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perpetual_motion12,456 words, and time for a teaser!
[One thing that needs to be clear: Erin is a fully grown woman.]
Hawkeye steps forward and tweaks the end of Erin’s braid, a gesture so old BJ can’t actually remember when Hawkeye first did it, but it’s the response that matters, and when Erin flicks her head, something in BJ’s chest loosens just a little.
“Hi, Hawkeye.”
“Hi, Erin.” And he sits next to her on the porch railing, his feet sitting squarely on the bush, his shoulder bumping hers. “Your dad’s my best friend.”
“I know.”
“And I love him.”
“I know.”
“And I don’t know what’s going to happen, but even if this ends with Beej and I never talking again, you can still call me long distance and run up their phone bill.”
Erin’s brow wrinkles, and BJ holds his breath. He knows that look, and it can be dangerous under certain circumstances. It’s the look Erin used at four before throwing buckets of water through the screen door, the look she used at ten before tying her brothers to a tree in the backyard, the look she used at sixteen before she completely disobeyed and stayed out all night. But it’s also the look before she does something wonderful. It was the look that won her the spelling bee, the look before she walked into her college interview, the look she’d had right before she’d admitted she was gay, but BJ can’t dare to consider what it means now in this situation where Peg’s breaking of things can still be heard inside the house.
“I don’t want you to stop talking,” she finally says, and BJ, again, is astounded by the abilities of his baby girl to be an astonishingly amazing full-grown woman. “I just-you kind of fucked things up showing up like you did.” BJ almost interjects to remind her about her language, how polite people don’t talk that way. A crash from inside the house and a chuckle from Hawkeye make him pause.
“Erin, my lovely little lady, I am, as I’m sure your dad has told you, the ultimate and true king of fucking up and being fucked up and fucking over and under and through and through. It’s a gift, completely natural, and I have no choice but to do with it what I can.” Hawkeye grins crookedly, and BJ watches history flash behind his eyes. “The first day I met your dad, we got stinking drunk.”
“You don’t say,” Erin’s smile is wry, and BJ can’t help but chuckle. The stories she’s heard, he thinks, make her well aware of how they passed time in Korea. Gin and gin and occasionally beer, and sometimes even whiskey, if the Colonel was up to sharing his stash.
“I’m not talking stinking drunk like you crazy college kids and your lite beers. I’m talking a still, a full working still, with bells and whistles and knobs and valves. Do you know how close we came to going blind?”
“Probably as close as you came to ruining your livers.”
“Probably. But that first day, that was a masterpiece of stupidity and drunkedness and all out desperation. I’d just had a friend leave,” and BJ doesn’t miss the way Hawkeye’s shoulder jerks at the passing mention of Trapper. Trapper never wrote. Trapper never called. And once Trapper found out about how Hawkeye ended the war, he stayed as clear as his guilty conscience would let him, sending Christmas cards and pictures of children and asking after business in Crabapple Cove. BJ has decided that if he ever meets Trapper, he will punch him in the mouth, and then in the stomach, and then stomp on his toes. And then, perhaps, if he’s feeling generous, he will only rub the tiniest bit of salt into the split lip he knows he’s capable of bestowing on the coward.
“And your dad,” Hawkeye continues and BJ pulls away from thoughts of Trapper John, who is probably a perfectly nice man, just terrible with personal issues, and BJ hates to think how much they have in common. “He was missing you and your mom, and we got stinking, falling down, ass over teakettle drunk. And then we drove a Jeep. It was the only time in my life an Army Jeep made a comfortable ride. Of course, I couldn’t feel my ass, or my fingers, or my toes, or my knees, or my hips.”
Erin is quiet for a good long while. BJ watches her stare at the yard and at the sky, glance at Hawkeye and even over her shoulder at him, face unreadable but for the crease between her eyebrows. Finally, after an age, she turns on the railing and puts her feet on the porch. “I can’t find your point,” she says to Hawkeye, in a tone that asks for more explanation, more honesty, more of something she’s never really had from the people who raised her, BJ thinks, and cringes inside.
“My point, Erin, my lovely little lady, is that your dad left for Korea missing you and your mom, and he came back from Korea to you and your mom, and whatever his reasons or motivations or ridiculous personal ideas of cultural expectations, you are not to ever be allowed to think that your father loves you out of mere obligation.”
“I’ve never thought that.” She’s telling the truth, BJ knows, and the tightness in his chest loosens completely. Peg’s love he can handle losing, her respect and her friendship a causality to which he can make adjustments. But his baby girl, his favorite daughter, his secretly favorite child, if she’d turned and left him on that porch without a word, without a look, he knows he would have died.
“You’ve been a good dad.” And BJ feels tears well up in his eyes, but he swallows and blinks and just nods, leaves his voice tucked away because he doesn’t want it to break. “And I think you were a good husband. I’m probably not the best judge, considering, but you took care of Mom and always tried to respect her, and I can’t promise I won’t be mad at you tomorrow, but I won’t be mad at you right now.”
BJ’s on his feet and hugging her close, kissing the top of her head and letting a few tears fall into her hair. If it’s the only blessing he ever gets from anyone for the rest of his life, it’s more than good enough for him. “You are a wonderful, brilliant woman. And if anyone ever tries to tell you differently, knock them down and keep moving.”
“I will, Dad,” and Erin’s hugging him back just as tight, not crying, but close, and BJ imagines all the crying will come later, when everything wraps up and ends, and he hopes he’s near enough that she can call and yell at him if that’s what it takes to help her.
There’s another crash, and then footsteps vibrating through the house. BJ pulls away from Erin, tweaks her nose, and goes for the door. Hawkeye’s hand on his arm stops him only long enough to give the bravest smile he can muster. “If I don’t get in there now, she may cut up all my clothes.” Hawkeye nods and steps back, and the last thing BJ sees as he latches the front door is Erin nudging Hawkeye’s shoulder, eyes on the ground, but a determination to understand on her face.
So, yes? No? Dear God Why?
[One thing that needs to be clear: Erin is a fully grown woman.]
Hawkeye steps forward and tweaks the end of Erin’s braid, a gesture so old BJ can’t actually remember when Hawkeye first did it, but it’s the response that matters, and when Erin flicks her head, something in BJ’s chest loosens just a little.
“Hi, Hawkeye.”
“Hi, Erin.” And he sits next to her on the porch railing, his feet sitting squarely on the bush, his shoulder bumping hers. “Your dad’s my best friend.”
“I know.”
“And I love him.”
“I know.”
“And I don’t know what’s going to happen, but even if this ends with Beej and I never talking again, you can still call me long distance and run up their phone bill.”
Erin’s brow wrinkles, and BJ holds his breath. He knows that look, and it can be dangerous under certain circumstances. It’s the look Erin used at four before throwing buckets of water through the screen door, the look she used at ten before tying her brothers to a tree in the backyard, the look she used at sixteen before she completely disobeyed and stayed out all night. But it’s also the look before she does something wonderful. It was the look that won her the spelling bee, the look before she walked into her college interview, the look she’d had right before she’d admitted she was gay, but BJ can’t dare to consider what it means now in this situation where Peg’s breaking of things can still be heard inside the house.
“I don’t want you to stop talking,” she finally says, and BJ, again, is astounded by the abilities of his baby girl to be an astonishingly amazing full-grown woman. “I just-you kind of fucked things up showing up like you did.” BJ almost interjects to remind her about her language, how polite people don’t talk that way. A crash from inside the house and a chuckle from Hawkeye make him pause.
“Erin, my lovely little lady, I am, as I’m sure your dad has told you, the ultimate and true king of fucking up and being fucked up and fucking over and under and through and through. It’s a gift, completely natural, and I have no choice but to do with it what I can.” Hawkeye grins crookedly, and BJ watches history flash behind his eyes. “The first day I met your dad, we got stinking drunk.”
“You don’t say,” Erin’s smile is wry, and BJ can’t help but chuckle. The stories she’s heard, he thinks, make her well aware of how they passed time in Korea. Gin and gin and occasionally beer, and sometimes even whiskey, if the Colonel was up to sharing his stash.
“I’m not talking stinking drunk like you crazy college kids and your lite beers. I’m talking a still, a full working still, with bells and whistles and knobs and valves. Do you know how close we came to going blind?”
“Probably as close as you came to ruining your livers.”
“Probably. But that first day, that was a masterpiece of stupidity and drunkedness and all out desperation. I’d just had a friend leave,” and BJ doesn’t miss the way Hawkeye’s shoulder jerks at the passing mention of Trapper. Trapper never wrote. Trapper never called. And once Trapper found out about how Hawkeye ended the war, he stayed as clear as his guilty conscience would let him, sending Christmas cards and pictures of children and asking after business in Crabapple Cove. BJ has decided that if he ever meets Trapper, he will punch him in the mouth, and then in the stomach, and then stomp on his toes. And then, perhaps, if he’s feeling generous, he will only rub the tiniest bit of salt into the split lip he knows he’s capable of bestowing on the coward.
“And your dad,” Hawkeye continues and BJ pulls away from thoughts of Trapper John, who is probably a perfectly nice man, just terrible with personal issues, and BJ hates to think how much they have in common. “He was missing you and your mom, and we got stinking, falling down, ass over teakettle drunk. And then we drove a Jeep. It was the only time in my life an Army Jeep made a comfortable ride. Of course, I couldn’t feel my ass, or my fingers, or my toes, or my knees, or my hips.”
Erin is quiet for a good long while. BJ watches her stare at the yard and at the sky, glance at Hawkeye and even over her shoulder at him, face unreadable but for the crease between her eyebrows. Finally, after an age, she turns on the railing and puts her feet on the porch. “I can’t find your point,” she says to Hawkeye, in a tone that asks for more explanation, more honesty, more of something she’s never really had from the people who raised her, BJ thinks, and cringes inside.
“My point, Erin, my lovely little lady, is that your dad left for Korea missing you and your mom, and he came back from Korea to you and your mom, and whatever his reasons or motivations or ridiculous personal ideas of cultural expectations, you are not to ever be allowed to think that your father loves you out of mere obligation.”
“I’ve never thought that.” She’s telling the truth, BJ knows, and the tightness in his chest loosens completely. Peg’s love he can handle losing, her respect and her friendship a causality to which he can make adjustments. But his baby girl, his favorite daughter, his secretly favorite child, if she’d turned and left him on that porch without a word, without a look, he knows he would have died.
“You’ve been a good dad.” And BJ feels tears well up in his eyes, but he swallows and blinks and just nods, leaves his voice tucked away because he doesn’t want it to break. “And I think you were a good husband. I’m probably not the best judge, considering, but you took care of Mom and always tried to respect her, and I can’t promise I won’t be mad at you tomorrow, but I won’t be mad at you right now.”
BJ’s on his feet and hugging her close, kissing the top of her head and letting a few tears fall into her hair. If it’s the only blessing he ever gets from anyone for the rest of his life, it’s more than good enough for him. “You are a wonderful, brilliant woman. And if anyone ever tries to tell you differently, knock them down and keep moving.”
“I will, Dad,” and Erin’s hugging him back just as tight, not crying, but close, and BJ imagines all the crying will come later, when everything wraps up and ends, and he hopes he’s near enough that she can call and yell at him if that’s what it takes to help her.
There’s another crash, and then footsteps vibrating through the house. BJ pulls away from Erin, tweaks her nose, and goes for the door. Hawkeye’s hand on his arm stops him only long enough to give the bravest smile he can muster. “If I don’t get in there now, she may cut up all my clothes.” Hawkeye nods and steps back, and the last thing BJ sees as he latches the front door is Erin nudging Hawkeye’s shoulder, eyes on the ground, but a determination to understand on her face.
So, yes? No? Dear God Why?
