Title: Rubber Bullet Kisses
Like so many mornings before, Jen woke up not knowing where he was. He was on a sofa in a living room somewhere. Perhaps in that house. He hoped that maybe Gil felt guilty and brought him in. But Jen knew that was impossible. He and Gil were of the same confusion, and Jen would not have helped Gil if the roles were reversed.
A teakettle whistled in the distance. A lurched figure hurried into where Jen guessed the kitchen was. He supposed that the figure was that of a middle-aged man. Jen didn't have to wonder what happened last night. He knew that he had to leave now, before the guy's wife or family got back from whereever. He attempted to turn to his side, but was met with sharp pain in his shoulder. Jen couldn't help sniveling. The man's footsteps approached, and Jen hurried off the couch, despite the pain.
"Whoa there, tiger," the guy said, walking in the room. He looked about fifty, his hair graying. He was lanky, but set off a good-natured vibe. Still...
"Uh-uh, I gotta get going," he muttered. Jen tried to dodge the older man. The elder gripped his shoulders, haltingly. Their physical contact made Jen queasy.
"Buddy, you've—"
"What happened last night has occurred a thousand times before. I'm cool. I'm not gonna ask you to tell your wife or want to move in. I'm just gonna leave. Okay?"
The other male looked confused. "What? Wha-What are you talking about?"
"Last night," Jen mumbled. "Y'know."
"I found you lying on the ground across the street. Somebody dislocated you shoulder in the process of kicking the shit out of you. I have no clue what else you're blabbering about."
Jen glanced down at his shoes.
"C'mon. Sit down."
Jen obeyed.
"Listen. I know what goes on over at Brian Detmer's. I helped him after his first bout with bad coke. And I've been around probably three times as long as you have; I've seen everything and then some. Tell me who beat you up."
Jen didn't know why he felt he could trust this stranger, but he did. And for the first time in ages, he told the truth. "I-I was with this guy and I got too fresh and..."
"It's okay. You don't have to tell me anymore." He sighed. "Well, I can't do much for you now. I'm not going to prescribe you anything, because you are able of doing that yourself." He pointed to the numerous incision marks on Jen's arm. "But, I'll give you a ride. To where do you wander?"
Jen thought for a moment. He had enough cash to get to Ohio. "Is there a Greyhound around here?"
---
"How old are you, kid? Eighteen? Nineteen?" the elder asked, as they cruised down Maple Street.
"Fifteen."
He whistled. "Kids are growing up fast. Pretty soon you'll have your very own draft board."
Jen snickered.
"What?"
"Don'tcha think Vietnam will be over by then?"
"Eh. They say it will, but they said Korea would be done by 'next Christmas.'"
"You were in Korea?"
"Me and every other guy with hair on their... chest."
Jen laughed. "So, you were in the shit?"
"Naw, naw. I was a field doctor."
"Oh."
"What?"
"My dad was too."
"Where at? I might have known him."
"I don't remember. He died when I was seven."
"I'm sorry. How'd he go?"
"Car crash."
That was the story Jen decided on when he first ran off.
"Damn shame. My mom died of cancer when I was young. It took my dad last year. Kind of ironic," he chuckled. "So, where does the rabbit hole take you?"
"California. I've never lived anywhere but flatlands."
"You'll get to see the sunset of the Pacific. It's a site."
"You've been there?"
"I flew into San Francisco from Hawaii at the right time. It was beautiful."
"Why don't you go back?"
"I've got roots here."
"That must be nice."
"Yeah..."
Jen stared out the window. The car passed a sign welcoming them into Millcreek.
"How much longer, Doctor...?"
"Pierce. Hawkeye Pierce. After 'Last of the Mohicans.' Only five more minutes...?"
"Jen."
Hawkeye laughed. "Is that some sort of Flower Power name?"
"No. I was named after a General, so they call me 'Jen.'"
"Which one? Custer? Jackson?"
"McArthur."
"Ech."
"You're telling me. 'Douglas Arthur Burns,' pshaw."
Hawkeye slammed the breaks. "Douglas Burns?"
"Yeah..."
"You're Dougie Burns?"
Oh, shit.
Like so many mornings before, Jen woke up not knowing where he was. He was on a sofa in a living room somewhere. Perhaps in that house. He hoped that maybe Gil felt guilty and brought him in. But Jen knew that was impossible. He and Gil were of the same confusion, and Jen would not have helped Gil if the roles were reversed.
A teakettle whistled in the distance. A lurched figure hurried into where Jen guessed the kitchen was. He supposed that the figure was that of a middle-aged man. Jen didn't have to wonder what happened last night. He knew that he had to leave now, before the guy's wife or family got back from whereever. He attempted to turn to his side, but was met with sharp pain in his shoulder. Jen couldn't help sniveling. The man's footsteps approached, and Jen hurried off the couch, despite the pain.
"Whoa there, tiger," the guy said, walking in the room. He looked about fifty, his hair graying. He was lanky, but set off a good-natured vibe. Still...
"Uh-uh, I gotta get going," he muttered. Jen tried to dodge the older man. The elder gripped his shoulders, haltingly. Their physical contact made Jen queasy.
"Buddy, you've—"
"What happened last night has occurred a thousand times before. I'm cool. I'm not gonna ask you to tell your wife or want to move in. I'm just gonna leave. Okay?"
The other male looked confused. "What? Wha-What are you talking about?"
"Last night," Jen mumbled. "Y'know."
"I found you lying on the ground across the street. Somebody dislocated you shoulder in the process of kicking the shit out of you. I have no clue what else you're blabbering about."
Jen glanced down at his shoes.
"C'mon. Sit down."
Jen obeyed.
"Listen. I know what goes on over at Brian Detmer's. I helped him after his first bout with bad coke. And I've been around probably three times as long as you have; I've seen everything and then some. Tell me who beat you up."
Jen didn't know why he felt he could trust this stranger, but he did. And for the first time in ages, he told the truth. "I-I was with this guy and I got too fresh and..."
"It's okay. You don't have to tell me anymore." He sighed. "Well, I can't do much for you now. I'm not going to prescribe you anything, because you are able of doing that yourself." He pointed to the numerous incision marks on Jen's arm. "But, I'll give you a ride. To where do you wander?"
Jen thought for a moment. He had enough cash to get to Ohio. "Is there a Greyhound around here?"
---
"How old are you, kid? Eighteen? Nineteen?" the elder asked, as they cruised down Maple Street.
"Fifteen."
He whistled. "Kids are growing up fast. Pretty soon you'll have your very own draft board."
Jen snickered.
"What?"
"Don'tcha think Vietnam will be over by then?"
"Eh. They say it will, but they said Korea would be done by 'next Christmas.'"
"You were in Korea?"
"Me and every other guy with hair on their... chest."
Jen laughed. "So, you were in the shit?"
"Naw, naw. I was a field doctor."
"Oh."
"What?"
"My dad was too."
"Where at? I might have known him."
"I don't remember. He died when I was seven."
"I'm sorry. How'd he go?"
"Car crash."
That was the story Jen decided on when he first ran off.
"Damn shame. My mom died of cancer when I was young. It took my dad last year. Kind of ironic," he chuckled. "So, where does the rabbit hole take you?"
"California. I've never lived anywhere but flatlands."
"You'll get to see the sunset of the Pacific. It's a site."
"You've been there?"
"I flew into San Francisco from Hawaii at the right time. It was beautiful."
"Why don't you go back?"
"I've got roots here."
"That must be nice."
"Yeah..."
Jen stared out the window. The car passed a sign welcoming them into Millcreek.
"How much longer, Doctor...?"
"Pierce. Hawkeye Pierce. After 'Last of the Mohicans.' Only five more minutes...?"
"Jen."
Hawkeye laughed. "Is that some sort of Flower Power name?"
"No. I was named after a General, so they call me 'Jen.'"
"Which one? Custer? Jackson?"
"McArthur."
"Ech."
"You're telling me. 'Douglas Arthur Burns,' pshaw."
Hawkeye slammed the breaks. "Douglas Burns?"
"Yeah..."
"You're Dougie Burns?"
Oh, shit.