Disclaimer: Do you guys think I'd be writing if I owned these people?
This Path, My Path
Chapter 1: The Bard-ette
A lone figure sat on a bench in the park; a low, almost-slow melody flowing from the instrument she held. The neck of it rested on her left shoulder, right next to her head. Her head tilted to the left, as if she wanted to be even nearer to the music. Her brow furrowed was slightly in concentration, while he top half of her body swayed to the rhythm of the music and her boot covered right foot tapped on the ground to the beat. Her eyes, barely visible behind half-closed lids, followed the bow in her right hand as it moved from left to right and back again, the angle at which she held it changing just as constantly. Her left hand walked up and down the neck of the cello, pressing down strings, sometimes simply moving swiftly enough to bring vibratos into the music.
A steel-and-leather cello case rested, open, at her feet, a few coins and some dollar-bills at the bottom of it; a steaming cup, giving off the distinct scent of coffee next to her foot, while the cello's endpin rested between the figure's feet. A green camouflage duffel bag was set next to her on the bench, and on top of that a black violin case.
"Ugh, why the fuck do I gotta carry this shit?" Raab whined loudly after making his third trip to and from the Hummer.
"'Cause we're gonna go have a picnic, so shut up and hurry up," Bam yelled from the other side of the house.
As Raab continued to trudge to the kitchen for more shit that he didn't want to carry, he yelled, "What's the fuckin' point! It's February!"
"It's Valentine's Day and Ape wants a fucking picnic, asswipe! Just shut up and do it!"
"But it's snowing!"
"You know he's not gonna listen," came a new voice.
"Shit! Fuck man… uhh… you're awake?"
"No, you're imagining things. Did we run out of beer?" asked Ville.
"Uhhh… uh'dunno."
Ville rolled his eyes and yelled at Dunn who'd passed out on the floor of the Pirate Bar the previous night.
"What?" mumbled a very tired Dunn.
Before Ville could answer a series of crashes brought a tumbling Raab –holding three grocery bags filled with things for the picnic- down the stairs.
"Ugh… I told you guys the picnic was a bad idea…" Raab moaned, clutching his head.
Ville spared him one glance before turning back to Dunn, "where's the booze?"
Thirty minutes later, Bam, DiCo, Dunn, Raab, Novak, Jess, and Ville were all piled in Bam's red Hummer; and Rake was driving Phil and Ape in the limo.
Some time later…
"Duuuu-de! Why the fuck do I always have to do this?" Raab yelled.
While Raab got everything ready, Ape and Phil walked off on their own, Bam, DiCo, Novak and Jess began making a snowman and some snow angels –mostly by throwing, shoving and pushing each other into the snow. After trying and failing to peacefully have a cigarette, Ville walked away from the rest of the guys, vaguely telling so to Bam when he asked.
April and Phil Margera had been walking along the path for a few minutes before the heard a sound, it was a bit eerie, though not unpleasant. April dragged her husband in the direction of the sound, until they came upon a young woman who was playing a cello. She wore dirty, baggy, camouflage, military-style green pants, the bottoms of which were tucked into worn, but well kept, black combat boots. Other than that, only a black, sleeveless tank top covered her body, though quite a few tattoos decorated her arms.
"Mozart?" inquired Phil, really, classical music had never been something he liked much, but his wife liked listening to it from time to time.
"Bach." She corrected.
"Oh. Let's go check it out."
She nodded at Phil, smiling, and they both walked towards the girl. Once they neared her, Ape also noticed that the girl had an open cello case at her feet, and there was some money inside, and she also had a duffel bag and a violin case next to her on the bench where she was sitting. And when Ape and Phil drew a bit closer still, they both saw that the young woman –probably in her early or mid-twenties- was terribly emaciated; her ribs could be seen through the tank top she wore, though a small belly could be seen as well, although that might've just been a result of her slouching. And her face looked gaunt; her eyes were haunted, they looked old; her dark hair hung limply on her shoulders. But despite all of that she gave them both a smile –though she didn't pause her playing- when they took a seat on the bench in front of hers. April closed her eyes and leaned on her husband's shoulder. Phil simply looked at his wife's peaceful expression; deciding that maybe, if for no other reason, this was enough reason for him to start liking classical music.
They stayed there for another five minutes or so, before the girl finished her cello piece with one final, drawn-out, haunting note.
"Is there a particular piece that you might like to hear?" a rich, somewhat deep voice asked, slowly bringing them out of the daze the music had left them in.
"Do you play Violin also?" April asked in return, noticing for the second time that there was a violin case next to the girl.
The cellist nodded, smiling a little. She'd seen of them from the corner of her eye, if possible, she'd like to get them to dance to her cello, or violin. The way that he looked at her -and the way she let herself depend solely on him if only for a few minutes- they didn't just care about each other, they didn't just love each other; they were in love.
After the past eight years this cellist learned to really appreciate people who could have that look in their eyes.
"Do you mind playing the Violin for a bit? I don't have any favorites, but I really do love the sound of a violin," the blond woman said.
"Would you like me to play something for you to dance to?" the Cellist asked.
The man and woman exchanged a look and, after the man kissed her, the woman nodded.
With great care, the cellist placed the cello back in its case, after she had moved all the coins and bills in it into a compartment. She then closed up the case, sat down, and, after taking the violin out of its case with just as much reverence, the woman nodded towards the couple.
Once they were standing facing each other she whispered to herself, "Here we go."
And another melody came alive.
"Man, they've been gone a long time… should we go look for 'em?" Dunn asked Bam, who was currently forcing Raab's face into the snow.
"Yeah let's go. We'll get Ville first." Bam jumped up and started walking in the general direction that they saw Ville walking in.
"Hey, there he is!" Raab pointed out the silhouette of Ville.
They approached him; he was in one of the more 'foresty' parts of the park. He was facing out towards the more normal area.
"Hey, Ville!" Bam yelled, only to have the man turn and shush him loudly.
They all stopped in their tracks, until Ville motioned for them to come closer.
"What?" whispered Bam.
"Look," stated Ville, pointing at a couple dancing in the middle of one of the park's trails.
"Why are we whispering?" hissed Raab, just before Dunn hit him on the head.
They all turned to look at whatever it was that Ville had pointed at.
With one final note, the cellist –now violinist- ended her song. The couple stayed still for a few seconds before the woman gave her husband a short, sweet kiss on the lips and they both turned, smiling, to the smiling girl who'd played for them.
The woman had tears in her eyes, and the man couldn't stop smiling. And after a moment of silence, loud cheering, whistling and clapping, drew their attention the line of trees just ten feet or so behind the girl.
A group of men stood there, most of them cheering and making noise, but one simply stood there, taking drags from a cigarette. They walked toward the couple who'd danced and started speaking too fast for the girl to follow, so she put her violin away, pulled out a pack of cigarettes and started patting herself down looking for a lighter.
"Here," said the man who'd been –and still was- smoking.
"Hn, thanks," she squeezed the cigarette in her hand until a distinct pop came from the filter. After lighting it, she handed the man his lighter and sat down again.
"So, you're a soldier?" he asked in a half-assed attempt to start a conversation.
"Hm? Oh, was. They discharged me," she answered.
The man blinked. Discharged? "Why?"
"Huh? Oh, uhh, I guess I saw one too many deaths. They said I wasn't stable enough to the rigorous life of a U.S. Marine, so they gave me the boot." She explained, though vaguely.
"Heh, I'm guessing this is about the time when parents start dragging their kids away?"
"No, as soon as I say I got discharged they start runnin' for the hills."
"Really?"
"Yeah."
"So when'd you become a soldier?"
"Me and three of my buddies signed up as soon as we all turned seventeen."
"What you guys wanted to be all together?"
The young woman smiled, though her eyes seemed a bit sad, "that was the idea."
"What happened?"
She didn't respond immediately, but the man was quite sure she'd heard him. "They died."
They both stayed quiet for some time, until the girl had to light another cigarette, then he handed her the lighter again.
"Does it hurt to talk about?" he asked. He wouldn't deny that he was curious, but he wouldn't pry if it was too painful for her to speak about.
"I'd be lying if I said no. But then again, the last time I talked about it was three days before they discharged me, 'cause they sent me to some damn shrink. If you want to know about it, you can just ask, you know?" she gave him another small smile, but this one too didn't reach her eyes. And such an interesting color her eyes were. A shade of brown so light and a touch of grayness, they were almost yellow; a predator's eyes.
Throwing caution to the wind –or down the shitter- the man asked, "How did they die?"
The girl gave an even smaller smile, but this one –though it still didn't reach her eyes- did seem to ease the harshness in her eyes. As though she'd wanted to have someone to talk to about this, but no one listened, or people were too afraid.
She turned away, towards the horizon. And she began:
"Richy, Mike, Morgan and I all went to the same schools from 2nd to 12th grade. When we entered high school, we'd decided that when we graduated, we still wanted to stay together, whether we went to college, got jobs, moved away, or whatever.
"Since we would not, could not agree, we figured that we should at least agree on a way to agree. Morgan came up with the idea that we should let the person who graduated with the highest grades decide. We agreed.
"If Richy got the best grades, we would all go to college together.
"If Mike got the best grades, we'd all get jobs and just stay in the same town. Mess with the same people, TP or egg the same houses. You know, leave things the way they had been.
"If Morgan won, he decided he wanted us to move away and start a new life somewhere.
"And if I got the highest scores, I wanted to get in the Military, or, more specifically, the Marines. Despite my father having told me he'd disown me if I enlisted.
"As a perk, we all decided that, not only could we not change our minds, but once high school started, we'd start preparing to the most likely outcome by starting to study, get weekend jobs, or workout, depending who got the best grades each semester.
"Well. Needless to say, I won, and once we all turned seventeen, we called the Marine recruiter and told him we wanted to know what we'd gotten on our entry tests and the results of our physicals, and all that jazz.
"When we finished Boot camp, I was a sniper, Morgan was my spotter, Richy was going to be an engineer and Mike was simple infantry.
"We'd made a deal with our recruiter and 'cause of that we all were gonna be in the same group. That was in 2000.
"Later, what with the 9/11 thing, we all got shipped off together.
"In 2006, 'because we all agreed to re-enlist, Mike's battalion was attacked. Morgan and Richy told me. We had to identify the body, because his head had been blown to bits. The only reason we were able to identify him was because one days about eight years previous, we'd gone skinny dipping, and we teased him a lot afterwards because of a birthmark he had on his right butt cheek; shaped like a set of lips. We called him Kiss Ass for the longest time. He was the baby of our group. He died three days before his twenty-third birthday.
"Morgan, Richy and I were given two weeks off, to both go to the funeral, and pull ourselves together.
"But we couldn't take it. We called our commanding officer two days after the funeral, told him we were fine, we didn't need anymore time. All we'd done was get identical tattoos of a picture all four of us had taken together just before we'd been deployed, at a fair on our backs, with the years of birth and death under Mike's name, and birth under the three of us who were still alive.
"Four hours after we'd made the call, we were on our way back.
"Nine months ago, a rocket launcher was fired at the chopper that was supposed to have taken Richy to another military base, because they needed engineers and he volunteered. Morgan and I were, once again, called to identify the body. We had to look at the corpses for such a long time…. Everything had been burnt onto their skin. We managed to find a piece of the tattoo that was relatively intact; about a square inch of skin.
"Richy was the oldest of the boys; the smartest too. I don't think I ever heard him curse. We used to call him Squeal 'cause one time we'd been playing football, and we threw the ball at him someone called his name… he got hit right on the nuts….
"Morgan and me were once again given two weeks, and this time, we used up every minute of our vacation. We did everything we could think of. And quite a few that we didn't think of at all. We went and got 2008 tattooed on our backs, under Richy's face. On a whim we decided to get married, so off to Vegas. After that, back to the Tattoo parlor and just over our heads we got a set of and handcuffs and a ring; together with the date and stuff. Two days before we left again, we both got approved for military life insurance, which we only thought of after we'd gotten married. On the way over, Morgan and I promised each other that after we got done with the military, we would travel for a while. Later on, we would go to college, and then move back to our home town. Like that we would be able to do what Richy and Mike and he had wanted to do. And of course, what would life be without its perks; we decided that even if one of us died, the other would still do it. And we would tell our story to anyone who might listen.
"Two months ago, Morgan and I had just been walking out of the Mess Hall when we heard a yell. When we turned, we saw that an enemy had somehow gotten into the base. He was waving a gun. And he was less than twenty feet away. He took aim at me, I was of higher ranking than Morgan, so it made sense that they'd go after me… I guess.
"Before the bullets could hit me, Morgan spun around and wrapped his arms around me. By the time I got my rifle and killed the enemy, Morgan had already started drowning… in his own blood.
"I'd already been a trained killer for the better part of eight years. I knew he was going to die. So when he asked me to hold him, I held him. When he said he was cold, I told him he wouldn't be cold anymore in a little while, to hold on. Then I asked him to pick a name: that I was pregnant.
"He smiled and whispered, 'the three,' and died.
"Morgan had always been my favorite. I'd had a crush on him since we were in second grade when he beat up a fourth grader for making me cry. Whenever I needed someone to talk to, or a shoulder to cry on, he was always there. I really loved him. He was my first everything. First friend, first crush, first love, first lover, only husband, and he's given me my first child.
"Two hours after Morgan died I got orders, saying that I was going to San Diego.
"Three days later, I had been evaluated, tested, poked and probed, questioned, and had who know what done to me.
"I was declared 'No Longer Mentally or Psychologically Able to Continue to Assist the United States Marine Corps in the War against Terrorism.'
"And just like that, the people I'd told my best friends, my only family, that were good and just and who-knows-what else: those same people, threw me to the curb. They took my world from me, but kicked me away when I would've gladly given them my life.
"So now, two months later, I've finally told my story to someone."
The woman smiled at the man who was now seated beside her and this time. When he looked at her, not only did she give him a smile, but this time, it lit up her eyes and her entire face seemed to glow. In spite of the trails of tears running along her face –or maybe because of- her skin seemed to shimmer.
"Thank you. Thank you so much for listening to what I've wanted to say for so long." She said, "thank you."