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Dec. 23rd, 2018 07:48 pmLast Christmas Donny had been on a transport leaving Bougainville and heading for Luzon. This Christmas finds him standing outside Julia’s new apartment in a strange city. The differences between then and now are stark, but there is a strange sort of similarity between them too. In both cases there’s a sense of being adrift, caught up in something far bigger than himself and moving towards an uncertain future. He wants to tell himself that at least this time he has a little more control over the situation, but it rings a little false no matter how much he tries to believe it and how much he pushes through. Nevermind. This is his first Christmas without a war in a long time and he intends to enjoy it.
He takes one last moment to check himself over, straightening his tie and adjusting his jacket, before knocking. There’s an odd sense of nervousness about the whole thing that has no right to be there. Why shouldn’t Julia invite him over for a bite to eat on Christmas Day? She’d invited him to go with her to midnight mass the night before and he hadn’t felt like this. So why the apprehension now? Donny does his best to shove it to the back of his mind and by the time Julia opens the door he’s smiling and looking a lot more like himself than he did the first time he came over.
“Hiya,” he says brightly. “Merry Christmas.” For a brief second he glances down at the packages in he’s carrying. “I hope you don’t mind that I brought some things.”
He takes one last moment to check himself over, straightening his tie and adjusting his jacket, before knocking. There’s an odd sense of nervousness about the whole thing that has no right to be there. Why shouldn’t Julia invite him over for a bite to eat on Christmas Day? She’d invited him to go with her to midnight mass the night before and he hadn’t felt like this. So why the apprehension now? Donny does his best to shove it to the back of his mind and by the time Julia opens the door he’s smiling and looking a lot more like himself than he did the first time he came over.
“Hiya,” he says brightly. “Merry Christmas.” For a brief second he glances down at the packages in he’s carrying. “I hope you don’t mind that I brought some things.”
(no subject)
Dec. 10th, 2018 11:11 pmThe last time Donny had been on a train was after he arrived back in the States. The war had finally ended in the Pacific, every station had been jammed tight with servicemen trying to get home, but there were almost no available trains. Turned out that the government had eased its travel restrictions after the war and civilian America, leaping at the opportunity to finally move around at leisure, had rushed out to book tickets to anywhere they could, leaving few seats for when their boys in uniform returned from the Pacific. In the end, Donny had impatiently hopped a freight car leaving San Francisco, relying on understanding railway bulls to let him travel in peace until he could finally grab standing room only on a local back to Cleveland.
Now here he was, barely three months later and riding first class, just like Michael had always said. Just like they had always planned. It was a definite improvement on his last rail voyage. For the first time in what felt like years a weight in his chest was finally beginning to ease. The contest still lay ahead of them, but for now he could relax and enjoy their victory. He had champagne in his glass, a complimentary pack of smokes in his jacket pocket, a plush seat to watch the great American landscape as it rushed past the windows, and a car full of equally jubilant band members surrounding him.
Nobody could say they didn’t deserve this, not after the way they’d been busting their collective asses since October. Playing every damn gig that came their way, sacrificing little comforts and in Julia’s case even her job just to make it to this point. It was a victory for all of them, a symbol of how far they had come and how much their hometown had rallied behind them, but it was something fiercely, selfishly personal too. This was for him and Michael and everything lost on the side of that hill on Bougainville. This was the only reason he made it through hell and back.
Davy was in fine form a few seats ahead of him, telling an overly complicated dirty story about one of Santa’s elves and some jingle bells, caught up in the celebratory atmosphere. Even Wayne sat laughing freely at it, or maybe that was just at Johnny’s blank faced incomprehension and Davy’s even more complicated attempts to explain the punchline. The whole thing felt not just congratulatory, but nearly cozy as well. After months of cold sandwiches for dinner with nothing but the radio for company and his landlord banging on the floor from downstairs telling him to keep the piano racket down, it felt good to simply feel this comfortable. Being so sure of the folks surrounding him and their eventual moment of triumph in New York seemed a luxury almost as rare as anything else in the Pullman car.
He looked out the window, watching Julia’s smiling face superimposed over the darkened landscape outside. She deserved this just as much as any of them and he hoped she knew it. He’d made up his mind to tell her that (not in so many words perhaps, but the same sentiment) and turned around again to face her across the aisle, but when he did Julia was no longer there.
No one was there.
For what seemed an inhumanly long stretch of time Donny sat with his eyes tightly closed, fighting back the ringing in his ears, telling himself each time he opened his eyes that this time everything would be back to normal, the train would be full again, the band would be looking at him with concern, he’d be able to laugh it all off, this time for sure it would be okay again.
By the time the train slowed for the station he was already on his feet and nearly bursting through the door as soon as it opened. He needed to get out. He needed to get a better view of the situation. He needed to clear his head. He needed to do something, anything. His hands were beginning to tremble and he fitfully rubbed one over his face, keeping the other jammed tightly in his pocket as he made for the nearest exit.
There is a train, it leaves the station at a quarter after five. There is a train, it leaves the station-- There is a train-- There is a train--
But where the hell was the train? And where the hell was he?
Now here he was, barely three months later and riding first class, just like Michael had always said. Just like they had always planned. It was a definite improvement on his last rail voyage. For the first time in what felt like years a weight in his chest was finally beginning to ease. The contest still lay ahead of them, but for now he could relax and enjoy their victory. He had champagne in his glass, a complimentary pack of smokes in his jacket pocket, a plush seat to watch the great American landscape as it rushed past the windows, and a car full of equally jubilant band members surrounding him.
Nobody could say they didn’t deserve this, not after the way they’d been busting their collective asses since October. Playing every damn gig that came their way, sacrificing little comforts and in Julia’s case even her job just to make it to this point. It was a victory for all of them, a symbol of how far they had come and how much their hometown had rallied behind them, but it was something fiercely, selfishly personal too. This was for him and Michael and everything lost on the side of that hill on Bougainville. This was the only reason he made it through hell and back.
Davy was in fine form a few seats ahead of him, telling an overly complicated dirty story about one of Santa’s elves and some jingle bells, caught up in the celebratory atmosphere. Even Wayne sat laughing freely at it, or maybe that was just at Johnny’s blank faced incomprehension and Davy’s even more complicated attempts to explain the punchline. The whole thing felt not just congratulatory, but nearly cozy as well. After months of cold sandwiches for dinner with nothing but the radio for company and his landlord banging on the floor from downstairs telling him to keep the piano racket down, it felt good to simply feel this comfortable. Being so sure of the folks surrounding him and their eventual moment of triumph in New York seemed a luxury almost as rare as anything else in the Pullman car.
He looked out the window, watching Julia’s smiling face superimposed over the darkened landscape outside. She deserved this just as much as any of them and he hoped she knew it. He’d made up his mind to tell her that (not in so many words perhaps, but the same sentiment) and turned around again to face her across the aisle, but when he did Julia was no longer there.
No one was there.
For what seemed an inhumanly long stretch of time Donny sat with his eyes tightly closed, fighting back the ringing in his ears, telling himself each time he opened his eyes that this time everything would be back to normal, the train would be full again, the band would be looking at him with concern, he’d be able to laugh it all off, this time for sure it would be okay again.
By the time the train slowed for the station he was already on his feet and nearly bursting through the door as soon as it opened. He needed to get out. He needed to get a better view of the situation. He needed to clear his head. He needed to do something, anything. His hands were beginning to tremble and he fitfully rubbed one over his face, keeping the other jammed tightly in his pocket as he made for the nearest exit.
There is a train, it leaves the station at a quarter after five. There is a train, it leaves the station-- There is a train-- There is a train--
But where the hell was the train? And where the hell was he?
