A Lull During Living

[ A long short story. Thank you to anyone who can stick with it to the end ]  
________________________________________________  
 
A Lull During Living  
(9 to 5 Angels)  
 
   A lot of snow. Not simply falling, but being flung down by the mischievous minor god of weather. Easily confused with the god of assholes.  
   Just a hindrance, though. My friend, Golly, walked me out of the hospital and towards his truck, for my ride home. As if it was a home. It was the Army barracks, where I lived now, since my wife had decided that it was a good time to be done with me. While I was being pieced back together in the Army hospital, by the doctors who had separated parts of me from my main frame. To dig out the tumors that they so happened to have found while assessing my 17 broken bones, after my wreck. Luckily most were just small bones in my foot.  
   Bitterness is an easy spice to add, to the flavors of life. It's an aftertaste really. Like a bland gravy over the bad portions that we can't swallow easily. I drank, ate, and smoked bitterness like it was all that was left to keep me from withering away. Never mind that I had lost twenty-five pounds in three weeks.  
   Golly could have lifted me by my belt and carried me like a duffle bag to his truck, but he didn't. He just walked slow, beside me, as I did the step-slide with my feet. My good foot leading the bad one. He didn't smoke, but knew I did. At least I did three weeks ago. He pulled out a pack of Marlboros (He called them dusty trails) and offered them to me. His zippo was quick; A sudden flash of fire and an atom's worth of heat. A lot of soldiers carried a lighter, fire was a saving grace.  
   We talked some. He asked me how I was doing and was I glad to be out of there. He filled me in about what was going on with our unit. And he wanted to know if I was wearing a diaper, since the major damage was around my groin. He also threatened to punch me in the dick if I pissed in his truck. I knew he was joking. Military brothers have the best form of tough love. Like when Burnit got shot in the gut, and I stuck my thumb in the hole, to slow the blood loss, while the medic fumbled with the bandages. I had asked Burnit what size boots he wore, because they looked in better shape than mine, and he probably wouldn't need them anymore.  
 
   A couple of uneventful weeks passed, as I shuffled around the barracks. I talked with my distant wife a couple of times. About ten miles separated the barracks from her residence. Although she'd have to move out of the military housing once we were officially done. I asked her about the kids every time. I wondered to myself if she had told them the truth, that she was a cold blooded bitch, who discarded a broken soldier. Or at least a bad luck soldier, who meant well, but kept running into dilemmas.  
 
  I'm pretty sure that there is a god a'high. But a busy one. So we get angels assigned to us. And mine sucked. Mine was like a nine to five factory worker. Reluctantly going through the motions, just to get some time off. I was grateful that my angel didn't let me die, always saving me at the last minute. But christ, learn some avoidance. I've had far too many close calls for one person. I've proven that I'm not as frail as I look. But, I'm getting too wore down. I know I've complained about not enough sleep, but I didn't want the long sleep just yet. I wanted to rest, that's all. Lord, that's all.  
 
   A bad habit, drinking lunch at a local tavern. All of my guys were out on deployment again. While I withered away, waiting for my release papers to be finalized. The thank you for your service papers. The good luck but get the fuck out papers. I could move around pretty well, again. So I ventured into town for some sight seeing. Ha. All I saw that day was the world through the bottom of beer bottles. Which was fine. It gave me a chance to look for my future. Opaque as it was.  
 
  Seven beers? I meant to have only four. But it was damn cold outside. There is a lot of comfort in being insulated with alcohol. It's like pulling a blanket over your head, until the bad shit moves on, not seeing you. Well, except for that one dude that I popped from about two hundred yards out, last year. When our country had defended that little country from another little country. The bad shit found that guy, on that sunny afternoon. He was barely in the woodline, trying to camouflage himself with a tarp. Unfortunately for him, my superpower is observation. Nothing in nature has such curves within the trees. I could see the shape of his elbow; A curved triangle. It was easy to build the rest of his frame with my imagination. I knew I got him in the shoulder. He'd live, but he was done. And we both got to go home eventually. Although I'm sure that my version of events was better than his.  
   All of my shots have been to their shoulder. I never wanted to kill anyone. Just fuck them up. Maybe they will pick something else to do in the future, besides try to kill me. I think I secretly knew that I couldn't die. I've surpassed a cat, with it's nine lives. I'm on my second cat, definitely. My guardian angel must be a cat person. So maybe I am lucky after all.  
 
   And then, the cat. I saw it as I walked away from the bar, and limped down to the river bank, for a moment of sobering reflection. The cat was clinging to a part of a wooden window, that was being battered in the river. All of the snow-melt had created a contained tsunami, pulling down the edges of the riverbank and anything else in it's path. It was called the Black River, although today it was a muddy, medium brown. But vicious, like a devouring pack of young hyenas.  
   The boy looked just as frantic as the cat did, as he watched it struggle to balance itself atop the fragmented window. A horrible raft; The cat was soaked, looking like a city rat dying in the rain, with the throes of life and death jerking at it's limbs.  
 
  "Georgie". The boy said it rather low, like a reserved goodbye.  
 
   "Is that your cat?", I asked, assuming the answer ahead of time. That miniscule second of time, where confirmation and knowledge shake hands quickly, like secret friends.  
 
   "Yeah".  
 
   I've been almost drowned before. It's not the worst way to die; No pain, just panic. But death is still death with or without the hurt. And I've broken through ice before, up to my waist. That's a different sort of fire. It burns intensely, like the blue flame upon a gas stove. But it effects more than just your clumsy hand. You also get very sleepy, quickly. It's your body and your brain saying goodnight, preparing for the long sleep. The last sleep.  
 
  I have a horrible habit of doing fuckit things. I always have. When circumstance asks for volunteers for something insane, I'm already heading towards it. Why not. Today was one of those days. If I had a superhero cape, though, it would have had a Miller Lite logo on the back.  
   I figured that I could reach the cat when it got to the small formation of boulders, at the bend in the river. The water was calmer, confused there, and not as deep as the main flow. It looked like the water would reach my thighs at most. I could do this. And so I did.  
   The brutality of the cold was tolerable. It actually helped manage the pain in my side, where my stitches were straining to not break loose. I briefly wondered about what infection I may get, from the mix of disastrous water. But I also knew that the Army hospital would have something to fix me up, again. (I think that the south wing on the second floor of the hospital should have my name on it by now. A dedication. Yet maybe they're waiting for me to actually die).  
   I didn't anticipate the cat fighting me so fiercely. It screamed and hissed, and tried to claw my hand away. But every time that it raised it's paw, it tilted off balance upon the piece of window frame. That was good for me. Now I had to hurry, I could no longer feel my feet and legs. The burning was gone, and that was bad. I couldn't see the bottom, where random smaller rocks waited to slip me up, and under. And now I couldn't feel them with my shoes.  
   I took off my jacket and swallowed the cat inside it. I held it tight against me as I turned to get us out of the pissed off river. Pissed because I took back one of nature's sacrifices. I could feel the cat trying to bite at me, but luckily the jacket held back the teeth. The claws got me good though. A new pain now, of my stomach being sliced in little jagged lines. Not too bad. Tolerable.  
  I reached the boy (Steven) and tried to hand him the bundle of cat and jacket. But he wouldn't take it. Maybe he was frozen in shock. I wanted him to take it so that I could return to the bar. I needed heat, both external and internally. Hypothermia is a quiet slut; It fucks you up silently.  
 
   "I live two blocks that way", Steven said, as he pointed up the gray mush road. "Can you carry it for me?".  
 
   I had little time to discuss the potential of my imminent death with him. If we rushed, we could be there in a few minutes. The burn in my legs was back, but also the shooting pain where my surgeries had messed up a chunk of my body. Steven led the way, looking back every several seconds. His eyes only looked at the kicking jacket. The cat, Georgie, was still defiant. But I had wrapped it tighter, saving my skin from more gashes.  
 
   Steven lived in the projects, which was fine. I knew that warmth felt the same upon the rich and poor alike, and I needed some. I've been cold so many times. Times when even a small fire the size of the palm of my hand will huddle men together. That's how brotherhoods start sometimes. Common needs, bringing strangers together. No one gives a shit where you're from, in those times. We'd all crowd together, trapping the heat within our tight circle. And if, a candy bar! Holy shit! That little sugar rush, shared with one another, along with someone's canteen of water, passed around to swish that chocolate down into our homesick bellies. Everyone is exactly the same person during those moments; Just a cold soldier, surrounded by his twins.  
 
   "Bring him in", Steven asked as he opened the door. The apartment was sparsely furnished, dingy. A bed sheet covered the back window, of course. There is no more appropriate curtain than that. It blends you in with your neighbors. You can't have "nice things" here. You will be robbed.  
 
  Steven's mom came out of the bedroom, looking pretty tired. Steven went to the bathroom for a towel for me, as I set the tangle of jacket and cat onto the floor. Georgie bolted under the couch immediately, like a mountain lion into a dark, low crevice.  
 
  Gayle (the mom) calmly asked me who the hell was I, as if she was used to strangers showing up. Steven pushed by her and flung the towel towards me. I was still too cold to talk, barely whispering through stuttering my name. She looked understandably confused, as I stood there soaking wet from my waist down. My jacket, still on the floor, was a bundle of wet, brown mud. But my shirt was dry.  
 
  Now the rough, awkward conversation between Gayle and Steven, as I achingly sat down on the couch. Georgie wasn't their cat, but Steven wanted one. And I just so happened to be in the right place to get him a free, desperate one. Maybe I should have been angry. But I was too cold, too tired and too sore. Okay kid, now you have a cat. Of course Gayle was angry. She bitched about the cost of food and litter. But Steven took it well, as he reached under the couch, trying to coax the cat out. It was too soon though, for Georgie, who stayed pinned as far back as possible.  
 
   "I have some sweat pants that will probably fit you", Gayle offered, as she returned to the bedroom. Socks would be great, too, I said to myself. But I didn't push my luck. She brought socks anyway, because she was a mom. The tube kind of socks, with red stripes on the top. Good enough. Pretty new looking, even. Probably left by an old boyfriend, when he stopped coming around.  
 
   No coffee. She didn't drink it. But she made me a mug of hot tea, and was generous with the sugar. I think it was what finally saved my life, that tea. It had an odd flavor, but it was still salvation. The dying will take whatever's offered them, with a succumbing smile, and I did.  
 
   By now I was leaning to my left, as I sat on the couch, trying to get the pressure off of my right side. I had no idea if I had tore my stitches, or ripped my guts open on the inside, where the biggest surgery occurred. I winced just trying to get my shoes off, so Gayle took the initiative and gingerly removed them for me.  
   "Pants?", she asked for. So I began to remove them and she helped me the rest of the way. To hell with pride. I've learned, don't turn away assistance. And somehow, with Steven still grabbing at the cat under the couch, it made it easier to change in front of them. He kept things in perspective for us. I'm sure Gayle has seen her share of naked men. And God knows that I've had plenty of strangers (Doctors, nurses, therapists) see me nude. Sometimes our bodies are simply problems that need to be solved. I had problems, and Gayle obviously had time. She saw the mangled gauze on my lower stomach, and the small lines from where Georgie had scratched me.  
   "Go get the peroxide and gauze from the bathroom", she said to the back of Steven's head, who was still on the floor, reaching under the couch, for the not his cat.  
 
   I wasn't good with walking. I had a hell of a hassle just trying to stand. I really messed up this time, again. But, I saved a cat and Steven got a pet. Well, hopefully it would turn into a pet soon. So I told myself that it was an okay day.  
   "You need a shower first", Gayle ordered. I didn't disagree. I slowly made my way as Gayle walked beside me with her arms out, anticipating me losing my balance. I was a mess, clinging to the towel that was wrapped around me, as I kept pressure with my balled up fist upon the wound on my lower stomach.  
   The shower felt like summer rain. The bathroom walls were painted a comforting green, so that may have played a part in the feeling. I sat in the bottom of the tub and let the shower-spray coax the remnants of the river off of me, and lead it down the drain. If a tree could bleed, it would be me.  
   "When you get the sweatpants on, holler and I will come put a new bandage on your side", Gayle commanded.  
 
   When I was finished, I slowly made my way back into the living room. Gayle exclaimed that there wasn't much to eat, as she stared at my gaunt body. Tomorrow was benefits in the mail day, so tonight was looking like mac and cheese and toast. I wanted to pay her back for her hospitality, so I said let's order pizza. No mushrooms, please. I'm allergic and I've already had a shitty day.  
 
  After eating, and figuring out who each of us were in this world of craziness and bullshit, she asked me if I could make it back to the barracks.  
I couldn't. But I also said that I didn't have to check in anymore. I was on standby, for my walking (Ha!) papers. My unit wasn't even in the country right now. I was just excess, like the mold on a loaf of bread. And the Army wasn't that hungry to have me.  
 
  She offered her bed, because the couch was small and I am tall. It's just math. But I declined, saying I'd be fine, as all the immediate, brief scenarios that run rampant through our heads, of a man and a woman and a bed; But I was in no condition. And I'd probably sleep like crap anyhow.  
 
  It would have been nice, though, to just lay with someone. To have that need to huddle fulfilled. I didn't need her to touch me. Just lay there, and help keep misery at bay. Maybe it would be that way for her, too. Like teaming up against a rough night.  
  But, no. I would stay on the couch and keep my misery to myself. Like a good soldier. The kind who sleeps with only his old glories. Warmth is warmth, but judgements are pretty cold sometimes. I couldn't figure out her stare, as she brought me a blanket and a pillow and said goodnight. I think that I was asleep before she even turned away.  
 
   I woke up early. And honestly, it was the cat scratches that hurt more than the older wounds, since I had to sleep on my left side, where the scratches were, to keep the weight off of my bad side. My feet were in Gayle's lap; What the hell. How the hell. She was asleep, with her head leaning against the arm of the couch. I guess the bed went undisturbed. I had to go to the bathroom (Three mugs of tea!), but I held out awhile, watching Gayle breathe so calmly. Sometimes, beautiful isn't a person. It's a scene. It's a lull in the bullshit that life tosses at us. Hits us with, sometimes. It's the moment when night and day trade timecards, one clocking in and one out. How nighttime says sweet dreams to day, even though the sun will try to harass it. Maybe night has a bed sheet for the window, to offer day, so that it can rest in peace.  
 
   Maybe Gayle was glad for the cat. For something tangible, to break the hold of miserable routines. Maybe Steven thought that Gayle needed a "Just a friend", and I could be that. And maybe he had noticed how completely lonely I was, at the river the day before. How absolutely miserable I felt. Although I wasn't going down that riverbank for anything drastic yesterday. No long sleep, yet, for me. I just wanted some kind of perspective, to move me forward. A purpose, to tell myself that I still had some value.  
 
  What I hadn't noticed, though, was his good aim. When he had thrown the cat out onto that makeshift raft. I didn't see him because I was looking down, as the rushing river ate away at the edges of the soil. As plants and rocks alike got swept into the turmoil. I had been staring at my shoes, at the fronts getting wet, as they sank with the crumbling dirt. And I was thinking about how quickly things can come and go. How sudden life can change to no life.  
 
  Yet, perhaps my guardian angel had realized that it was only 4:59. Just like every other time.  
 
   That Steven, he's quite a kid. He named the cat Georgie before it had even hit the water. Because he knew, I guess, that it was coming back with him.  
 
 
~~~