleans and pick up on some swingin' scenes. I'm gonna know a better day. I'm goin' down groovin' all the way. Goin' down. Go-go-go-in' down…"