DISCLAIMER: NO COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT INTENDED. ALL CHARACTERS ARE PROPERTY OF J.D. SALINGER.
Now that that's out of the way.
Summary: This is a small bit about Holden's life after The Catcher in the Rye, specifically while he's in the army.
I was in the Boy Scouts once, for about a week. I guess that's how I got into this mess. They used to tell us to look at the back of the guy's neck in front of you. I'm crazy, I swear. I sign up to be in the army and forget that I can't stand looking at guys' goddamned necks. So I ran. I guess it's because I'm partly yellow. I couldn't shoot a guy if I wanted to. They should have stuck me in front of a firing squad the minute I signed up.
I was somewhere out in the woods, I'd wondered around after I ran. Where did we start scouting that day? I couldn't remember. I wasn't feeling too good about my hitch this time. Last time I shipped out, I came home without a scratch, but how lucky can a guy be? Phoebe thinks I have all the luck in the world, but she's just a kid. She doesn't know anything.
As I tramped through the forest, it started to rain. I pulled my hat down further to where I almost couldn't see past the brim and damn near broke my neck. Fallen branches were everywhere. The woods were thicker here and it was getting pretty dark. By now everybody had probably been back at base warm and dry for a while, and I'm in a forest somewhere in the Pacific. They'll notice I'm missing. I bet the government has already sent a letter home to my mother, saying they're sorry and all that goddamn bull. The government isn't ever sorry for anything. I don't know how she'll take it. First Allie, then me, and probably D.B. too. I'm not cynical or anything, but I haven't gotten a letter from him in months. Where is D.B. now if he's not dead? Probably sitting in a truck somewhere with a bunch of Stradlater type guys calling him "Sarge". That kills me. You can go through life not even knowing a guy's goddamned first name. Vincent. His name is Vincent. He has two brothers and two sisters. He's a writer. His girl married somebody else.
That got me thinking about Jane Gallagher. What would she have done when I left? Would she have written me every day? Would she have bandaged my guts every day after I came back? Would she mourn if I died? Would she have just married some flit? Flit? I'd been hanging around Luce too often. I didn't want to think about Jane Gallagher anymore, it depressed the hell out of me, so I started to just stare out into the pitch black forest.
My stomach started to growl. How long had I been out here now? A Day? Two? A whole week? I felt like I hadn't eaten in two weeks, but knew that wasn't possible. No, just a day or two was all. I wasn't feeling too hot, so I picked a large tree and decided that it would do for tonight. No, I didn't run. I'm missing. Just missing that's all.
Missing. No, I'm not missing. I'm biting my nails. I'm playing doubles with D.B., and he keeps crowding up instead of staying back at the baseline. I'm at the World's Fair, ready to ride rides with D.B. and Phoebe, and maybe even Hart and Kirky. I'm nagging Phoebe to take Joey out. I'm helping Allie address the postcard from Washington to the drummer from Radio City music hall. I'm back at Pency trying to get Ackley out of my goddamned light. I'm trimming 'ol Sally Hays' Christmas tree. I'm watching Phoebe ride the carousel. D.B. is driving me home in
that little English job of his after I got better. I'm wondering if Jeannette has taken Viola's stuffed Donald Duck again. I'm still out here, somewhere.