Spook

Prompt for May 2012: Write a story that takes place at a party. It can be any type of party, but must use the atmosphere and the character's reaction to the party to allow the reader to connect with the character. Remember that the focus of the story is the introduction of the character.

Spook
by Shannon Chapel

I noticed the cars lining the street the moment we turned the corner.
 
“It’s just a small gathering of family and friends,” Mom said, patting my left knee. “We’re all just so glad to have you home, honey. Safe and sound. You don’t mind, do you?”

I wanted to run, to hide, to put as much distance between myself and this as possible. Fuck yes, I mind! I thought, but I said, “No, Mom. I don’t mind.”

We pulled into the driveway and Mom shut the engine. People filed onto the porch, waving at us: Dad, Aunt Bea, Uncle Bob, my brother Court, my sister-in-law Phaedra. Court sidled his way to the front of the pack, hitched the toddler he was holding onto his right hip and yelled, “Come meet your nephew, little brother!” just as the boy ripped the “Welcome Home” banner from the railing.

It’s going to be a long day. 

“Just leave your stuff in the car. Dad’ll get it later,” Mom said. “We made all your favorites. Dad’s grilling steaks, Phaedra brought her famous eight-layer dip, and Bea's whipping up a batch of those twice-baked potatoes you love so much.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“What?” Mom asked, opening her door. “Not hungry? I've always been jealous of how much food you can put away without gaining weight. If I ate like you do I’d weigh five hundred pounds.” She giggled nervously. I felt sorry for her; she was trying so hard. This whole reintroduction-into-civilian-life thing was going to be harder than I thought.

Aunt Bea kissed my cheek and Uncle Bob shook my hand. “Welcome home, kid,” he said. “You look like shit.”

I plunged my sweaty fists deep into my pockets and tried to smile. I wondered if it looked as disingenuous as it felt.

"It's good to see you, Brogan," Phaedra said, taking the child from Court's arms. "Now that you've met your namesake, I think I'll change him and lay him down for a nap."

I looked at her, confused.

"We named him after you, Bro," Court said, slapping me on the back. "It's a good thing you've got a cool name or Phaedra would have never agreed."

"I had no idea. I--"

"There's no way you could have. Don't worry about it. I'm just glad he'll grow up knowing his uncle."

"Alright, that's enough mushy stuff," Dad said, motioning for me to join him in the backyard. "Why don't the rest of you finish making dinner. I'm going to have a beer with my son."



I slid onto the picnic table and took the open bottle of MGD Dad offered. "Wow, the lilacs have really grown," I said. "They've gotta be seven feet tall at least."

"Well, you haven't seen 'em for two summers. Lots of things change in two summers."

I nodded and took a swig from the bottle. It was cold and somehow comforting--a taste I hadn't experienced in a while, and I smiled.

I'm sure Dad had lots of questions, and there were many things I wanted to say, but we sat without speaking for a long time. It was a comfortable but heavy silence weighed down by 18 months-worth of fear, loss, shame, and regret.

"You know what kept me going?" I asked. "Sally Higgins. Right before I was deployed she asked me to drive all the way up Old Pine Road. We parked on some secluded dirt path out in the middle of nowhere. It was August. God, it was hot! It must have been a hundred degrees that day, but it was a little cooler up there. Sally looked so pretty. She was wearing a blue summer dress and flip-flops. It was a turquoise blue that matched her eyes. She had her blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, and her cheeks were all pink and flushed from the heat. She told me to climb into the back, so I did. She straddled me then. I can still smell her perfume, taste the beads of sweat between her breasts, hear her panting as we made love in the back seat of that old sixty-two Ford Fairlane."

Dad finished off his beer and opened another. He didn't say anything, and I loved him for it. I had to work this out in my own way, in my own time.

"Mom said Sally's married now, to Ted Williams of all people. You know she hated him in high school? I guess it's like you said, Pops: lots of things change in two summers."

Mom opened the patio door and handed Dad a platter piled high with bratwursts, t-bone steaks, and burgers. "You boys coming back inside?"

"In a while," Dad said. "We're just catching up."   

"The rest of the food is done, so we're ready when you are."

"Give us fifteen."

Mom nodded and disappeared behind the glass.

"She wants you all to herself, you know. To her, you're still that two-year-old boy who used to sneak into bed with us in the middle of the night."

"Yeah well, that kid's long gone. I'm a spook. A ghost. Your son died in that POW camp, Pop. You're hosting a welcome home party for a dead man."

It was a cruel thing to say and I wished I could take it back, but instead I sat there allowing my words to poison the air between us. Dad flipped the burgers, turned the brats, and still didn't speak a word. Somewhere nearby a lawnmower started. I closed my eyes and breathed deep. I've always loved the smell of fresh-cut grass. Funny how the little things turn out to be the big things when everything's been taken from you. Big-screen TVs and pretty girlfriends and classic cars in mint condition ... man, that shit takes a back seat when all you really want is a hot shower, a full belly, and a soft bed.

"It was supposed to be a routine recon. In and out, no surprises. Then a Bouncing Betty blew McGrath's legs off and all hell broke loose," I said, opening my second beer. "McGrath started screaming, and the rest of us scrambled for cover 'cause we didn't know where the shots were coming from. They picked us off one by one. We tried to shoot back, but we couldn't see 'em. Coop was callin' for an evac, but I knew it was too little too late. We were screwed.

"The next thing I remember is pain. I woke up in a cage, and there were fifteen, maybe twenty people--most of them kids, but there were some adults, too--and they were yelling and spitting on me, jabbing me with sticks. I covered my head and face and curled up in a ball to protect the soft parts. They left me like that for three days. No food, no water, no bathroom. On the fourth day, they took me to a room with nothing in it except Coop strung up by his ankles. He was naked and badly beaten. They would ask me questions, but all I would give them is my name, rank, service number, and date of birth, and each time I didn't give them what they wanted they'd hit Coop with a cane. I don't know if you've ever seen a caning, but they're brutal. They use a four-foot length of solid half-inch rattan, and they soak 'em in water first so they're heavier and more pliable. That way they can hit you hard, fast, and continuously, and the damn thing still won't break. So Coop started screaming Article Six of the United States Military Code of Conduct: 'I will never forget that I am an American, fighting for freedom, responsible for my actions, and dedicated to the principles which made my country free. I will trust in my God and in the United States of America.' He just said it over and over again, and they beat him to death for it." 

Dad cleared his throat and said, "Son, Coop did that, repeating the Code of Conduct, as much for your benefit as his own. He didn't want you to tell them jack shit. He knew they were going to kill him whether he told them anything or not. He chose to die with honor, and he made his country proud. You are a brave and honorable man, and you have nothing to be ashamed of. War is a bitch, and no one has the right to say anything about what you did or didn't do until they've spent one goddamn hour in your shoes. I am very proud of you, and I am honored to call you my son."

I clenched my jaw and turned away. "They were good guys, Pop: Cooper, McGrath, Fusselman, Montague, Frisbie, Wilkie, Scheyer. How can I face their families? Their wives and children? How can I tell them they're the lucky ones? It would have been easier to die in that hellhole."

"Believe me, they're all glad you survived," Dad said, piling the barbecued meat on the plate. "And having you home is an answer to prayer. Your friends would want you to live a full, happy, successful life, Brogan. Don't you see? You won! You survived. You beat those bastards; now honor your friends' memories by living a long and healthy life. We'll help in any way we can. We'll take you to see someone and get you on something if it'll help, but you've got to make the decision. You survived, but you've got to decide whether or not you want to live. That's the first step. Don't let those eighteen months of torture and death be in vain."

"Okay, we're starving in here," Mom said through the screen door. "And the potatoes are getting cold. Are you two about done?"

"You ready?" Dad asked.

I stood and nodded. "I love you, Dad."

He put his hand on my shoulder, and for the first time I noticed the hair on his arms had turned gray. "I love you too, son. Welcome home."



Word count (minus title, byline, and author's note) according to Microsoft Word--1,674
Written for May 2012

SURVEY

What a Character! : Official WDC Contest  (E) Create a memorable character using the given prompt for huge prizes! #1679316 by Writing.Com Support

AUTHOR'S NOTE: With Memorial Day just around the corner (today is Saturday, May 26), patriotism, heroism, courage, honor, and sacrifice have been at the forefront of my mind. My grandfather served in WWII, my uncles in Vietnam, two of my brothers in Desert Storm, and my only son is thinking about enlisting. When I read the prompt for this contest the idea for this piece popped into my mind almost instantly, and once I sat down to put pen to paper the story practically wrote itself. This humble story is my way to honor all who have served and remember all who have died. Thank you for your service.