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“GO TO HELL, YOU FUCKING BASTARD!”
Tank shouted towards the neighbor’s trailer, even louder than the offending motorcycle engine whose revving had jolted him out of a midafternoon stupor. “YOU BETTER QUIET THAT STUPID THING DOWN OR I’LL COME OVER THERE AND SHOVE YOUR STUPID FAT HEAD UP THE TAILPIPE!”
The aforementioned fat head popped up from tinkering with the motorcycle, bearded, bandanna’d, and grinning. “Ey, you’re a feisty one!” the strange man proclaimed in a rough, booming voice. Tank recoiled. He hadn’t expected to actually end up talking to anyone. “Bit of a spitfire, huh? Hey, Mama! Come out here, we’re meeting the neighbors!”
A middle-aged woman strode out from the door of the trailer. She had on a pink skirt, denim jacket, and tall cowboy boots. Her auburn hair was all puffed up with curls and a pink headband. “Makin’ friends with the neighbors already, Dusty?” she cooed. “That’s my little boy. Sweeter than pecan pie, he is.” She reached over and pinched the gruff man on his scruffy cheek.
“Aww, Mama, don’t embarrass me like that!” Dusty grumbled. “Besides, this new guy, he’s not the pecan pie sort. He’s a real tough cookie, just like me, aren’t ya?” Dusty puffed out his chest and flashed Tank a toothy grin. “Military guy, right? Could tell just by lookin’ at ya. Man, I could never do that. The travel’d be nice, but following all those orders? Not my style, Free as the wind, that’s me.”
The army was about quite a bit more than following orders, Tank thought bitterly. Yeah he’d learned that the hard way.
“Ooh, military?” the woman chirped. “Guessin’ you live in one of those bunkers right over the pond. It’s so nice to meet you. What’s your name?”
“Uh…Tank.” Tank was still standing stock-still, frozen with shock from the sudden bustle of voices and questions. He didn’t get out much. Honestly, he didn’t really get out at all.
“Tank?” Dusty let out a loud guffaw. “Military guy named Tank. Damn, your parents must’ve had that, whatcha call it, E-S-P. Y’know, predicting the future and all that.”
“It’s…kind of like that, I guess.” Tank mumbled. It was not, in fact, like that at all.
“You know, I knew a gal once with ESP.” The woman mused. “Or maybe it was ESPN, I can’t quite recall. She had all the sports channels, I think, but it’s been so long I can’t remember. Lovely girl, though. If your parents ever visit, I’d love to meet them, too. Do they live around here, in Strangetown?”
“They…used to. I grew up around here.”
“Oh, isn’t that nice? You’ll have to show Dusty around sometime, give him the proper local’s tour. So, where do your folks live now?”
“Uh…” Tank didn’t have time to come up with a good lie. “They don’t live anywhere. Mom died when I was a teenager. Dad died about a year and a half ago.” A year and a half ago, and nowhere near enough time for it to feel quite real when he said it.
“Oh!” the women let out a pained, high-pitched yelp that made Tank startle a little. “You hear that, Dusty? Poor boy’s an orphan.”
“That’s…that’s not…” Tank shook his head. “I’m thirty-three, I’m not an orphan.”
“You always need parents, no matter how old you are,” the woman nodded compassionately and reached out to pat Tank on the shoulder. The right-hand shoulder. Bad move. He recoiled, whipping his head around.
“Ooh! Reflexes!” Dusty laughed again. “Watch out, he’ll bite ya!”
Normally, this would be the point where Tank would snap, lashing out with a barrage of insults and threats. Do not touch me, or else. Right now, though, he was still tamed down a little by the shock of people actually being nice to him. Instead, he just backed away slightly, shaking his head. “My right side’s my bad side,” he explained, then realized his explanation needed an explanation. “It’s my eye. Can’t see on that side.” If you didn’t already know, it wasn’t obvious from the outside that Tank had anything wrong with his eye. The scar tissue and muscle damage had left him with a permanent squint, but most people who saw it just assumed he was kinda funny-looking. It wasn’t the first thing people usually noticed about his face, anyways– the tattoo was much more attention-grabbing. Honestly, aside from depth perception, you could compensate pretty well for not having all your vision– it’d been a little over a year since his…accident, and Tank was already starting to adjust, learning to make the most of the vision he still had, taming his other senses to make up for what he’d lost. But it was the idea of it. That something could be right next to him and maybe he wouldn’t know it. Of course, something could be right behind him and he wouldn’t know it either. Hmm. He resisted the urge to turn around and check. Y’know, if you did that too often, people started to call you paranoid. “So just…stay over there.” He motioned to his left-hand side. “Stay over there, and we won’t have any trouble.”
“Your eye?” the woman asked, her voice still sticky-sweet with sympathy. She tilted her head and peered over at him. Putting it all in context, he realized how pitiful he seemed to an outsider. Dead parents, blind in one eye…he decided in that moment to not let either Dusty or his mother know about his arm.
“Well, I already told you I don’t take orders,” Dusty crossed his arms, but his mother shot him a nasty glare, and he deflated. “But, er, that one’s pretty easy to remember. Don’t sneak up on you on your bad side. I think I can remember that one. Just cause I want to, though! No one bosses around the big boss. That’s me, by the way. I’m the big boss.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tank went home after that, hoping he could continue what he’d already been doing and avoiding the new neighbors as much as he possibly could. Early the next morning, though, he was unceremoniously woken up by the loud, loud revving of an engine once more.
The sound rattled through him, squeezing his throat and filling his lungs. All his nerves were alight, all his senses suddenly sharpened, which only made it all the worse when another loud VRR–VRR-VRR echoed in from over the pond.
He stormed outside. “YOU FUCKING SHITBAG, WHAT THE FUCK DID I TELL YOU?”
Dusty’s face popped up again from where he’d been bent over his bike. “Ooh, someone’s not a morning person, huh? My bad.” He gave a toothy grin, not looking one bit sorry in the least.
Tank gritted his own teeth. “Go to hell.” he hissed out. Dusty laughed a booming laugh, and Tank resisted the urge to cover his ears. Every nerve in his body was telling him go, go, go, but there was nothing to hide from, nothing to run from, and–once he took a step back to let his mind clear– nothing to fight.
“Dusty!” A voice called out from the trailer. It was the woman from yesterday, this time wearing a pink nightdress and bunny slippers, with her hair wrapped up in curlers. “Are you out there waking up the whole neighborhood? I told you, we’re trying to make a good impression!”
“Aw, Mama, he wasn’t sleeping!” Dusty protested, gesturing at Tank. “See, he’s already been up! Not in his pajamas or anything!”
It was true. Tank slept in his day clothes. All the better if you needed to be up in a hurry. Which he never did. But it could.
“Well, no matter what he was doing, you startled the poor boy half to death!”
Normally, Tank would’ve snarled another objection, once again pointing out that he was thirty-three and therefore was nobody’s poor boy. But there was something about the syrupy tone to Dusty’s mother’s voice that pulled him in and wrapped him up like a blanket.
Dusty hung his head. “Yes, Mama.” he said dutifully.
“There.” The woman nodded decisively, putting her hands on her hips. She turned her attention back towards Tank. “Now, dearie. How’d you like to join us for breakfast? And maybe afterwards, Dusty can show you off his shiny new bike. Quietly.” At that last word, Dusty hung his head even lower.
Tank furrowed his brow, considering his options. Normally, he would’ve said no straight away. But, there was one thing making him pause. Later that afternoon, he was supposed to have another phone call with his counselor at the VA. She called him every week to talk about how he was doing, and every week she ended the call sounding somewhat disappointed. Yeah, things are about the same. Nothing’s really changed. If, today, he got to tell her that he’d gone out and had a friendly breakfast with the neighbors…she’d be awfully pleased. Pleased enough, maybe, that he wouldn’t have to keep talking to her anymore.
“Alright.” Tank said with a nod. “I’m in.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Hogg family trailer had two doors and several windows– a bit small and high up, but big enough to squeeze through if need be. The most obvious defensible spot was underneath the kitchen table– firm, sturdy, centrally located, and with built-in protection from falling debris– but if you really knew your stuff, you’d go onto that top bunk. Bird’s-eye view, and the element of surprise. His arm wasn’t nimble enough to let him climb very well anymore, but the Hogg trailer had enough piled-up belongings that he’d be able to get a decent enough foothold to allow him to scramble anywhere upward he needed to go.
Overall, he liked it. Nice place.
Ms. Hogg– whose real first name was “Helen”, Tank learned– had made a big batch of ham steaks and biscuits with gravy. It was the first time in a while he’d had a proper, hearty, home-cooked meal. A long while. A couple decades, nearly. Dad never cooked like that, obviously, and Tank didn’t really cook either. He’d gone from living off mac n’ cheese and cold cereal right into living off rations and MRE’s. Back when he’d first gone to boot camp, he was the only one there who thought the slop they served in the mess hall was an improvement over what he’d gotten at home. Everyone had thought he was a lunatic.
They weren’t too far off, to be fair. And now, he didn’t even have crappy mess hall food. He ate a lot of cold pizza. Cold pizza and canned soup.
Ms. Hogg was utterly pleased to see someone so thoroughly enjoying her cooking. Usually, it had the opposite effect on people. It was an odd feeling, knowing he’d made someone happy. Usually, he had the opposite effect on people.
After breakfast, Dusty invited Tank to come look at his motorcycle. Tank did not want to come look at Dusty’s motorcycle. However, if he didn’t go, he’d look like a complete and utter coward. Oooh, little baby, scared of a fucking bike. He stood around stiffly, only half-listening as Dusty enthused over every inch of the machinery. Maybe it would’ve been interesting, but Tank knew that at any point Dusty was going to rev it up again.
(maybe, just maybe, Tank was a little scared of the bike)
“Ready to see it in action?” Dusty announced proudly. Announced, not asked. It was very clear that he was not looking for a response. Tank braced himself, grateful he at least got a warning, but then– someone clamped a solid pair of headphones over his head. The world went eerily muffled. He lifted one side slightly off his ear, frowning.
“Those are for you,” Dusty proclaimed at Tank’s puzzled expression. “Almost forgot! Now, I don’t take orders from no one– but planning ahead, that I can do.” He paused. “Well, sometimes. Now and then. Maybe. Aww, who cares? Time to ride!”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
That afternoon, Tank had his usual call with his VA counselor and told her he’d gone and visited with the neighbors. She was very happy, and very surprised. To the point that it felt a little insulting, honestly. He wasn’t that bad. Was he?
“Yeah, it went really well,” he told her, choosing to leave out the part where he’d only met Dusty because he’d yelled at him from his doorway. Okay maybe her surprise was a bit warranted. “Went over there, had breakfast. He showed me his motorcycle.”
“Oh! That’s great, you’re making some good progress.”
There was an unspoken “finally” at the end of her sentence that was very, very obvious. Tank chose to graciously ignore it. “Mmhmm. And he, uh, offered to introduce me to some of his friends.We’re gonna go meet up…sometime. Y’know, he’s pretty busy”
This part, of course, was a lie. A lie for now, that is. Surely it wouldn’t take much to convince Dusty to show him around a little. Dusty was pretty new to Strangetown, but he seemed like the sort to make friends quickly– as long as they could tolerate his own particular brand of bluster and bravado. It was worth giving a try– mostly, so he could say that he had. Prove some people wrong. And, after that, he could go back to the way things were.
…
…….
…If he still wanted to, at least.