Mayonnaise of the Sahara - Flash Forward, Flashback Part II (482 hits)
Category: NoneRating: 2 on 7 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Ess2s2 (View user info) at 2008-10-19 02:41:54 EDT
Previous installments:
http://www.ubersite.com/cgi-bin/message_get.cgi?message=1062635177905522136 Part 1
http://www.ubersite.com/cgi-bin/message_get.cgi?message=1062748979222113775 Part 2
http://www.ubersite.com/cgi-bin/message_get.cgi?message=1063093655797928792 Part 3
http://www.ubersite.com/cgi-bin/message_get.cgi?message=106325068434748972 Part 4
http://www.ubersite.com/cgi-bin/message_get.cgi?message=1066782865756926990 Part 5
http://www.ubersite.com/m/18270 Part 6
http://www.ubersite.com/m/21708 Part 7
http://www.ubersite.com/m/22302 Part 8
http://www.ubersite.com/m/25827 Part 9
http://www.ubersite.com/m/26827 Part 10
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http://www.ubersite.com/m/119089 Flash Forward, Flashback Part I
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I felt that strange feeling sweeping over me once again, this time as I stood in the shower, scads of shampoo dripping out of my hair. Before I had time to rinse I was sitting in the debriefing room at the army base, a blanket wrapped around my shoulders and a cup of hot coffee tucked firmly in my hands. Up until that point, I hadn't known it was possible to miss a beverage so much, to feel an animalistic need for it. I closed my eyes and relished each warm slug of the brown sweet drink. Otter sat across from me, his head down and buried in his arms as if he were playing a game of heads-up-seven-up. Mayo was still in recovery, having been terribly damaged both during his time in confinement as well as during the rescue at the hands of the Special Forces. The room was quiet save for the tick of the 24-hour wall clock and a few ambient noises which seeped in under the heavy wooden door. Neither Otter nor myself said anything, we simply sat there, waiting, just as we had while we were in the hands of the Libyan radicals. As I sat, sipping my coffee, I tried not to think about the ordeal I had just been through. The Libyans had caught us in the middle of the desert, had taken us hostage in hopes our government would negotiate a tidy sum for the safe return of a handful of innocent civilians. They had even tortured and executed some of us to demonstrate their intent. Our government had stonewalled them early on, leading the Libyan radicals to treat us even worse. By the time the rescue team had shown up, guns-a-blazing, our captors had practically left us for dead.
I had seen all that with my own two eyes, had absorbed it like a sponge. I had cataloged every detail I could, because I was fully convinced that I was experiencing my last days alive. I've heard that sometimes, people rescued from peril will still die, even if there's nothing wrong with them, because they've lost the very will to live. Looking back, I'm sure I was close to that point, dangerously close. There was that point right at the last where I had resigned myself to death. I had thought about all my possessions and who might get what, and if they deserved it. It was a selfish thought, but considering it now, it might have been the only thing to keep me going, knowing that if I died, Tony would get my television. At the time, with nothing else to think about besides the sand and the walls and having to eat any wayward scorpions that happened into my cell, it was a sobering and obsessive thought. It got to the point where I was inwardly criticizing Tony's choice in television shows, and I think somewhere deep inside of me, I held onto that, because if I let it go, I wouldn't need to care about anything else for the remainder of my short, sad life.
Lucky those Special Forces guys showed up when they did.
As I reminisced, a young army officer had slipped into the room, carrying several sheaves of paper. Otter looked up briefly, grunted nastily and once again buried his head. The young officer, who was named Cossatt sat down and began to sort his paperwork.
"Gentlemen," He began after setting everything up. It had the feeling of a rehearsed show, and he looked appropriately uncomfortable. Otter raised his head and propped his chin up on the palms of his hands. It briefly occurred to me that Otter might have been in situations very similar to this one before, and that he knew what was coming next, he was just waiting for the guy to start plugging his cause. Cossatt cleared his throat and continued. "The U.S. government wants to extend its most sincere apologies. We understand what you two have recently been through—"
"Oh fuck you, you little piece of shit moppet, if you had the first inkling of what we've been through you would be face down drunk at home, crying into a puddle of your own vomit." Otter spoke softly, but I could tell there was rage behind that calm voice, white hot boiling rage, waiting for the smallest misstep to spill over and turn violent. I looked at Cossett and saw naked fear in his eyes. His rehearsals at his desk had definitely not prepared him for this, and he began to shuffle the papers in front of him nervously. He seemed to consult his paperwork and nerved himself to try again.
"Due to extenuating circumstances, the American government is prepared to offer all three of you a compensation package." Cossett pushed a packet to each of us and leafed to another page in his own stack. "You will all receive full medical benefits until your death, as well as monetary restitution which will also remain in effect until your death and will supplant your normal Social benefits once you become eligible." To this day I blame the shock, but it wasn't until Otter spoke up that I started to put two and two together.
"What do you mean 'extenuating circumstances'? And why does the government feel obligated to compensate us? What are they compensating us for?" Otter was once again dancing on the edge of rage as he spoke. I frowned as I tried to wrap my head around the entire situation. Cossett looked just as terrified as ever. I could see the muscles in his jaw work as he swallowed the lump in his throat. After a few long minutes, he spoke.
"The government is offering you this compensation because it is at fault for putting you in the situation in the first place." Otter and I exchanged looks of astonishment. "Your passenger plane was shot down over Libyan airspace by U.S. Air Force fighter jets who were under the assumption that you posed a terrorist threat. Once the miscommunication was sorted out, your party had been in captivity at the hands of the Libyan radicals for about a month." Cossett finished speaking and nervously licked his lips. Otter's mouth was working soundlessly, making him look as if he were trying to breathe shards of glass. I was suddenly numb all the way down to my toes. My cup of coffee, which had been as valuable as gold just minutes before, was forgotten in my newfound whirl of confused thoughts and questions. Despite the blanket and coffee they had given me, I felt frozen. I couldn't even shake my head in denial, which is why when Otter stood up and hit Cossett in the face with all his might, sending both Cossett and all his paperwork flying, I simply sat there.
"Jesus Harold Christ, you plan on staying in there overnight?" Otter's voice pulled me out of my flashback. I opened my eyes and gasped as I realized the water sheeting over me was ice cold. I clamored at the knobs and finally killed the biting cold stream of water before reaching for my towel. To be sure, learning my own government had almost succeeded in killing me had been one hell of a mindfuck, and having been stacked on top of everything else that I had been through, I'm not surprised that things turned out the way they did between Otter, Mayo and myself. It wasn't about the money, although having a check written for an obscene amount of money arrive in my mailbox each month was nice, there was the greasiness of it all, the unapologetic whorishness. It was symbolic of the way things were brushed under the carpet. Some hush money and I was just as much of a prostitute as the girls down on Fourth and H. All of a sudden, standing there in my bathroom, shivering with a towel wrapped around my waist and beads of water tracking down my face, I understood why I felt the need to spring Danisha. I suddenly understood the catharsis, the naked truth of my intentions. It was right then, right there that I made the decision to take control of everything that had gone wrong in my life. I was going to right the wrongs, starting with Brown Sugar.
**
"Where are you going at this time of night?" Otter asked as I passed through the living room on my way out. Otter and Mayo were watching Apocalypse Now, grinning foolishly as Robert Duvall intoned his classic line about Viet Cong and surfing. Ever since my time in the desert, I had lost all my taste for war movies, especially ones that took place in the desert, and thanks to the Gulf Wars, more and more movies were coming out that featured such settings. Mayo inexplicably loved them, and watched them at every opportunity. So did Otter it seemed.
"I have to go to the bank, then downtown for a little while." I responded, hoping the answer would sate Otter's curiosity. Mayo directed his attention toward me and Otter gave me his stony gaze.
"So what are you going to do downtown?" Otter asked. His black eyes pierced into me, making his intent unmistakable. I rubbed my cheek, marveling at how someone could ask a question and demand an answer in a single breath.
"Nothing that concerns you." I snapped, perhaps a bit too rabidly, because Otter seemed to suppress a smile. He considered me a moment longer.
"Well then get us some burritos while you're out." He finally muttered dismissively, cocking a curious eye towards Mayo before settling back in with Apocalypse Now. As I left the house I mused on how in just a few short days, Otter and Mayo had become such a tight unit, seemingly tighter than Mayo and I had been ever since Libya. A sharp pang of jealousy skittered through my head and I quickly suppressed it. The last thing I had time for was the green-eyed monster, no matter how badly I felt it slithering through my thoughts. I got in my car, looked at my watch and realized it was almost two in the morning. It had been almost four days since I had walked in to see Otter sitting on my couch, and it seemed as each one passed, I got less and less sleep, most of the time lying in bed, listening to whatever television show was echoing out of the living room. Not that it was new, Mayo had been doing that since we had gotten back; no, it was Otter, his presence was so strong it was impossible to ignore. I would hear him shuffling around in the kitchen and think about how he looked laying under that filthy wool blanket in the desert. How it looked like there was nothing under it at all, and how I knew I looked exactly the same. How one morning five captives had turned into four, and later, four had turned into three. I remember wondering when three would turn into two and who would be left. As I drove through the city looking for an ATM, I fixed on Otter's face under that blanket, pale, weather-stripped, barely moving, and filled with the pain our captors had given him. I fixed on it because if I didn't I knew I would fix on how he and Mayo had gotten all pally-pal, and then I would be jealous, and God only knew what I would do then. Once I finally found an ATM and pulled all the cash I could, I made a bee-line to the thirty-third precinct to spring my favorite working girl. I just hoped $500 would turn the trick, so to speak.
**
When I arrived at the police station, it was as busy as I imagined it would be on a Friday night. I mounted the steps, taking care to avoid a couple of strung out jerkos freshly released and waiting on their scummy ride. As I passed through the front doors, I suddenly realized why city cops hated their jobs. Every corner was filled with people. Some of them kept their heads down, appearing to meditate on their ways, others watched me hawkishly as I crossed the crowded room. Still others, people who appeared as if they were parents or family picking up their kids or siblings after a rowdy night out, seemed intently fascinated with whatever they had in their hands, not wanting to look around and catch the wrong gaze. The entire room felt like it was a few degrees too warm, and a faint, strangely musky scent filled the air. The odor caught a trigger in my brain and I suddenly flashed back to the cell in the desert, a week or so after we had been captured. There were still six of us and we had been crammed into a tiny cell, the size of a coat closet. We huddled together because there wasn't enough space in the cell to do otherwise. That same musky sweet smell enveloped us, shared by us. Even after our herd had been thinned out, whether by enemy action or by natural selection, that smell had still lingered, hanging in the air and filling our senses with fear. It was the scent of too many people in too small a space with too little oxygen to share between them. I tried not to think about the smell as I approached the counter framed in bullet-proof glass. From behind a small two-way speaker, the junior officer asked me what my business was.
"I'm here to bail someone out." I replied, suddenly realizing I only knew her first name. I decided to play the chances. Before the cop could ask for a name I quickly added the only other relevant thing I knew about her. "She was picked up about 5 days ago on Fourth and H for solicitation." For a scary moment, the cop simply looked at me through the glass. Finally he seemed to come to some conclusion and thumbed through a small card catalog at his side. After a moment he came up with an index card, studied it, and turned to a computer terminal. He studied the screen briefly before once again looking at me.
"Danisha Woodward." He replied flatly. I nodded, reaching for my wallet. He leaned back in his chair and tucked the card back into the catalog. "Released last night on O.R. Looks like you can save your money. Lucky you." He said humorlessly. I waved my thanks and turned to leave. All at once the wind had been taken out of my sails, whatever fantasy I had been feeding in my head about saving this wayward angel turned into the bullshit it was. I realized that I wouldn't have done it for her, that any magnanimous actions on my part would have been for me and only me. It was never about her, and I was no knight in shining armor, I was using her as a placebo for my own shattered past, and using someone, no matter how noble the justification, is still fucking using someone. I walked out of the police station just a teensy bit wiser that night. Not better, not less broken, just wiser. Looking back, maybe if I had taken that new little nugget of knowledge back to Otter and hit him in the face with it, Otter might have gotten the clue and shoved off of his own accord. Of course, chances were equally good I would have woken up in the recovery room at Downtown General, but at least things would have been different. As it was, I drove straight home, passing about a thousand burrito joints on the way, pulled into my space and trudged up the stairs to my apartment. I wasn't surprised to see Otter and Mayo still up and watching TV as I let myself in. I tossed my keys on the side table as Otter craned his neck around.
"Get those burritos?" He asked. I didn't even look back as I shuffled into my bedroom.
"Oops. Forgot 'em." I retorted before closing my bedroom door behind me. Fuck. It was true. I was going to go back to that desert shithole, and I was going back with him of all people.
I didn't get much sleep that night.
User Reviews
Submitted by shadow (user info) at 2008-10-22 22:34:26 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
From what I read, it looks just peachy. I'll read the rest later.
Submitted by ess2s2 (user info) at 2008-10-20 22:23:13 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Brian, I sent you an email and you never replied. I feel so alone.
Submitted by kaos-king (user info) at 2008-10-20 17:37:25 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Ess2s2 = AUTO +2
Submitted by monkeyswithguns (user info) at 2008-10-20 10:15:23 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by haikumikoo (user info) at 2008-10-20 02:35:57 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Felt mildly awkward at times and seemed to drag on a little bit without anything particularly interesting happening, but still ended up being a decent break from tedious busy work +2.
Submitted by haikumikoo (user info) at 2008-10-20 00:42:24 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
"Where are you going at this time of night?"
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I have to stop here for now so I can get some work done before midnight, but I'm assuming my rating will be the same when I finish this later tonight.
Submitted by Doodles (user info) at 2008-10-19 11:36:43 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Written well.
I'm not reading it all now though.