Johnny Cash’s cover of “Hurt” played through Trevor’s earbuds. The lyrics resonated with him, echoing parts of his life. Johnny’s deep, harsh vocals magnified the emotions conveyed by the words.
I hurt myself today
To see if I still feel
I focus on the pain
The only thing that's real
The lyrics were really a part of him, from a time when he tried to end his life. It was a miracle he was still alive, and he still didn’t understand how or why. Another veteran, a man he didn’t know, found him and saved his life. He never knew the man’s name, and he disappeared as quickly as he appeared, another unsung hero just doing his job.
The hypnotic ‘thump thump thump’ of the tires on the old concrete road made time pass quickly. As a kid, that sound, along with the warm sunlight coming through the windows, put him to sleep.
Trevor drove the same route his father had taken many times in the family wood-paneled station wagon. During their cross-country trips, Trevor had the entire back to himself, filled with blankets and pillows, while his brother Bruce occupied the backseat. His dad had bought a luggage rack that mounted on the car's roof to give Trevor and his brother plenty of room.
Like most men, John McCain didn’t like to stop, so the boys peed in a large Folger’s coffee can. The only time they stopped was when their mother had to go. Trevor remembered playing games to pass the time, like travel BINGO and “I spy with my little eye.” When not playing games, he was fascinated by seeing trains or cows in fields.
With the new higher speed limits, he could have completed the drive in a single long day, but he chose to break it up and follow the route his father had driven. From Atlanta to Birmingham, then up to Little Rock. On the far side of Little Rock, he checked into a motel and continued to Tulsa the following afternoon. From Tulsa, it was another sixty minutes to Duck Creek Landing on Grande Lake, the place of his inheritance—his grandparents' trailer, the special spot where he spent his summers as a kid when he was out of school.
Fuck, I had the best childhood. Swimming, fishing, and relaxing during hot summer days at the lake. Granny and Grandpop were the best. God, I miss them.
His thoughts emphasized how alone he was. Not lonely, but alone. Atlanta held nothing for him any longer, and he hoped to find the same peaceful solitude his grandparents exhibited to him growing up.
Every day with them was fun. Waking early, he helped his Granny work on the daily crossword puzzle in the newspaper. He never knew the answers, but she let him look up words in her crossword dictionaries. Then he would go fishing or swimming until lunchtime. If he didn’t swim or fish in the afternoons, he watched cartoons and soap operas with his Granny or helped her can vegetables from the garden.
The steady, hypnotic rumble of the tires on the road as he drove on autopilot allowed him to reminisce, sometimes crying, sometimes smiling, through the emotional highs and lows of his life. Granny and Grandpop were the first to pass away when he was a young teenager. Trevor unexpectedly lost his mother during his first deployment due to a subdural hematoma. It was weeks before he found out about her death, and she was already buried by the time he was notified. Besides his Granny, Trevor’s mother had been his best friend. While his father served overseas in the Marines, his mother raised Trevor and his older brother, Bruce.
Bruce died seven years after his mother from Stage IV pancreatic cancer. By the time he was diagnosed, he had only lived eight months, but Trevor had just redeployed, and the military, for reasons only the upper command structure understood, refused to grant him bereavement leave. What made it worse was that he later learned how uncomfortably painful his brother’s last months were, and Trevor wasn’t able to even try to comfort him. During his last deployment, and his worst, his father died of a heart attack.
In his own heart, Trevor knew his father died of a broken heart, and it devastated him that he couldn’t be with the most extraordinary man he ever knew when it was his time to leave the world. A great father, husband, and Marine, John Eldon McCain lost his battle against the grief of losing his wife and son. With Trevor deployed and unable to communicate for security reasons, his father died alone, and once again, Trevor wasn’t aware of his father’s passing until he was already cremated.
He felt cheated for not being with his loved ones when they died, as if something had been taken from him. It was partly a lack of closure, but it was more than that. He would have given anything to hold their hands to show them they were loved and not alone.
What have I become
My sweetest friend?
Everyone I know
Goes away in the end
The one person who kept him going was Steve Bolware, a fellow Marine. They met in Afghanistan and were instantly drawn to each other. Their different MOSs made it tough to spend much time together, but they took leave to see each other. Both men kept their sexuality hidden, but the pressures of their environment and the dangers they faced daily pushed them to act on their feelings. It was Steve who made the first move, and that moment changed Trevor’s life forever.
When the Marine Corps finally sent him home, all that was left of his family was the urn containing his father's ashes. Silent tears flowed down his face as he realized that all that remained of the great man—his father—was now just a few pounds of ash in his hands.
Attached to his dog tags hanging around his neck was a bullet casing filled with his father’s ashes. The bullet itself had killed Trevor’s lover in Iraq, and he carried it as a reminder of his first, overwhelmingly powerful love that he shared with another man, Lt. Cpl. Steve Bolware. The bullet reminded him of how such a small object could change a man’s life, but he kept it as a symbol of his love for Steve and his father, the two men who had influenced his life the most.
Shifting his thoughts back to his childhood, Trevor remembered the big extended family that accepted him as a young boy. His Granny had thirteen siblings, and Trevor met all of them while visiting her during the summers. Olive Amber McCain was the glue that kept the family close. Trevor had more cousins than he could count, but he had lost touch with all of them. Living outside the US for many years and not having social media, he lost track of everyone.
During his two-day journey to his new life, he reminisced, immersing himself in memories. In his Sniper training, he had learned to memorize distinct details and complex images, and he used that training to conjure images in his mind, recalling the smell of lime in the kitchen when Granny made pickles or the scent of her apple pies and freshly baked bread. One of his favorite things was snapping green beans for her while he watched cartoons in the afternoons.
Mrs. Forrest, Granny’s backdoor neighbor, knew Trevor and Bruce were coming and baked each of them a pie. She made Trevor a coconut cream and Bruce a chocolate cream. Each boy had the entire pie to himself, and from the first mouth-watering bite, they knew their summer at the lake was officially underway.
Trevor’s leg cramped, sparking memories of his last summer with Grandpop. Grandpop moored their boat at the dock, a few minutes’ walk from the trailer. The path was sloped, and one day after fishing on the walk back to the trailer, Trevor saw his grandfather lagging behind. He limped, and Trevor asked, “Does your leg hurt?”
“I’m fine, Squirt. Just slowin’ down. Run on ahead and tell Granny we caught a mess of crappie.”
Only thirteen years of age and unaware of his grandfather’s circulation issues, he ran ahead as he was told. In retrospect, Trevor berated himself for not seeing that something was wrong and staying with him.
I should have taken the bucket of minnows and the fishing poles. I was fucking thirteen! I was strong enough, but Grandpop never wanted me to have to do anything but enjoy myself. He and Granny made the summers about Bruce and me.
John E. McCain, the best Grandpop in the world, passed away from a massive heart attack two months after Trevor went back to school. His Granny lived one more summer, and Trevor got to spend it with her. But again, at only fourteen, he knew she was sad. There was no way at his age he could understand living and loving someone for over fifty years, and then losing them. Trevor didn’t know how to comfort her other than give her hugs, but he also didn’t realize how much his presence helped her. She called Trevor “her legs” because he would get her coffee or cigarettes to save her from having to get up.
With his windows down, the smell of freshly mown grass hit Trevor first as he turned onto the dirt road that led to Duck Creek Landing. That smell, especially in the heat of the bright, Oklahoma sun, transported him back in time. For a moment, he felt like a young teen, about to see two of his favorite people at the start of another summer adventure.
Now, as an adult, he returned as a battle-scarred Marine. His discharge was officially “Honorable,” with a strong dose of “Medical.” Trevor had been a Marine Sniper for eight years, serving in both Afghanistan and Iraq. He had witnessed unspeakable atrocities and had committed many himself, for his country. The faces of many targets, centered in his scope, etched into his memory, and many remained there when he closed his eyes. The Marine Corps called him a great warrior and distinguished hero, but he saw himself as a trained killer, good at his job. The toll of his service, along with the loss of his father after his mother and brother, brought his career to an end.
Despite the cost, Trevor was proud of his service. His scars weren't visible, but they were severe. He hoped returning to his childhood sanctuary would quiet his mind; however, his dreams were shattered as he drove past the place where the dock used to be. The trailers that once stood where he remembered were gone, along with the families he knew, replaced by long-term boat storage. The main dock had disappeared, leaving a rundown row of empty boat stalls. Tall, yellow grass and weeds covered the area.
I remember the area being bigger. The sun seemed brighter, too. Did it change that much, or have I?
He wondered about the sun, questioning whether it was real or whether his experiences had tainted his life and perceptions. In his mind, the image of Trevor's memory overlaid reality. His Granny and Grandpop’s trailer still stood. When they bought it, it was the widest and longest mobile home available, before double-wides existed. Now it appeared withered, even decrepit, but it stood. The small cinderblock house beside it was still there, a part of the property when his grandparents bought the place. His brother, Bruce, who was a few years older than Trevor, used it as a bedroom so Trevor could have the inside room to himself. What Bruce really wanted was privacy to have sex. When he was fifteen, Bruce lost his virginity to a pretty, young native American Indian girl who lived on the circle. Bruce told Trevor, in great detail, how and when it happened, and he had jacked off to the story and image for months.
Chuckling to himself at the memory, he thought: Damn, I got so much mileage out of that. I jerked off until I was raw, and still kept at it.
Pulling into the grassy driveway, he turned off his truck and sat quietly. The images from his memories faded, and he took in the reality of what was left. He had no choice but to accept it, but instead of the peace he sought, he felt unsettled by what he found.
Taking a deep breath, he thought: I was happy here. I can be again. My memories are strong enough to revive this place. I’ll remake it in Granny and Grandpop’s honor. I’ll replant the garden. The trailer has to go, but I’ll build a new place and carry on the family. I’m the last McCain. I know enough that I won’t marry a woman or have kids. If I manage to find a man I can live the rest of my life with... well, that would be perfect, but I don’t expect it.
With the perseverance of a soldier, Trevor moved his meager belongings into the small cinderblock house. He started Spotify again, and Pusifer’s “The Humbling River” played through his earbuds. It was another of his favorite songs, because the lyrics spoke to him. He also loved the deep, slow tempo. That song, like Johnny Cash’s “Hurt,” seemed to capture and sum up much of his life overseas.
Nature, nurture, heaven, and home.
Sum of all, and by them, driven
To conquer every mountain shown
But I've never crossed the river
Braved the forests, braved the stone
Braved the icy winds and fire
Braved and beat them on my own
Yet I'm helpless by the river
Angel, angel, what have I done?
I've faced the quakes, the wind, the fire
I've conquered country, crown, and throne
Why can't I cross this river?
Angel, angel, what have I done?
I've faced the quakes, the wind, the fire
I've conquered country, crown, and throne
Why can't I cross this river?
As the music faded, Trevor thought: Well, it’s time to cross another river in my life. Let’s get this shindig started.
<><>
When his grandparents were alive, the trailer didn’t have an official address. Letters were sent to “RR#5,” which meant “Rural Route 5.” The official town listed was Afton, which was quite far away. He needed to find the current address and get a new mailbox. Luckily, his VA disability checks were direct deposit, so he wouldn’t have to worry about mail for a while.
Trevor refamiliarized himself with the area by walking around, observing structures that had survived the years. As he walked past the old Meachum place, a car sat in the driveway, so he knocked on the door. When it opened, Trevor recognized Chip Clary, one of Meachum’s grandsons, whom Trevor used to play with.
“Chip! Holy shit, man. It’s Trevor McCain. Long time!”
Holding out his hand, Chip took it, smiling. “Trevor!? You’re a blast from the past. What brings you back here?”
“I got in last night. I inherited the place and no longer have any ties to Atlanta, so I thought I’d come here and give it a try. I didn’t expect the area to be so… rundown.”
Chip said, “Yeah, this place isn’t the same. My grandfather passed years ago and left the cabin to me and my brothers. We come and stay on the occasional weekend.”
“You still sail?”
“Yeah, we do! We have the big rig at Arrowhead. Anyone still living here who has a boat keeps it at Arrowhead.”
“I think I remember the way there. I don’t have a boat yet, but I want to get one once I’m settled. I’m going to tear the trailer down and build a small house.”
Chip didn’t know what to make of Trevor. He looked hard and imposing, so unlike the kid he knew back in the summers. He was muscular, fit, tanned, and handsome by any standard, radiating an aura of competent strength.
Chip said, “I’ve got a little time. You want a beer? I’d like to hear about your life since I saw you last.”
Trevor said, “Not much to tell, but sure, I’d enjoy that.”
Trevor glossed over his military career. Much of it was classified, and he couldn’t discuss it. He was more interested in hearing about Chip’s family. It was nice to discover a connection to his childhood that still existed.
Maybe everything’s not entirely gone.
The seed of his thought took root, and a small amount of optimism crept into the back of his mind.
<><>
Feeling more positive after reconnecting with Chip, Trevor’s mood lightened. Wandering around a bit more, he found Dorothy and Nule’s trailer, his grandparents' best friends from Tulsa. The trailer was in poor shape. Memories of them playing Canasta with his Granny and Grandpop on weekends were strong. Dorothy and Nule had a son named Mike who was mentally handicapped. He was twenty-five the last time Trevor saw him, but he had the mind of a seven-year-old. One night in the cinderblock house, while the adults played cards in the trailer, Mike whispered to Trevor, “My dick is hard. Do you want to touch it?” Terrified, Trevor didn’t respond. He wanted to, but even then, he knew it wasn’t something he should do. Taking advantage of Mike, given his mental issues, wouldn’t be right. He wanted to, though, and later that night, he jacked off at the thought of touching another man’s hard dick.
There was no power at the cinderblock house, but it had running water from the communal well. Without power, the small structure felt like an oven, so Trevor took off his shirt. He retrieved his cooler from the truck, which still had part of a loaf of bread and some deli meat, and made sandwiches. The ice had almost completely melted.
Note to self: have the power turned back on tomorrow, apply for a building permit, get fresh ice, and more beer.
A small LED lantern served as his only light source once the sun went down. When he went into the small bathroom to take a leak, he looked at himself in the mirror. His body shone with sweat, and in the stark lighting, his muscles looked even more defined than they were. He ran a hand through his sweaty chest hair. Immediately, his mind travelled back to when he was twelve, in that very spot.
There was an AC window unit in the small house that struggled to cool the bathroom. Bruce was outside, and Trevor went in to take a leak. Though he was from a military family, he was raised to be modest and never took his shirt off in public. He wasn’t very athletic and didn’t have a great physique.
At thirteen, after puberty, he was as horny as any young man his age. He shut the door to the bathroom, and the small room became even more stifling. He took off his shirt, and his pasty skin dripped sweat. The sensation turned him on. As simple as it sounded, the idea of being shirtless was a turn-on to Trevor. The heat surrounding him and the air moving over his bare, wet skin were sensations he rarely felt, and emphasized his nakedness.
Trevor had already discovered his nipples, and he played with them. His dick got hard as soon as he took his shirt off, but playing with his nipples sent signals of pleasure directly to his cock. Pulling it out, he looked down at it. He knew he was larger than average. He had seen Bruce naked once and knew he was too. He had never seen his father nude, but he imagined his stud Marine father was bigger than both of them.
Trevor couldn’t resist, and his shorts dropped around his ankles. He was already barefoot, so he was completely naked in the small, stifling room. Seeing his sweaty body was so arousing that he started stroking himself. Flicking one nipple, he threw his head back and pressed his balls against the sink. In a few minutes, he came, spraying the mirror. Immediately, he felt anxious about being caught, so he quickly dressed and stood in front of the air conditioner to cool off before heading back to the trailer to help his Granny.
<><>
Trevor didn’t realize at first that he was reenacting his memory. When he looked in the mirror, he saw a total stud staring back at him, not the out-of-shape, pale teenager he once was. He flexed his muscles, which made him sweat even more.
Moving to his bags, he pulled out a fuck toy, a latex sleeve shaped like an ass. He grabbed his jar of Albolene, stripped completely naked, and went back to the bathroom. Setting the toy on the edge of the sink, he stared at his cock. He hadn’t jerked off in a few days, and he was horny as a goat. Knowing he was good for a few loads, he flicked a nipple, occasionally running his hand over his chest as he stroked himself. His first orgasm was intense, mirroring the memory. He wondered if the streaks in the mirror were from his cum all those years ago.
Applying fresh lube, he inserted his cock into the toy and moaned as the soft latex stretched tightly around his cock. He was big enough that his cockhead poked out the tiny hole on the back side. The latex felt so good, he lost himself in fucking it slow and steady, edging himself. He stared at his thick neck, flexed arms, bunched shoulders, and tight chest as he thrust into the toy, admiring his body. The sight of his own manly virility turned him on.
Trevor loved being strong and fit. He worked hard to gain a physique that he desired in other men. At first, he felt odd at being turned on by the image of himself, but it made sense. He wasn’t egotistical about his body, but he wasn’t ashamed of it, and his own strength became a turn on.
Having to hold the toy with one hand frustrated him. His favorite way to get off was to play with both nipples while he thrust his cock into it. He didn’t like stopping, but he grabbed the jar of Albolene, his phone, and the toy and returned to the bed. The mattress was filled with soft, downy feathers and was incredibly soft. He tucked the toy between the mattress and box spring and got on his knees. He put a pillow under his knees to get the few inches of height, so his cock was at the perfect level. Opening his phone, he pulled up his Tumblr favorites.
He found a new bodybuilder who turned him on, and he enlarged the frame so it only showed his hairy, sweaty chest, shoulders, and nipples. Sticking his cock back in, he imagined he was the bodybuilder, being worshiped and stroked. Sweat poured off his body, making him feel sexy and hot. He loved getting a pump and kept his body flexed as he played with his nipples while edging his cock with the toy. Taking his time, he fucked the toy for over half an hour before he couldn’t hold back. He pulled out at the last second and cupped a hand over the head of his spurting cock, careful to catch all the cum. He didn’t want to soak the mattress and risk it smelling or yellowing the material.
After towel-drying himself, he felt more relaxed. Opening the windows allowed fresh air to flow in, and he sprawled naked on the bed without covers. Trevor had learned to sleep even in extremely hot conditions and dozed off after a few minutes. The anxiety of being in a new place, even one filled with happy memories, stirred his subconscious, and he slept restlessly, recalling the sounds and smells of war.
<><>
In the morning, Trevor felt better after a shower. The sweat-soaked sheets would soon smell, and he wondered if the washer and dryer in the trailer still worked. Using a UPS to power his StarLink, Trevor logged onto his iPad for a few minutes, then disconnected it when he finished his searches to preserve the charge.
Writing down the various addresses he needed, he locked up the house and headed to Afton. His first stop was the Northeast Oklahoma Electric Company to transfer the service into his name and turn on the power, and he received a pleasant surprise: they could switch the power on that same afternoon. He also applied for a permit to move the septic tank from the trailer to the house he planned to build.
His next stop was the County Clerk to apply for a building permit and any other permits needed to tear down and dispose of the trailer. He was thankful that Duck Creek Landing was so rural that there were no burning restrictions.
His last stop was Home Depot to buy a new window unit and two spot coolers for air conditioning. Mold and mildew remover was essential, along with other cleaning supplies, and fresh bags of ice to fill his coolers. On a whim, even though it went against his usual diet, he bought an eight-piece bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken. Another childhood memory was traveling in the car, eating bread-and-butter sandwiches, and cold KFC. His mother could turn the simplest meal into a feast for him and his brother.
By the time he got home, the power was already on. The upright freezer in the cinderblock house worked, along with the trailer's refrigerator, oven, washer, and dryer. He cleaned everything and applied WD-40 to the gaskets and belts that hadn’t been used in decades. He planned to replace all the appliances over time, but would make do with what was available to save money. He moved the TV from the trailer to the cinderblock house and cleared out the garage enough to back his truck in and close the door. His digital antenna picked up hundreds of stations, including the local news and weather in Tulsa.
As he approached the cellar doors, more memories churned, resurfacing in his conscious thoughts.
How many times were we in this cellar when tornadoes rolled through?
The weathered but sturdy doors seemed to stare back at him. That small space, about twelve square feet, had sheltered family and neighbors during tough times, but it also held all the cherished memories of Granny’s canning efforts.
Sunlight hit the cement steps as he slowly made his way down. At the bottom, he flicked the light switch, and a single low-watt bulb dimly lit the tiny space. The cool, dry cellar smelled just as he remembered. The shelves were intact but mostly empty, except for a few mason jars. The wood and chicken-wire shelf used to dry potatoes looked in good shape.
The shed over the cellar remained locked, and he didn’t have the key. His Grandpop, a welder and heavy machine mechanic, had stored all his tools there, along with his fishing poles, tackle, and seeds for his garden.
Another note to self: Get bolt cutters to take that lock off.
Much to Trevor’s surprise, the trailer had never been vandalized. All the plates, silverware, and cookware were there, and most importantly, Granny’s oversized twelve-quart pressure cooker for canning. Inside the cupboards, he started, mesmerized at the set of tall glasses he used to drink from. He particularly remembered mixing powdered Lipton Iced Tea late at night, and crushing ice cubes with the ice cream scooper to make the ice easier to crunch.
Overall, the place was in much better shape than he originally thought, although some parts of the floor were rotted and unsafe to walk on. However, the interior furniture and belongings, while old and outdated, were still usable.
I have a lot of work ahead of me, but I’m looking forward to it. I’ll restore this place to honor Granny and Grandpop and make them proud. Duck Creek Landing is worn down, but it’s peaceful, and that’s fine by me.
<><>
Trevor settled in, working daily to improve the cinderblock house, clean out the garage, and sort through what was salvageable. He purchased some bolt cutters, opened the shed, and found his Grandpop’s tools, organized just as he remembered them.
I wonder why Dad didn’t take this stuff. Maybe he kept it like a shrine or saved it for me someday. Well, I have it now, and can use everything.
He found Grandpop's gas-powered tiller under the far side of the trailer. Using the tools, Trevor rebuilt the motor. He had to make a quick run to Ketchum for oil and gas, and it took the whole afternoon to get it running. After rooting out some volunteer tomato plants and strawberries, he tilled the entire original garden plot. The compost pile had dried up, so he cleared it to start a new one. The jars of seeds in the shed had dried out, so he added that to his list for his next trip to Vinita the following day.
With the power on and the refrigerator and freezer running, he planned to go to Target and Safeway, the same stores Granny made her monthly trips to every summer.
As he drove, another image of his Granny came to mind, of her purse swinging from her arm as she drove, with a cigarette hanging from her lip. The filters were always stained red from her lipstick. He remembered her once missing the turn back to the trailer because she had been distracted by talking and laughing with him. She didn’t get mad, she just leaned over and kissed his cheek. Whenever she was close, he smelled her lotion and perfume. Granny had her own scent, just like Grandpop did.
Trevor found the seeds at Target's Garden Center. He planned to use his Grandpop's method and wanted an entirely organic garden. His last stop for the afternoon was Safeway to get groceries. As Trevor pulled into the parking lot, he noticed a homeless-looking man walking along the side of the building toward the back. By the time he parked and walked to the door, the man had disappeared. It was the first homeless person he had seen since returning to the area, and he wondered about it. People around there were friendly, hospitable, good country folk, and if they saw someone in need, they would surely help.
Trevor looked for the man one last time after loading his groceries into his truck, but didn’t see him so he headed home. Mimicking his summers with Granny, he planned to make a trip to Vinita for groceries every few weeks. Anything urgent, he could get in Ketchum at the small grocery mart. On the way back to Duck Creek Landing, he passed a horse farm outside Ketchum where his Grandpop used to get manure, and he wondered if that was still an option. The nitrogen in horse shit did wonders for the soil.
On his next trip to Vinita, Trevor saw the homeless man again as he pulled into the Safeway parking lot, but the man disappeared just as before. In Iraq and Afghanistan, he had seen true poverty and starvation, and noticing anyone in such a state troubled him. Americans take so much for granted, especially their daily freedoms to move around freely and think or say what they want… Before his thoughts turned dark, he shook them off and focused on positive thinking.
Trevor had made significant progress in tearing down the trailer. He didn’t have any heavy equipment and did everything by hand. He enjoyed the physical exertion, but he also created a small workout area, installing a pull-up bar and a flat bench. He bought an Olympic weight bar, some plates, a set of dumbbells, and some kettlebells. Eventually, he planned to add cables, but those would have to wait.
Another small project, one that made him laugh at himself, was a glory hole. He drilled a hole in one of the doors from the trailer and made a box for his fuck toy to rest in. He could use it hands-free and ended up fucking it two or three times a day. Physical exertion gave him a pump, and the invigoration sent energy straight to his cock. He put the door in the small storage room by the bathroom. That small room didn’t get any cool air, and he enjoyed the heat and sweat he worked up while getting off.
On Trevor’s third trip to Vinita, a few months since his arrival at Duck Creek, the homeless man was there again, but this time, Trevor quickly parked and ran towards him. The man saw him coming and turned away, headed for the area behind Safeway.
“Hey, buddy! Hold up!”
Tripping in his haste, the man fell to the ground. His movement appeared stiff and sluggish, and Trevor wondered if he was high.
Kneeling, Trevor quickly asked, “Are you okay? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I just want to talk.”
Trevor would forever remember the face that looked back at him. Beneath the scraggly, unkempt beard and months of dirt and malnutrition, the semblance of a handsome face returned his stare. Piercing dark eyes gazed back from beneath a ragged hoodie. The man had lost so much weight that his face appeared skeletal. Trevor noticed that his pants were military fatigues, and his boots military issue, although they were so worn that the soles had nearly fallen off.
“I’m Trevor. I’m not going to hurt you. I want to see if you’re alright. I’ve seen you here a few times now. How long have you been here?”
In a raspy voice, unused to talking, the man replied, “I… I don’t know. A while.”
“What’s your name?”
He looked momentarily confused, as if he didn’t remember, but he stammered, “Mitch. My name’s Mitch.”
Trevor held out his hand, “Good to meet you, Mitch.”
Mitch’s grip seemed weak, and Trevor pulled him to his feet and helped stabilize him.
“So, what’s your story, Mitch?”
As he stood, the pungent, rank odor coming off Mitch almost made Trevor gag.
“I… I don’t remember much.”
“Do you really not remember? Or do you not want to tell me?”
Sudden tears leaking down Mitch’s face into his beard caught Trevor off guard. Mitch’s pain and wretchedness were heartbreaking to see.
Quietly, he said, “It hurts to remember, so I don’t.”
“I’m sorry, Mitch. I’m being a dumbass. Were you in the service?”
Mitch nodded as he swiped at his tears.
Fuck, this guy’s a veteran.
“Don’t you have any family?”
Mitch started to cry harder, and his voice caught as he mumbled, “No. They’re gone.”
With a heavy sigh, Trevor said, “I understand. My family’s gone too, so I get it.”
Trevor paused for a moment, and as he collected his thoughts, he placed a hand on Mitch’s shoulder as a sign of comfort. It was likely the first human touch of compassion Mitch had felt in a long time, and he hugged Trevor tightly as he cried.
Trevor held him and said, “You don’t belong here, Mitch. No one who served our country deserves what you’re going through. I don’t know your story, man, but I want to. Will you come with me? I can get you some food and clothes, and we can talk if you want. I’m a good listener. If you want to be quiet, I can respect that, too. I just don’t want you to be alone.”
Mitch looked confused, so Trevor placed a hand on his shoulder to guide him back toward the parking lot. Mitch tried to pull away, but Trevor quickly said, “It’s okay. Let’s just go to my truck, alright?”
Mitch didn’t say anything and let himself be led. When they reached the truck, Trevor opened the door and said, “Climb in, Mitch. It’s okay. I’ve got your six.”
Mitch flinched at the sound of Trevor shutting the door, and his eyes widened. Trevor went around to the driver's side and got in, but he shut his door gently after noticing Mitch's reaction.
“Mitch, I need to run into the store quick and pick up a few things. Can you promise me you’ll still be here when I get back? Please don’t take off on me.”
Trevor had to strain to hear Mitch’s response of, “Ok. I’ll be here. I got nowhere else to go.”
Trevor’s eyes started to water. Mitch was in bad shape, and Trevor was angry that any person, veteran or otherwise, could come to such a state in America.
God damn, this fucked up world. This isn’t what either one of us fought for.
“I promise I’ll be quick.”
Trevor closed his truck door quietly and locked the cab. His grocery list wasn’t long, and he knew where everything was, but he stopped at the Deli to buy two large subs and two big bottles of water. On a hunch, he picked up extra hamburger, chicken, and steak. Once his house was finished, he planned to buy half a cow like his grandparents did and have all the meat cut to his specifications. He also wanted to have all the fat rendered into beef tallow for cooking.
When he returned, Mitch was gone.
Damnit! He said he didn’t have anywhere else to go.
He punched the side of his truck in frustration and kicked a tire.
Surprise hit him when Mitch said from behind him, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you mad. I thought I’d be back before you.”
An odd sense of relief washed over Trevor, along with a touch of guilt. Mitch held a small cigar box, an old one you rarely see anymore—the kind their parents might have had.
I was ready to think the worst of him. Fuck me.
Trevor said, “I’m sorry too, Mitch. I’m glad you didn’t leave. I should have asked if you had anything you needed to get. I wasn’t thinking. Go ahead and get in while I load the groceries.”
When he climbed into the cab, Trevor pulled out the sandwiches and water. Ignoring Mitch’s ungodly odor, he held out a sandwich and said, “I bet you’re hungry. I got one too, so you don’t have to eat alone. I have water too.”
Trevor had no idea when the last time Mitch had eaten was, but he nearly choked on the first few bites as he savagely attacked the sandwich.
“Take it easy, man. There’s plenty. Don’t make yourself sick.”
Mitch slowed down and gulped half his water in one swig.
Trevor was having a hard time keeping his emotions in check. On top of Mitch’s obvious need, Trevor didn’t know anything about him or his emotional state. Or, if he could be trusted.
Maybe he needs someone to trust him. I don’t really have anything worth stealing anyway.
Mitch devoured his sandwich minutes before Trevor finished his. Trevor would have offered him more, but he was concerned that Mitch might react to too much food too quickly.
When Trevor finished, he patted Mitch on his shoulder and said, “Let’s get out of here.”
Author's Note
As usual, this story has five chapters. It's finished, and I'll post them daily. Hope you enjoy!
To get in touch with the author, send them an email.
