Stranger
"I dunno if I really remember coming here. I just was here, I guess I was too high, the drugs carried me off like a loose dust particle on a windy day. Was it a coincidence that I knocked into you?"
Sarge stomped outside, shifting the muddy skin that the grass held together like a tight knitted sweater. A box flung onto the weathered road. It tipped over, spilling the contents. A few cars that drove by looked at him perplexed and skirted around the fallen garbage. The old Jeep always carried himself in a proud military fashion. His tires twisted around to snap into a to-the-rear march back to his hut with a dignified air. Having an awkward peeve about how tall his grass had to be he stooped down and scanned the clipped top. A ruffle of clinging metal distracted his concentration. He pivoted around and saw a lonesome VW bus snooping through his old junk. Like some guard dog protecting his yard he charged across and shoved a tire in the bus's face.
"Hey hey! You get out of my trash!" He barked, waving his army tires around. "Piss off!"
The bus didn't even glare back, only pried at him with a detached pair of sleepy eyes. "Wha? Man you're not even using it. Why waste? I'm jus' checkin' it out man."
"I don't want no damn VW flat-face looking through my shit." Sarge scooted his garbage close to himself. Then for awhile eye-dueled with the bus, looking for a challenge. Maybe he could roll this flat-face into the mud. He took a closer look at the bus, soon recognizing the colorful paintjob. His brow furrowed and he clocked his tire at the bus's bumper.
"Get outta here you damned hippie! Go form your drum circles someplace else!" He lunged at the colorful bus, flinging his garbage everywhere. The nervous bus flared his doors in fear and sped off down the road as fast as he could with Sarge breathing down his rounded rear. He stopped just short of the next building over and watched with a cold expression of hate. "Damn German hippie crap Nazi's. Can't even make up their mind of what they wanna be. Goddamn tree humping, pot smoking-"
The bus had taken residence up behind tire shop just down the road. He spied with at Sarge's hut, still determined to nab his garbage. He was sure though that the Jeep was probably keeping an eye somewhere inside, who knows? He probably had some telescopes and some radar crap mounted everywhere to make sure all was right on his property. He seemed like that type of army fanatic.
When the sky slowly turned into a soft shade of dark blue and the clouds shifted into a sooty color, the bus slowly crept back up the road. His sleepy eyes widened as he inspected all the windows and doors on that ugly old army hut of that bastard's. When he finally made it to the garbage he suddenly had different plans. That old washed up Jeep needed something refreshing. The VW drove across the clean lawn and drug out his guitar like a ready weapon and whipped it around in place.
"I bet he'd enjoy this hippie shit." The bus mocked himself, gathering himself up and thinking of a tune to play. When one finally hit his mind he strummed it loudly and opened his mouth like a wolf ready for a howl at the moon.
From inside Sarge just about dropped his plastic plate of all american Angus hamburger and seasoned fries. "Hippie music!"
As predicted, the bus kept his eye on the door just as it burst open. At the mouth stood that stubborn prick of a Willy. The hippie prodded deeply into the Jeep's eyes and continued to play his part of the protest. The Jeep could tell even from this pot-smoker's eyes that he was a fighter and not one fresh in mind. He's probably done this hundreds of times to people. Oh but it will end with him. He would make sure of it.
Sarge drove casually across his lawn, leaving heavy tread marks behind him. He watched the bus bring that guitar to life with such precision and talent. Simple and challenging twisty notes were not obstacles in this one's tires. He played as if it was a part of his body, knowing it from inside out and back in again. Not that Sarge was jealous. He had no desire to play such an instrument.
"You again." Sarge said flatly, trying to hide any hint of aggravation. "Goddamn you. What do you want? You can't have that garbage. I'm betting you're a homeless piece of shit who'd rather spend his millions on damn pussy and pot rather then a decent life eh? You know this is the seventies right? The sixties are over so grow up."
The hippie made no change in expression, only the speed at which he played increased. Sarge tiptoed a few steps towards him and snorted.
"Are you stoned? Why aren't you listening to me? Think I'm a pussy? I'm sorry I can't show you one but I'll show you I have a very nice set of firm balls."
Finally the bus broke from his trance and rolled his eyes around to Sarge and spoke with simplicity. "You gay?"
"What?! Wha-Are you accusing me? What gave you that damn idea?!" Sarge stiffened up like a pissed barn cat and wrinkled his grille into a hundred wrinkles. "Don't answer that."
"Why not? Are you hiding something?" The bus leaned forward over his guitar. His stench flung over with him and wafted around Sarge like a blanket.
"Damn boy. I'm sure you have some change because down the road there is a car wash Get one, it's fucking half-price. Damn." Sarge quickly turned off and slammed his door behind him.
"He's gay." The bus shrugged and packed his guitar away. Perhaps a nice shower would be nice after he gets done taking out Sarge's garbage. He picked a few delectable's from the box and left the rest neat and tidy for the trash truck to pick up. He looked around himself and the town. He could tell it was a dying town that was once a jewel in this dried carcass of a desert.
He made himself home nearby a giant oak that stood on the other side of the army Jeep's hut and set out his stuff neatly nearby. Surprisingly the Jeep turned up again. This time on the other side of his fence.
"So you think you're just gonna stay there? Damn parasite you are. That's all you fucking hippies are. Parasites. Who preach about how trees have feelings and that the war should end. As I said. It's the seventies. Hippie-play time is over."
"It's the seventies." The bus echoed as he stares down at the grass. "Is the war over?"
"No. You dumbass. Why did you think your peace rallies ended it or something?" Sarge snuffed and pressed his bumper against the bright white fence.
The bus rocked back and forth and shook a tremor from his body. "When will the world ever learn? From those who know?"
"I should call the Sheriff on you. I bet you're stoned." Sarge threatened. "What the hell is your name? I bet it's something like Flower or Shimmery or something along those stupid hippie shit names you guys call yourselves."
"Fillmore, though my friends sometimes call me just Fill." He responded in the same tone as from the beginning. Nothing fazed this drifter.
"Oh so I've heard that name not enough. How original." Sarge pressed himself against the fence. "I'm just gonna call you a damn hippie because that's all what you are to me. Is that alright? Hippie?" He sneered.
"Doesn't matter." Fillmore shrugged and looked up at the sky. "Oh the stars are coming out."
"Fuck you." Sarge tilted back. "I see you haven't bathed."
"No money right now man." Fillmore excused.
"Spent it all on pot and blowjobs I bet." Sarge grimaced at the thought like a kid eating sour candy.
"Nah I get those for free." Fillmore corrected. "Blowjobs I mean."
"I didn't want to know that revolting fact." Sarge stared at the mess before the bus and recognized some of his garbage. "I can see you don't respect me."
"I'm under nobody's authority." These words slipped out in an automated sense. He had said them so many times, ever since the day he found he was nothing more then a service dog to the world. Loyal and stupid and willing to die. Things change and so did he.
"So you would break into my house and take my stuff eh? Is that what you are talking about? You get everything from your parents right?" Sarge snarled. He just about felt like plowing over the fence and giving this smelly shit-bag a beating.
"No. I just took your garbage because you didn't want it. Silly to throw it away when somebody else can make use of it." Fillmore grinned smugly.
Sarge glared back and eye-dueled with him again. He wish he hadn't though. Their eyes always disturbed him. Especially this stranger's. He had an awkward way of appearing as such a gentle peace maker yet an untrustworthy murderer at the same time. Maybe it was indecisiveness. He didn't know this stranger or his whereabouts. All those buses had that damn look. The Nazis and those hippies. They are all the same too him. It was what he was bred to kill. Maybe it was just him and those fucking memories that won't leave him alone.
"So you just gonna sleep out here? Where all the mosquitoes and ants are? I hope you get diseases. Though I'm sure you already are riddled with them." Sarge broke off the stares and stared back at his lawn and the tire markings that stood out among the flattened grass.
"I guess you've lead a sheltered life." Fillmore snarked with a sweet smile.
"Oh so you think? Watch me. I'll stay out here all night long. I have before in the great second war. That experience was much worse then sleeping under a dinky tree in Allie country." Sarge drove around the fence and joined the hippie.
"So where the hell do you live hippie? Or you like one of them damn leaches that go around sleepin' on people's lawns?" Sarge leaned away from Fillmore considering his stench. "I see you didn't take my advice about bathing."
"I have no money I already said so." Fillmore answered.
"Well I have that shower behind my house. I'm not being nice to you. It's because you reek so damn bad that you're making my eyes water. Go wash yourself for Chrysler's sake. " Sarge pointed out behind his hut.
"Uh ok." Fillmore lead the way behind Sarge's military hut and found a nice shower head poking out the back of it. There was a washed out bald mud spot that had streaks veining out across the lawn. It didn't look as well kept as the front. He stood under the head and pulled a long rope that dangled in front of his head. A loud rush of freezing water drenched him in an instant. His eyes boggled and his muscles popped from the sudden sharpness of the cold. Sarge nodded from his reaction.
"Nothing better then a nice cold shower in the morning. Even better in the winter time! Builds character." Sarge drifted sideways and scanned his eyes over the bus's drippy body. "Make sure you wash every part. No point taking a bath if you don't wash properly."
Fillmore kept his eyes straight ahead as he scrubbed himself with a bar of soap he found lying beside him in the filth. He knew where the old Jeep's eyes were wandering about, it was no surprise to him. Perhaps he was the only one who could see it.
Sarge himself was totally oblivious to Fillmore's awareness. He kept his eyes glued to Fillmore's body scrubbing and most of all his pecker. It hung out about a foot. All savory and shiny. He bet if it were made of wood it would be worn smooth from all his past-time fucking.
"Why am I thinking of that?" Sarge thought out loud.
"What?" Fillmore tilted towards Sarge and smiled faintly. "Thinking of what?"
"Nothing. Just what I'm gonna eat tonight. Why the fuck am I telling you? That's none of your business you fat, fucking, green turd." Sarge's mouth turned nasty fast. Fillmore only chuckled at that remark. It didn't offend him at all. No it was damn right funny. Sarge pursed his lips and glared at amazement that Fillmore didn't think negative of the remark. "Get outta my shower. Sick of you."
Fillmore slid across the mud and shuffled across the grass despite Sarge opposing this abuse to his lawn. "Thanks for the shower man! Peace out!"
"Whatever hippie!" Sarge called out after him. "I hope he doesn't stay long."