Poorly Writen Play

Chaos, madness, combat mortuary, potential for treason. love of country and hatred of jobs, or love of job and hatred of country. all rolled up into a play that could never make it to a stage.

 

Poorly Written Plays

With Poems and Prose

Or

Life becomes scarier when a grown man in a silly hat owns your a*s.

Or

A collection of bad ideas, as initiated by an oath of enlistment.

 

Steven

 

 

Introduction

Characters

Main characters – Additional characters will be described as they appear.

 

Goose: Goose is a Staff Sergeant and a shift leader in a deployed mortuary with the Michigan Air National Guard. He’s a little skinny, with dark hair. As far as unit and other specifics that’s as far as I will go. He is smart, very knowledgeable, and has a quick, dark wit. He and Wash have a series of inside jokes, most of them kind of gay. Goose is also a thinker, and that gets him into trouble. If he knows he is right he will do only what he knows is right. Also Goose is a bit introverted, and suffers from nightmares because he can’t relate his emotions to others well. He is also suffering from reoccurring dreams of an elephant.

 

Gramps: Gramps is a Technical or Tech Sergeant. He’s older than the rest, and has been in for a while, he is a very fatherly figure, but almost old enough to be someone’s grandfather, but can still be playful when he deems it’s appropriate.

 

Wash: Wash is a Staff Sergeant. Was used to be in the Army as a cook, and transferred to the Air Force to cook, but volunteered for the morgue when the numbers were low. He’s very loud, and always joking. He is very serious about the military, and is very caring, but he shows it mostly through his obnoxious jokes and games.

 

Ed: Ed is an Airman. Ed is newer to the unit and younger. He’s a little dumb. He’s got a big heart and tries real hard to keep up with everyone else. Is often the but of jokes, but sometimes takes on the role of Shakespeare’s fool, being insightfully stupid.

 

Dude: Dude is a Senior Airman. Dude is a female. She’s very good at her job, and likes to fit in with the guys. However much she tries to fit in with the guys, she sometimes shows motherly traits.

 

Jaws: Jaws is a Senior Airman. He is really skinny. He is a big of a pervert, and usually has something inappropriate to say. Aside from that he is dedicated and good at what he does. He likes to start confrontation, or at least keep it going. Although he is only in his early 30’s he wears dentures.

 

Whitey: Whitey is an Airman First Class. He is the only black guy on the team. He is young and has a hard time relating to the others folks in the team. He knows his job well, and is a good troop, but just doesn’t want people to know.

 

Lt. Birch: Lt. Birch is obviously a Lieutenant. He is the mortuary officer, but hates it, and is grossed out by the job. He tries to avoid his duties at all costs. Like a typical young Lieutenant he demands respect, but because of that doesn’t get it.

 

 

Curtains open with the stage set up. A two section, desert color TEMPR tent, with the sides down, and windows closed. Projected onto the side of the tent video or photos of an elephant’s trunk, holding a paint brush, then flashes into crude childish paintings of death and war. Images stop, it’s black.

 

Narrator: Color drips from the rasped fibers of a worn brush, held firmly by a god, or maybe not a god. Each stroke adds to a message that cannot yet be read, and consequently won’t be read for at least a hundred years.

A war started a long time ago, a war between almost everyone. The weak and powerful alike drew lines in the sands of ancient deserts and across the steel and stone cities of wealthy upstart nations. The war is one, one massive conflict reaching through the ages, each cell of blood spilled in its name gave birth to the next generation of fights. Just as we progress as a species, as people, war evolves and grows, and progresses. Stone begat copper, copper begat iron, iron begat spears and arrows, spears and arrows begat swords and shields, swords and shields begat muskets and cannons, muskets and cannons begat M-16s and Paladins, and the cycle remains. We walked on foot, rode horses, then jumped one day into the clouds, and have yet to come down. Eagles, Falcons, Harriers, and Fortresses, soar high into the clouds, never finding that sacred city, but letting lose hell storms, and atomic twilight.

This is the world into which I was born, into which we were all born. There are these illusionary times of peace we seem to suffer, and I say suffer because we do not gain anything from them, we just endure them until we can again bask in the violence. In these times of “peace” we regroup, take the spoils and lessons from the last fight, and lay in waiting for the new birth, and anticipate the next generation of war.

We treat peace time like a baby shower, like new parents wading through isles of cribs and little cloths. We don’t know what to expect, but in joy and anticipation we spend and prep. We buy the fetal war new cloths, new toys, and plan where we will take it.

When that day comes, when war springs from the hefting body of time, we are ecstatic. We finally get to put in use all our plans and dreams. We finally get to play our roles in the story of this war’s life. We can be enraged, proud, patriotic, secular, psychotic, and all the other shades of red we practiced in the mirror. We pull speeches and prayers from dusty old lockers, and we wait for that spotlight so we can shed that one dramatic tear.

This time is no different. It never is. We try to turn this life’s story into our story, a story we can project on page, on screen, in hearts, and in minds. Friends, Romans, Countrymen, here we go again.

Our battle, our chapter, our episode, started on a Tuesday. A cool day in early September. Still tired from a night of underage drinking, still thirsty from drags and hits from other things not quite legal in this neck of the woods, still young and stupid, they tried to wake us, to remind us of reality.

A man rushed in screaming, the same man who at the beginning of his own chapter had the same long hair, the same smell of patchouli and marijuana, and the same leftist mind set. He cited Pearl Harbor, he rushed, stumbled over words, and we assumed he was high. Soon enough though our confusion was heightened as we moved into the clarity only the lights of hell fire can provide. Four arguably mediocre pilots, but three very good navigators, had commandeered civilian air liners, and slung them into the side of three very important and symbolic structures. Two hit the sleek arms of finance that swelled from the heart of the richest city in the nation. Cowards. One dug deep into the cold geometric center of military might. Fiends. Another, the last, fell limp into a country ditch. Heroes.

We were left in awe, we rubbed the sleep of youth from our eyes, and with much regret and foot-dragging, we tried to grow up. Most of us kept the same path we planned to follow, the ideal path that most hope for, or more so hope for their children. Others of us, many of us, took up the path of arms, for we knew somewhere in our hearts that this was the truth of life, and the truest of paths.

Young and stupid we all signed the same contracts, stood in the same lines, got the same hair cuts, were called the same names, and wore the same new uniforms. Baby cloths of battle. The dice were thrown down our throats and we choked on luck and lack there of.

One thing about this place in time, is that people were beginning to understand their place in time. Humans in the rough and tumble cities, suffering from the symptoms of the good life, began to look beneath their feet to see those cultures we abandoned and stepped on to get here. We also began to notice that there was a planet under those feet as well. We began to question the existence, or even need of gods, but of course, that kind of talk pisses off a lot of people.

The four horsemen of the Apocolypse rode steady those steeds into battle, and through some divine act, they told us, they held the noose on the globe. They may not have been the majority, but they were the loudest. The horsemen named Abraham, Judaism, Christianity, and Islam, ran the world, and caused most of its troubles.

Abraham started this mess by introducing the world to a minor figure in the philistine pantheon; Jehovah. The Jews, persecuted and ridiculed, found themselves wealthy out of mistrust. Banking was evil, so let the evil do it. They spread their arms across the globe, and through their various sects began to influence the shaping and crumbling powers of the pagan west. The Christians, an upstart religion, persecuted in the beginning, slowly grew because of their flexibility in faith. The key to Christianity’s success is the ever present loop hole. Regardless of actions you can find a way into paradise. Combine that with growing power and ever warping sensibilities they have leaned from left to right, and severed themselves into squabbling factions of fascists and communists, and puppet atheists. Islam split to form tight knit groups of people who retreated back to tradition. Most managed, and were able to feed and cloth themselves, but those who couldn’t adapt to the evolution of the world sunk deeper into their tradition bunkers, and sought scapegoats in infidels.

All in all three blind giants swung their clubs across hills, seas, and valleys, led by a dead man. All who stood in the way were crushed, and once they had crushed enough, they turned their brutality on one another.

Behind the complacent backs of the Horsemen, science began to slowly refine itself. No longer butchered for thinking, and now backed with the new bibles written only in $20’s, $50’s, and $100’s, science survived the fires of time and trouble to emerge purified, seeking the Unified, and awaiting only those roman ears.

Science told us what some of us knew already. Science began to retell those old tales of our connection to this earth, and the events in it. The Horsemen awakened from their slumber, only to dodge sucker punches from 737’s and Daisy Cutters, panicked. They know the reality of the world, they should, they’ve been hiding it from us for millennia.

Christians double checked the scientists math by counting the begats in Genesis. Nope, impossible. The Muslims, worried a little, and just limited the information their people could get to, but they did pay special attention themselves to what weapons and toys science had birthed. The Jews ignore its affects completely, still fighting for a piece of land smaller than the stretches of Florida and Manhattan they already control. Plus if they delved too far into the truth, they’d have to admit that they really have no claim to the land in which they bury their flags and dead.

Those are the few though. The majority was awakening in this new age, it was awakening to find itself back in a dream. A dream they all shared.

Forest, desert, lakes, mountains, islands, homes.

The people of the world began splitting, not along those traditional lines, but shattering the tricameral boundaries, and echoed the patterns of the Oak roots, and branched back into the earth.

Stepping back in time is difficult, so to help us we looked to those outside our world who still maintained their ancient ways, the Taoists, the Buddhists, the Hindi, the Native Americans. We would bleed their practices into our lives and mix them with our trainer’s traditions.

We sought ancient paths that the Horsemen had trod. Kabala, Priory, Taliban.

We sought ancient paths that the Horsemen had Trampled. The Celts, Wiccans, Asatru, Norse, Goths, Romans, and Greeks.

We were going home. The foster children sired unwillingly in the race to “god,” we had grown up, and were returning back to the old faiths, bringing with us what we had learned under the tutelage and thumb of the three sons of Abraham.

More and more sets of dog tags began reading things besides “Christian” or “Atheist.”

More and more troops began reading things besides the Bible and the Quran.

In the old days you could walk through the barracks, and in flashes see men cleaning rifles, polishing boots, reading manuals, orders, and porn, or playing grab a*s. This hasn’t changed much, but in the mix you come across a few meditating, doing yoga, or setting up litter altars on that third shelf in the wall locker. Soap, razor, tooth brush, candle, incense, crystal, small statue of Morrigan, deodorant.

There was an openness that was developing, an openness that soon rifted into a chasm. The haves and have nots, those extremists on either end, small in stature, loud in voice. The people of the world are all the same, sometimes you’ll do anything to shut someone up. Soon enough rights became privileges, and privileges became few and far between. You cannot smoke a cigarette in public, not in a restaurant, not on a sidewalk, not in your car, not on your front porch, only under a blanket in your basement. You could not use profane language in any form of media, the word f**k may not have been proven to cause eleven year old children to commit little acts of unfulfilling rape, but the powers that be just didn’t want to chance it. The human body became something to be ashamed of again, at least on TV. Younger and younger children were dressing older and older. Parents let little girls pierce their ears and dress like w****s for their kindergarten graduation. But it wasn’t their fault. Never.

It wasn’t their fault because parents were no longer allowed to parent their children. To discipline a child would send you to prison. A spanking will get you a*s raped for five years. We couldn’t raise our own kids, but no one else was going to, so it all fell apart. Spoiled, disenfranchised, stupid, undirected, the human generation in the west was growing weak. We know how evolution treats the weak. Yet the Christian’s main selling point may have come true in the dark light. The meek did inherit the earth. Well now what the hell were they supposed to do with it?

The world was in a s****y place, and so was a young sergeant; in a desert, far from his home in the west, in America.

 

<Side of tent is lifted up. Back of stage is dark, tent is lit from the inside. Ed, Princess, Dude, and Gramps sit around a cot playing cards. Whitey is in the corner listening to head phones. Jaws is flipping through a porno magazine, Wash is standing over Goose trying to wake him up. Goose is sprawled out on his cot.>

 

Wash: Hey Goose, wake the f**k up! They’re playing Full Metal Jacket in the Rec Tent!

 

Goose: (half a sleep) go away Wash. I’m trying to sleep.

 

Wash: Yeah I can tell. You’re doing a good job of it, you’re kicking around and s**t. You need to knock that s**t off before we send your a*s to the shrinks!

 

Goose: F**k off man, I just had a bad dream.

 

Jaws: You want one of my magazines bro? They help me sleep.

 

Gramps: yeah and that’s why your sleeping bag wreaks of thai w***e house.

 

Jaws: F**k you. What the hell are you doing smelling my sleeping bag any way, Gramps?

 

Dude: We can smell your blue balls from here, Jaws!

 

(Jaws blushes, and draws back, then snaps back)

 

Jaws: You know you don’t have to smell them from over there, Dude.

 

Dude: I wouldn’t f**k you with Goose’s dick, Jaws. Go back to your books.

(Pause)

            Yeah, what has been up with you lately, Goose You haven’t slept for s**t in a while now.

 

Goose: I don’t know, I just keep having this dream about an elephant that can paint. It’s f*****g weird. It’s just an elephant, but he makes these finger painting looking deals that are all about death and war and s**t.

 

Ed: I had a dream about a camel the other day, but it didn’t paint or anything. I just rode him around the base. It was weird though, cause it had spinners.

 

(Gramps shakes his head at Ed)

 

Wash: well who wants to go see the movie? They just a shipment of candy bars and s**t in. It’s free!

 

Gramps: Free? That’s my favorite kind. Let’s go guys.

 

Jaws: I’m down.

 

Dude: Careful with that caramel, Jaws. Don’t want your dentures getting all fucked up again.

 

Jaws: Oh blow me!

 

Dude: Hey, I’d be careful with comments like that.

 

Ed: Yeah that’s sexual harassment

 

Dude: No, I meant the one person here most capable of a gum job shouldn’t be handing out orders for BJs.

 

Princess: You guys are sick.

 

Wash: What ever Princess. I’ve heard the s**t you guys pulled over in TACP.

 

Princess: Don’t even try to compare yourself with us.

 

Gramps: Oh relax princess, there’s no “us” anymore. You got washed out of TACP, remember? Just be glad the Air Force decided to keep you, and that you were lucky enough to get assigned to such a prestigiously bad a*s unit.

 

Princess: Yeah, I always wanted to work in a f*****g morgue.

 

<Everyone but Goose and Whitey exit the tent everyone kind of goofing around and grab-assing on their way out>

 

Whitey: (Taking off head phones and sitting up on his cot) Ey, Goose.

 

Goose: What’s up Whitey?

 

Whitey: Where’d everybody go?

 

Goose: They went to the rec tent. They’re playing FMJ again.

 

Whitey: I don’t know how you people can watch that s**t all the time. Why relive all that bullshit?

 

Goose: Relive what? You went through BMT same time as me, you know it wasn’t anything like that. Yeah maybe they were loud, and had just as much bullshit to say, but it wasn’t that hard. And I’m also pretty sure you’ve never been to Viet – Nam.

 

Whitey: (sighs) I know. I wish it was though. That hard I mean.

 

Goose: What?

 

Whitey: We ran around that s**t hole base in the Texas heat for six weeks learning to fold t-shirts, keep our mouths shut, and call ourselves warriors. We touched one weapon the whole time, for only half a day, then dodged scorpions in a sandbox, they called “Hell’s Half Mile.”

 

Goose: Yeah. I hear ya. I had way too much fun for a “boot camp” deal. You know what I did third week?

 

Whitey: What?

 

Goose: Went to burger king!

 

Whitey: Kiss my a*s! How’d you pull that?

 

Goose: They sent me to pick up belt buckles or some s**t, by myself, so I went to the shoppette with the gas station…

 

Whitey: On the tech school side?

 

Goose: Yeah that one. And I stood in line, ordered a whopper, kept my f*****g mouth shut, didn’t say a word to anyone, grabbed what I was supposed to get, and hauled a*s back to the squadron.

 

Whitey: And you didn’t get caught.

 

Goose: Damn straight. I was just that f****n slick.

 

Whitey: or the TI’s were just that useless.

 

Goose: Yeah, I think it’s like a combination of the two.

 

(Conversation pauses, the two go back to fidgeting through their things)

 

Whitey: Hey Goose?

 

Goose: Hey what?

 

Whitey: How’d you get stuck with a f****t nickname like Goose? Watch too much Top Gun?

 

Goose: Nah. I simply got it because Goose died.

 

(Goose keeps a straight face, whitey looks confused. Lights dim, projections across the scene entail images from boot camps, wars, and 9-11.)

 

Narration: He’d come from a reasonably small town, only 30,000 people. His graduating class only had about 1,000 kids. Of those 1,000 about 200 enlisted, 15 went into commissioning programs, 7 became cops, 13 became firefighters, 9 became EMTs, 2 died of drug over doses, 1 killed himself, the rest went to college or what ever.

Every week, the average basic military training facility, or boot camp produces 1,000 new privates, seamen, or airmen. Each one with a shiny new uniform, razor sharp hair cut, and a pain in their stomach as they stand in the long lines to stand before the cannons of an enemy they do not know.

The missions were simple and just. Revenge is always justified. It’s revenge for f**k sake. Western society is an interesting place. They panic and rage at all times. Their careful decision to declare war was actually a heated and passionate drop-of-the-hat deal. Soon they began to realize the consequences of their actions, the deaths of their sons and daughters. Then they panicked again. They decided that the war was a bad idea, but it was too late, so they decided to rip each other apart through politics and economics. They decided to insult and kick and scratch, both sides blatantly lying. One side though, the conservative war party, though lying, kept it to white lies, but lots of them. The other side, the liberal peace party, told fewer lies but they were monumental and bizarre.

One party told the people we engage in combat to seek weapons of terror, rhetoric reserved for comic book villains. The other party simply denied the truth, denied the existence of events and places. We found weapons of mass destruction back in that desert. The left said only, “Nuh-uh!” The right pointed out that terrorists had been staying and working in that desert s**t hole, they showed them the receipts. The liberals said the receipts didn’t exist. Proof positive in their hands, and it wasn’t there in their eyes.

The same thing happened at the beginning of the war, but it was happening on the other side. The country being heavily invaded and ransacked from north to south put its minister of information on TV to deny claims that the west had even crossed the border, that our propaganda films, though well produced, were false. Behind him stood two western soldiers making bunny ears.

That is the war this sergeant was walking into. A war completely supported but unwanted. Born to excited parents, wishing to bury their ugly baby. Trying to re-define late term abortion.

The sergeant was a good kid by all accounts. His troops liked him and respected him. They could drink all night at the bar, but when it came to business, he had their attention. The sergeant and his troops weren’t special forces, commandos, or hardasses, they were simple guys in a Morgue unit. They had a rough job like anyone over there, but aside from roadside bombs and mortar shells, which don’t make any sense to spend time worrying about, they made sure to have a good time and relax when they could.

 

(Lights in tent brighten up, conversation continues)

 

Whitey: What the f**k is that supposed to mean?

 

Goose: Goose dies. In the movie.

 

Whitey: Yeah I got that part, what the f**k is it supposed to mean.

 

Goose: It was kind of a joke before you got to the unit. We were up north at the training center, and I had to leave early. And you know how my dad’s in right?

 

Whitey: Yeah, he’s like a colonel or something?

 

Goose: Yeah, an LTC. Anyway, my dad runs into Chief McKay, and you know the Chief’s ears are about as useless as a p***y on a snowman.

 

Whitey: (chuckles, shakes his head) yeah

 

Goose: So my dad says “I’m Eric’s Dad.” “What Chief McKay hears is “Eric is dead.”

The dumb old b*****d doesn’t even consider that my dad is still up there, that he’s smiling while he’s saying this, and that my mom isn’t freaking out. So anyway, all hell breaks loose. Somehow the story, by the time it gets to our chief is that I was killed in a car accident on my way home, and that the funeral was going to be the following Saturday.

 

Whitey: No s**t?

 

Goose: It gets better. The chief calls the commander, the commander calls her boss, and so on and so on. They started getting my benefits package together, cutting off my pay, all that good s**t. Then…

 

Whitey: Bullshit! No body even tried to call you or anything?

 

Goose: Well s**t, way to f**k up a story. Yeah, Dude called me, and put the kibosh on the deal. But people were still calling my family for a month or two rocking condolences and gift baskets. It was pretty sweet. All that free food really helped me mourn my terrible loss.

 

Whitey: That’s fucked up.

 

Goose: How’d you get stuck with whitey?

 

Whitey: I went hunting with my friend and his uncle.

 

Goose: and?

 

Whitey: Nah, that’s it. My brothers fucked with me about it.

 

Goose: Wow, that’s pretty gay.

 

(Flashes burst behind tent, alarm siren goes off, simulated explosions and attack.

As attack begins, Goose and Whitey get down and take cover, and reach through their stuff for their gas masks, swearing the whole time. Tent light flicker with each explosion)

 

Giant Voice over loudspeaker: All Zones… All Zones. Alarm Red… Alarm Red. MOPP Level 0… Mopp Level 0. All Zones Alarm Red MOPP Lelel 0

 

Whitey: Mother f*****g, sand n****r f***s. They need to knock that s**t off. Soon!

 

Goose: Shut up, man! They can’t hear you bitching!

 

Whitey: I know that mother f****r! I just feel like bitching.

 

(Explosions wind down)

 

Giant Voice: All Zones… All Zones. Alarm Black…Alarm Black. MOPP Level 0…MOPP Level 0. All Critical Shops…All Critical Shops…Report to your duty station…Report to your duty stations. Control Centers…Control Centers…Report Status…Report Status. All Zones Alarm Black MOPP Level 0.

 

(Goose and Whitey get up and sit back on their cots)

 

Whitey: I thought this was the f*****g Air Force. We ain’t s’posed to be getting bombed and s**t.

 

Goose: This is a war dumb a*s, don’t listen to those jarheads and grunts. We get fucked just as much as they do. We just don’t go looking for it is all.

 

Whitey: What ever man. (Puts his head phones back on)

 

Goose: (To himself) I hope it’s a while before green. I don’t feel like f*****g with any more bodies any time soon.

 

(Goose lays down again, lights in tent dim. Projected across stage are the same dream images of the elephant and its paintings.)

 

(The images run for a minute or two music in the back ground is ambient, and a little creepy.)

 

(The Lights in the tent pick up again)

 

Giant Voice: Attention on Site…Attention on Site…All Zones…All Zones…Alarm Green…Alarm Green…MOPP Level 0…MOPP Level 0. Have an outstanding Air Force Day. That is All.

 

(Gramps and Jaws rush into the tent wearing cheap elephant masks. Whitey sits up and has on the same mask. Jaws walks over to Goose and knocks him awake.)

 

Goose: (looks up at Jaws completely unalarmed by the masks) What the hell do you want?

 

Jaws: Let’s roll brother, we’ve got a body.

 

Goose: (unenthused) F**k. Alright let’s go.

 

(Lights in ten dim, tent flaps fall back to the side)

 

(Projected over entire stage, images of dead bodies mixed with those inspirational office posters)

 

(Tent flap raises, Tent lights brighten. Tent is set up as mortuary. In the center is a steel table with a body on it. There’s a desk, filing cabinet, supply closet, a yellow trash can labeled “HAZMART”, stacks of body bags. Jaws, Goose, and Dude are standing near the body inspecting it. Gramps and Ed sit at the desk filling out paper work and writing up toe tags. Princess and Wash are standing just outside the door smoking.)

 

Jaws: F**k dude! It’s a chick (looks over to Dude)…I mean female.

 

Dude: This b***h got rocked

 

Jaws: (a little shocked, still looking at dude turns to body) Poor thing was cute as hell too.

 

Dude: (Elbows Jaws in the ribs) F****r.

 

Jaws: No, I mean, I’ve seen her before. She’s…was…a cop. She was real good too.

 

Wash: Like you’d know

 

Jaws: I meant she was a good cop, I remember that awards banquet a while back, she got a bunch of s**t.

 

Princess: (From outside of the tent still.) Her son is five this month.

 

Goose: How do you know that?

 

Princess: Our kids go to daycare together back home. She was very sweet. Made the kids cookies one day. They were good.

 

Goose: (Affected by the comment, drops his head slightly. Eyes are tearing)

 

Body: (reaches up, and gently with her finer wipes a tear from goose’s eye.) Shhh. It’s ok.

 

Goose: (softly) I know

 

Dude: You know what?

 

Goose: Nothing.

 

Body: What’s wrong Sergeant?

 

(Lights in tent fade to black light exposing neon paint on the actors faces resembling ghouls, skulls, and ghosts. Goose and the body glow as well, but in solid white color, the body shows damage to her face. The body slowly props her self up and sits up-right with her legs dangling over the edge of the table)

 

(The others continue with their work ignoring the two, and acting as if the body were still on the table.)

 

Goose: I feel sad for you, like really sad.

 

Body: Why? Because I’m a woman? Because of my son? (looks at her chest) Because half my perfect rack was blown to hell?

 

Goose: (gives a quick, but still depressed chuckle at the breast comment) I don’t know ma’am. I’ve never felt sad for any of them before. It was always just my job.

 

Body: First off stop with that ma’am s**t. I’m younger than you…and my name’s Kate.

 

Goose: Sorry Kate.

 

Kate: Stop it with the sorries! What do you have to be sorry about? You’re alive, my son will be fine, and his father will be fine. Of course we will miss each other, but you have to remember, this is part of the deal. We signed up for this for better or for worse.

 

Goose: (begins sobbing, and kneels next to the body, wrapping his arms around her legs) I know, but…but…

 

Kate: but what?

 

Goose: (Terrified, screams) I don’t want to die here! (Buries his head in his arms)

 

Kate: (withdraws her legs from Goose’s arms, and lies back down)

 

(The people in the background begin to slowly surround goose. Dude kneels next to him, placing her arm around him.)

(The lights return to normal, the blacklit images fade away)

 

Dude: Goose, Goose, are you ok?

 

Goose: (Lifts his head slowly from his arms, and looks at dude) Yeah, I’m sorry.

 

Dude: What are you sorry about? Sometimes, a few sneak through and get to us. Go ahead back to the tent.

 

Wash: I’ll tuck you in sweet heart

 

Goose: Thank you baby. (goose smirks, still a little choked)

 

(As they walk past, Princess slaps Goose in the a*s, flicks his cigarette butt, and walks into the tent)

 

Princess: Where’d he leave off at?

 

Jaws: Soash. (short for social security number)

 

Princess: (Grabs for the body’s dog tags) Sorry darlin’. Ok, 497…

 

Lt. Birch: (walks into the tent with his hand over his mouth and nose) Are you guys done yet?

 

Gramps: Not yet sir, Ed here has to finish the tags, and they’re getting close to baggin’ her up.

 

Lt. Birch: Her?

 

Princess: Yeah. Didn’t they tell you at the academy sir? This man’s Air Force has chicks in it.

 

Dude: Some pretty hard core chicks, sir.

 

Jaws: Some pretty, well, just plain pretty chicks sir.

 

Lt. Birch: (looking sick, about to puke) I can’t wait till I get approved for flight school

 

Ed: (Very heartfelt) Neither can we sir. Hey, is this a body part, or someone’s MRE? (Holding something up)

 

Lt. Birch: (Puking through his hand) Just call me when you’re done.

 

(Once the Lt is out of the picture, the tent busts up laughing.)

 

(The tent darkens, and the flaps are lowered.)

 

Narrator: In WWII General George S. Patton, the great hero and lunatic, slapped the s**t out of a man for crying. Well not just for crying, but for being able bodied sitting in a field hospital with men barley held together by gauze and luck. This man may have been just fine and dandy on the outside, but inside was a whole ‘nother story. Combat Stress, Battle Fatigue, War Neurosis, Shell Shock, and now Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. These may not be the killers of warriors, but they do become the killers of men, and of men’s souls.

Now we know if someone ain’t right in the head, we can send them to a shrink and they will be cured. Well, in theory.

The trick is getting that person to the shrink.

Just as in General Patton’s day, and in any war before, the wars of today still carry other names for such ailments. Barbarism relives barbaric times, and shell shock answers to the moniker of P***y. Battle Fatigue = Coward. Combat Stress = b***h. They all mean you can’t hack.

There in lies the problem. Not only is this an external dialogue between the p***y and the accuser, it is a frequent inner dialogue between the p***y and themselves. They justify their thoughts, but cover them with others. They dig deep holes in their spirit to bury away those weak thoughts. They dig deeper and deeper until the spirit caves in, the eyes go dull, and body takes over what the mind and soul couldn’t do before. They show weakness, they cry, they ball like little babies.

It’s sad to watch someone die, yes. It is almost sadder to watch a person just whither away.

These boys and girls come home men and women, they have been changed and hardened by war. They are tough, solid, and brittle. They are collapsible. The once young man, now an angry drunk sergeant. The beautiful mother’s daughter, gives her body to the first who will take it. One beats his children, one screams himself to sleep. One can’t get hard, the other can’t f**k enough. One is over loving, another is just plain under-loved.

Crutched by pills, drooling from sedative lows, this is a fear worse than death. In death, some hope you transcend, and move on. In insanity, you just stop being.

 

(Tent Flaps raise, tent is set up like sleeping tent again. Lights raise. Wash and Goose play cards)

 

Wash: Are you sure you’re cool bro?

 

Goose: Yeah man, I just got hit is all.

 

Wash: Yeah, but like, hit how?

 

Goose: Keep a secret?

 

Wash: Like what?

 

Goose: F**k you then.

 

Wash: Nah, nah, nah, what is it bro? You’ve got to let this s**t out.

 

Goose: Well, I imagined, or dreamed, I don’t know…

 

Wash: What?

 

Goose: Kate, she talked to me.

 

Wash: Kate?

 

Goose: Yeah the body

 

Wash: How’d you get that, her name? You freaked before they got to ID her.

 

Goose: I don’t know

 

Wash: You probably heard Princess say it or something with his little preschool chatter.

 

Goose: Yeah, I’m sure you’re right. I don’t know bro, I just feel s****y I guess. We’re the only ones on this base really seeing death and s**t, and it’s a lot.

 

Wash: Yeah, I know brother. We just have to press on you know? We have to make sure these folks get back to their folks. You’re doing something real good out here.

 

Goose: I know. They just seem younger and younger.

 

Wash: You’re getting older boy. Got any grey pubes yet?

 

Goose: I’ll show ya.

 

Wash: oooooo, promise?

 

Goose: Yeah, after I pluck ‘em from your mom’s dentures.

 

Wash: (Puts his fist out, and meets it with Goose’s) Nice one bro.

 

(Lights turn dark. Tent flap folds down.)

 

(Projected on stage, images of elephant and its paintings, final painting is a crudely painted woman, dead, and battered.)

 

(Tent flaps fold up, tent is lit with black light.)(Everyone on the team is in the tent sleeping except for Dude.)

 

(Kate walks into the tent, in her glowing makeup, and crawls into bed with Goose.)

 

Goose: (Startled, pops up, Kate sits up and puts her finger on Goose’s lips)

 

Kate: Shhhh. Don’t want to wake them up. Just because you can’t sleep, doesn’t mean they shouldn’t.

 

Goose: What are you doing here?

 

Kate: It’s cold in that fridge thing you guys put me in, and I have a couple hours until my flight tomorrow. (pause) I’m so excited to be going home.

 

Goose: oh, ok.

 

Kate: What?

 

Goose: What the hell are you?

 

Kate: That’s a hell of a question.

 

Goose: I mean, am I dreaming? Are you a ghost? How the hell am I supposed to register all of this?

 

Kate: I’m not sure. I’m kind of new at this, you know?

 

Goose: I guess. So, what do you want?

 

Kate: Just to talk. I haven’t had time to talk you know. I’ve been stuck on patrols for the last two weeks. I guess I had to pay my dues as the female out on the lines. The cops can be pigs sometimes.

 

Goose: Yeah, there’s pigs every where really. Like Jaws over there. Some times he says the nastiest s**t.

 

Kate: I know. I think I heard him say something about “dead girls don’t say no” when he was zipping up the body bag.

 

Goose: (smirks) HRP

 

Kate: What?

 

Goose: They’re called HRPs. Human Remains Pouches.

 

Kate: Pouch? Bullshit. Like fruit snacks, kangaroos, chaw? Pouch?

 

Goose: Yeah, I always thought that was kind of funny.

 

Kate: Funny? So when I get home they’re going to break me out of something I put in my kids’ lunches?

 

Goose: Yeah, the question is are you a ninja turtle or a gusher?

 

Kate: (Looking into Goose’s eyes) Why don’t you find out? (leans in to kiss Goose)

 

Goose: (Kisses her for a minute, then screams)

 

Kate: (Puts her hand over Gooses mouth.) Shhh, You’re going to wake them up.

 

Goose: What the f**k! You’re dead! What are you doing? What am I doing?

 

Kate: (With sadness in her voice) I don’t know. I don’t know what’s ahead for me. I just wanted to be touched again. It’s been so long in this desert. I…I…

 

Goose: (sad) Please go Kate.

 

Kate: No, don’t make me. Let me just stay till morning. Then I’ll be gone, gone for good. Don’t let me spend my last night alone.

 

Goose: Alright, but, what about your husband?

 

Kate: I love him. I do, he’s the last person I ever made love to. (Chuckles) He’s the first person I’ve ever made love to. This is different Eric. This is something new.

 

Goose: I see.

 

Kate: Can you?

 

Goose: I think I’m starting to.

 

(They kiss again)

 

(The lights dim)

 

(Lights in tent turn on. Kate slowly exits the tent, and blows Goose a kiss)

 

(The team begins to wake up, one by one.)

 

(Jaws sneaks over to Goose and backhands his morning wood)

Jaws: Rise and shine!

 

Goose: (Grabs his junk and cringes) F**k!

 

Gramps: Shut the f**k up!

 

Ed and Wash : (Laugh as they eat their breakfast out of their MREs)

 

Ed: I think he was dreaming about when we first got here

 

Gramps: What?

 

Ed: Yeah, putting up tents again.

 

Gramps: You’re an idiot

 

Wash: (Grabs Ed and gets him an a head lock, and gives him a noogie.) But he’s our idiot.

 

Princess: Are you f*****s already up and playing grab a*s.

 

Jaws: No. I was just going to brush your teeth for you princess…with my dick!

 

Princess: I’d be more concerned about your own, jackass. I tipped over your canteen cup last night.

 

Jaws: (Scurries to his cot, and leans down to pick up his dentures) You b*****d! You got sand between my teeth! Do you know how hard that s**t is to get out?!

 

Gramps: Oh shut up! Just run them under the hose or something!

 

Goose: F**k! How long till we go home?

 

Ed: Three weeks. (Pause) Are any of you guys going to extend?

 

(all together) No! (Then they throw things at Ed.)

 

Goose: Where the f**k is Whitey?

 

Gramps: He had a meeting with the commander

 

Wash: This early in the morning?

 

Goose: What the hell for?

 

Dude: (walks into the tent) He wants to leave us. Poor baby. (Sits down on empty cot, drops her gear)

 

Whitey: (Walks in behind Dude and sits on his cot) I just need to get out of here. I’m loosing it, ya know? I can’t deal with all the death and bullshit. Goose flipping out in his sleep, Princess’s bitching, Ed’s…well basically Ed in general.

 

Ed: Hey!

 

Whitey: No offense

 

Ed: Oh, ok.

 

Wash: So where you going gangsta?

 

Whitey: The Army.

 

Gramps: (starts laughing)

 

Jaws: What the f**k would you want to do that for?

 

Princess: Yeah dude, that’s kinda dumb

 

Whitey: It’s not dumb. They get to move around a lot, and they certainly get more respect than we do. They all come through here, the Marines and Army, and call us p*****s and f**s, and what ever other dumb s**t they can come up with.

 

Ed: Like zoomies.

 

Jaws: Yeah, what the f**k does that mean?

 

Princess: Zoom zoom.

 

Jaws: What?

 

Dude: The sound the planes make.

 

Princess: Zoom zoom.

 

Goose: So what are you going to do in the Army?

 

Whitey: Drive trucks

 

Goose: Bullshit

 

Gramps: Like five tons and s**t

 

Whitey: Yeah.

 

Gramps: (Gets up and into Whitey’s face) Have you put any f*****g thought into this?

 

Whitey: (Pushes Gramps back slightly) Yeah n***a. Of course I have.

 

Princess: Ohh, “N***a!” Catch him off guard and the street comes out.

 

Whitey: F**k you man. You f*****g SPECOPS wanna be

 

Princess: Watch it boy.

 

Whitey: Boy?!

 

Gramps: Knock it off you two!

 

Ed: Come on guys, don’t fight.

 

Whitey: Shut up you retard!

 

Ed: I’m not retarded!

 

Whitey: What’d you get on your ASVAB?

 

Ed: 38, what’d you get on yours?

 

Whitey: Eighty…

 

Princess: (interrupting Whitey) Barbeque sauce

 

Whitey: (Jumps over to Princess and the two start fighting)

 

Princess: You know I’m trained to kill with my hands

 

(they fight some more, Whitey pins Princess)

 

Whitey: Where’s those skills now chump!?

 

Dude: (pulling the two apart) Knock it off, rolling around like a couple of sand n****r queers.

 

Whitey: (Shoots a glare at Dude)

 

Princess: (Catching his breath) I just didn’t want to hurt you.

 

Gramps: Alright you two, you know the rules.

 

Wash: Line up f**s.

 

Goose: You had it coming.

 

Ed: (Covers his eyes with his hands) Tell me when it’s over, Gramps.

(Whitey and Princess stand next to each other against the wall of the tent looking pissed, disappointed, and worried.)

 

Wash: Who get’s to do it? Please pick me!

 

Gramps: Alright you take Whitey, and….Dude you take Princess. Jaws, go to the dining facility and get some bags of ice.

 

Jaws: Got to take care of our own! (Gets up and exits the tent)

 

Gramps: Goosey, get the blind folds.

 

(Goose goes to a box in the corner and pulls out some rags, then goes over and puts them on Whitey and Princess.)

 

Gramps: Ed?

 

Ed: (Still with his hands over his eyes) yeah?

 

Gramps: Give Dude and Wash a rifle each.

 

Ed: (still covering his eyes, works his way around looking for rifles)

 

Gramps: Take you god damn hands down this is serious.

 

Ed: Sorry (Grabs two rifles and hands one to Wash and one to Dude)

 

(Ed and Goose step back and stand to the side)

 

Jaws: (Comes running in with ice) Did I miss it.

 

Gramps: Not yet.

 

(Gramps clears his throat)

 

Gramps: Detail…Tench-Hut!

            Right Shoulder…Harms!

            Present…Harms!

Gramps: For the crime of assaulting fellow members of the team, and disrupting an other wise pleasant breakfast, you have been found guilty, and are to be punished to the fullest extend of the law.

Whitey, what type of weapon is that?

 

Whitey: Sir, the weapon in front of the Airman is an M-16 A2, Gas powered, air cooled, shoulder fired rifle.

 

Gramps: Good! Princess. What is the maximum effective range of that weapon?

 

Princess: Sir the maximum range of the M-16 A2 is…is…uh…

 

Gramps: Sorry boys, time’s up. Got to get all five between ya. Detail make ready.

 

(Wash and dude step so that they are side ways and the are holding the rifle up horizontal holding onto the barrel and the buttstock)

 

Gramps: Aim.

 

Ed: (Covers his eyes)

 

Gramps: Fire!

 

(Wash and Dude let go of the buttstock end and it swings down hitting their target in the balls. They collapse, clutching their crotches, and everyone starts laughing. Jaws hands them each a bag of ice. Lights dim, tent flaps go down. Projected on the screen are images of the elephant and its paintings, and one of them shows a crudely drawn version of whitey killed.)

 

(Tent side comes up, still dark in the tent, the black lights are on.)

 

(Goose sits up in bed, and is glowing white)

 

(A kid comes in wearing a home made civil war uniform, his face glows with a neon make up job of a skull)

 

Kid: You’re an idiot.

 

Goose: Who the f**k are you?

 

Kid: I’m you knuckle-head. Remember this costume you threw together?

 

Goose: Oh yeah, my Cavalry uniform.

 

Kid: Yeah, what ever.

 

Goose: So what’s the deal? Is this some kind of ghost of Christmas past bullshit?

 

Kid: What? I don’t know. This is your dream.

 

Goose: Our dream

 

Kid: Don’t you start pulling that shrinked out duality bullshit. That’s my job.

 

Goose: What ever.

 

Kid: Remember the rain?

 

Goose: Yeah, it was cold as f**k. It always seems to rain on Halloween.

 

Kid: No it doesn’t, that’s just how you remember it you dreary b*****d. Anyway do you remember what you told your dad that night when you came in?

 

Goose: No.

 

(An adult comes in with a neon skull on his face, faces the crowd, takes a bow, and then sits on a cot.)

 

Kid: (Stands up, exits the tent, and reenters with a pillowcase that looks like it’s full of candy.) (He faces the crowd, takes a bow, and then sits across from the adult)

 

Kid: Sure is raining hard out there.

 

Adult: Sure is.

 

Kid: Now I know what it must have been like in the real civil war.

 

(Both the kid and the adult stand up, face the crowd and take a bow.) (The two exit the tent, and the kid re-enters without the pillowcase.)

 

Goose: Yeah, I remember.

 

Kid: and…

 

Goose: And what?

 

Kid: and you’re a retard. (Mockingly) “Now I know what it’s really like to be in the real civil war”

 

Goose: F**k you!

 

Kid: F**k yourself. Running through the rain collecting candy from your neighbors and going home to watch monster movies. Yeah I remember that, that was at Chancellorsville wasn’t it, or was it Shiloh, or Chattanooga?

 

Goose: What do you expect, I was a, you’re a kid damn it. How should I have known?

 

Kid: I don’t know. I just thought it was funny that that’s how you envisioned war, and now you’re in a war and there’s no rain at all, no monster movies, and instead of coming home to your family, you go back to a cot and dream about f*****g dead chicks.

 

Goose: Hey, she put the moves on me.

Kid: You don’t have to sell it to me brother, that’s something you have to live with.

            Was it good?

 

Goose: What? I don’t f*****g know, it was a dream.

 

Kid: Like this one. (Kid stands up, pulls a flask from his coat, and takes a hit.)

 

Goose: You can’t drink, you’re a kid for f**k sake.

 

Kid: It’s a dream moron, I can do what ever I want.

            (Puts the flask away, walks to Eds cot, and pisses on him)

 

Goose: Are you peeing on him?

 

Kid: Yeah, I think it’ll be funny.

 

Goose: Yeah but.

 

Kid: But what, it’s a dream. Jesus you really don’t get this whole thing do you?

 

Goose: I Guess not.

 

Kid: What ever f****t, I’m outy 5000. Taker easy, and if she’s easy taker twice.

 

(Tent flap lowers)

 

(Tent flap raises, lights are on. Wash is standing over Ed staring at him. Jaws is thumbing through porn again, and Dude is walking in. Goose sits up slowly waking up)

 

Wash: Dude, you pissed the bed.

 

Dude: Who?

 

Wash: Eddy here.

 

Ed: No I didn…f**k.

 

Princess: Jeez dude, couldn’t do the 100 yards to the pisser.

 

Whitey: He couldn’t do six inches to lean off the cot.

 

Jaws: Ha ha.

 

Goose: Leave him alone guys. He probably had a s****y dream or something.

 

Gramps: (Waking up) He s**t his pants?

 

Ed: No, Goose is right, I had a dream about when I was a kid and we snuck out on Halloween after the trick or treating, and we stole a bottle of whiskey from my dad. We got all drunk, and I guess they found me passed out on the slide at the school by my house.

 

Dude: S**t, how old were you?

 

Ed: Ten

 

Princess: No way! You were getting all fucked up at ten?

 

Whitey: Late bloomer

 

Ed: Oh what ever. When did you start drinking?

 

Whitey: Way before ten.

 

Goose: Fetal Alcohol Syndrome doesn’t count.

 

Whitey: Nah man, my daddy was hookin it up by the time I was like six.

 

Dude: Really?

 

Whitey: Yeah, we’d sit around watching TV and he’d let me sip on his 40

 

Princess: Isn’t that precious.

 

Gramps: Isn’t that child abuse?

 

Dude: I think so

 

Wash: Well next time try and make it to the latrine, and Princess, I’m beating your a*s!

 

Princess: What the f**k did I do?

 

Wash: You’re the reason my boots are wet each morning.

 

Ed: Ha ha

 

Gramps: You’d think he’d move them after the first time

 

(Everyone laughs a bit)

 

Wash: I did.

 

(Everyone laughs louder)

 

Lt. Birch: (Walks into tent) Look alive boys and girls, we got another one.

 

Goose: Bullshit!

 

Lt. Birch: Watch your mouth Staff Sergeant

 

Gramps: Back off son. We do our job, you try and do yours this time.

 

Lt. Birch: You watch it too, Tech Sergeant.

 

Gramps: What ever let’s get to it boys

 

Dude: (Glares at Gramps)

 

Gramps: And girls.

 

Princess: That’s you Eddy.

 

Ed: F**k you.

 

Whitey: I’m going to sit this one out.

 

Goose: Yeah me too.

 

Gramps: Alright, but stand fast in case it gets bigger.

 

Goose: I’ll stand as fast as I can.

 

(Everyone exits, Goose and Whitey remain on their cots, and Wash is a little slower to the door than the others, and stops just before leaving)

 

Wash: You boys alright?

 

Whitey: Yeah

 

Goose: Yeah

 

Wash: (Somewhat somber) Alright bros, just take care of yourselves.

 

Whitey: What’s with you?

 

Wash: You know I was in the Army right?

 

Whitey: Yeah

 

Wash: If they let you switch, just watch yourself.

 

Whitey: Alright man, I will.

 

Goose: You better get going man, don’t want it to get cold on you.

 

Wash: (Perks up again) Right right (Knocks twice on beam over head) Dead girls don’t say no. (Starts to leave and gets half way through the door.)

 

Goose: Hey! Wash! How hot was the hottest chick you ever fucked.

 

Wash: (Turns around sharply) You know that answer baby. 43 degrees. Fahrenheit mother f****r!

 

Goose: Get going ya big cutey.

 

(Wash leaves)

 

Whitey: You white boys are some sick mother fuckers.

 

Goose: You know you love it.

 

Whitey: No, I don’t. That’s why I’m getting out of here.

 

Goose: But to the Army? Did you hit your skull on something?

 

Whitey: Nah man, I just need to get out, and they’re the fastest way out of here.

 

Goose: Yeah, and they might be the fastest way back here.

 

Whitey: Man, don’t talk that s**t.

 

Goose: Seriously bro, you know just as well as I do that the Army is our biggest customer in this region, before that it was the Marines. Plus the Army is full of retards.

 

Whitey: First off, they’re not all retarded, and if they were it wouldn’t be that big of a deal. You said it your self mister wizard.

 

Goose: What?

 

Whitey: Talking all that s**t about your scores, how you qualed for just about every job the DOD could offer, and how you picked this one, the lowest scoring field in the Air Force.

 

Goose: A king among retards

 

Whitey: Right, now I get to be king. And a king is still a king, no matter who he rules.

 

Goose: I know man, I just don’t want to spend the rest of my time here worrying about you, you know?

 

Whitey: Well don’t. You got more to worry about yourself.

 

Goose: Like what?

 

Whitey: Like your whole sleep deal, your freaking out in processing; all that bullshit.

 

Goose: That’s nothing.

 

Whitey: That’s nothing? That’s exactly why I don’t want to be here no more. Yeah in the Army I could die. Yeah I could see people getting killed. Yeah I could kill people myself. But I wouldn’t have to deal with it all day. I wouldn’t have to wait around here all day. It wouldn’t be the thing I looked forward to just so I could avoid Jaws’ fucked up comments, or Wash’s loud mouth, or Gramps shitting and snoring all night.

 

Goose: (Chuckles) Yeah. Just be careful man. You’re real good at this job. I got a feeling you’d be good at just about any job. Do me a favor?

 

Whitey: What?

 

Goose: If you get into the Army…How much college you got under your belt?

 

Whitey: Like three and half years

 

Goose: Good, become an officer, man.

 

Whitey: Why?

 

Goose: Because you can. Because if your going to be stuck with all those poor saps, maybe you can get yourself in a spot to make sure we’ve got less business.

 

Whitey: I don’t know bro, I don’t want to sell out or nothing.

 

Goose: Too late bro, you’re jumping ship already.

 

Whitey: (Chuckles) Yeah, I guess so.

 

Goose: Well if you’re going to sell out, do it right. Plus it’s more money.

 

Whitey: O really masa! Ize needz mo moneyz!

 

Goose: (Laughing) No, man, seriously. Feed that rag doll daughter of yours. She can tell her buddies in school her daddy is a Major or some s**t some day, and not give a s**t, because while daddy’s gone she gets to stay in her big house in the suburbs with all her toys and friends. Not living with your sister in Redford dodging crack dealers on the way to the hobo infested park.

 

Whitey: (Obviously tearing up) You’re an a*****e man, but I’ll look into it. I was looking through one of the brochures and they had this deal about Warrant Officers flying helicopters. That looks like fun, and it’s open to Officers too.

 

Goose: There you go man. That’d be sweet. She can say “My daddy is a pilot”

 

Whitey: I got ya, you can stop bringing Jasmine into this. You’re going to make me cry and s**t.

 

Goose: Sorry dude. I guess I miss her, I haven’t seen her since the Christmas party. She must be getting big.

 

Whitey: Oh hell yeah. She’s about up to my knee now.

 

Goose: She got any more words under her belt?

 

Whitey: Oh yeah. It’s like once you get them started talking, they never shut up.

 

Goose: Yeah, that’s what my mom always told me. You got a picture of her?

 

Whitey: Do I have a…what kind of father do you think I am?

 

Goose: Well, it depends, what mile do you live off of?

 

Whitey: Shut up. (Reaches through his things, and takes out a picture, goes over to Goose and sits on the cot next to his, and hands it to Goose) Here she is.

 

Goose: Cute as a bug. How’s mom doing?

 

Whitey: She’s still pissed at me. But I think we may try to get together again when I get out of here?

 

Goose: How’s that going to work?

 

Whitey: The Army dude said I get to go home for two weeks, then I go to their MOS school, or OJT. And the unit is out of Rochester. Which isn’t far to commute if I do OJT.

 

Goose: Are you sure all this is going to go down?

 

Whitey: I hope so. I really do.

 

Goose: We’ve only got weeks left here man. You can’t wait?

 

Whitey: I know, I’m not trying to bug out of the war, just the unit.

 

Goose: If there’s a next time, we can put you somewhere else. The dining facility, the rec center, you know that.

 

Whitey: Yeah, I know that. I also know that when I got here I did work in the dining facility for a week, then s**t happened and I’m here. I don’t mind all the other stuff. It’s this I can’t do.

 

Goose: I hear ya.

 

Whitey: Do you?

 

Goose: (Looks confused) Yeah, I can see getting out of this every once in a while.

 

Whitey: So why don’t you?

 

Goose: I don’t know bro, I love this s**t.

 

Whitey: Yeah I can tell. You’re dreams are getting worse.

 

Goose: How do you know?

 

Whitey: I saw you pissing on Ed last night. Must have been a hell of a dream.

 

Goose: That was me? Ed said he did it. I couldn’t have, like I had a dream kind of like tha but…

 

Whitey: I was f*****g with you. But we can tell man, we’re all getting worried about you.

 

Goose: Really?

 

Whitey: Yeah man. Yeah.

 

(Lights fade, tent flap lowers.)

 

(Projected across stage are images of famous psychiatrists, people in strait jackets, pills, more pictures from the elephant, houses, kids playing, etc. A mix of things, but all relating to psychiatry, and home)

 

Narrator: I cried like a baby before I went to the war. Many of us did. We cried for a thousand different reasons. We didn’t want to leave our families and loved ones. We didn’t want to die. We knew we would die one day, but hated with all our hearts the idea of dying so far away from home. For that week our families would have to wait for our dead and mangled bodies to return home to them, that being the only proof, the only fact of the truth. The first phone call never makes sense. It shocks the system, it rattles the insides, and distorts what is real. Then there is no more, or just maybe little more. A phone call at the end of one week, and you must wait in that empty space another week becomes. It is blank it is barren. You know they’re dead, you feel it, but when there is no body there is no murder. With out evidence there is no case. So in that week you lay in bed, or act extra happy and let your soul rot. You remember those fragments when you saw them grow up, meet girls, enlist, wave good bye, and now this. They are on their way home. Maybe there was a mistake though, these things happen, he was always extra careful, it couldn’t be him. In grievous denial you convince yourself it’s a fifty-fifty. You could be right, uncertainty says it could be true. So maybe uncertainty is the truth. For that voided week you are uncertain. Distraught, shaken, wounded, you don’t know what to do. I’ve seen it though, when the verdict is in. When all the facts come together in steel casket they call a transfer case, when they are draped in the Red, White, and Blue, when you forget what they really mean, and only see them for the blood, the pale dead skin, and…and… the bright blue of those eyes that shined so bright when he was just a boy playing with those little green men in the back yard. How they shined so bright as that boy would drop his toys and run up to you hugging your leg, just grateful to see you each day. Now you want it to be no more than a trick, a sick joke, and you close your eyes and imagine to yourself that as the tail of that plane slowly lowers, that little boy runs across the flight line, he runs as fast as he can, and as he gets to you we wraps his arms around your legs again, so fast, so tight he knocks you to the ground. When you open your eyes you see a coffin, and the dream is over.

There is another death, a more frightening death that exists on the battle fields. It happens after the wars, after the shelling has stopped, after it’s all over, but we can never leave. Those zombies you see at diners, at movies, at the drive through window. Those zombies who jump during fire works, those zombies who jolt when the kids play with bubble wrap, those zombies who smell that car wreck stink again and cry, those zombies that hit their children, and pickle their livers and souls with doses of jack and swills of beer. That is the biggest fear for some folks I know. Loosing your mind still counts as death for most of us. What is it about death that scares you? That whole bit about not existing anymore, about not being able to even think about not being able to think, not to feel, not to reason, not to taste, or see. When you were a kid did you ever lay real still in the dark and hold your breath trying to see what it would be like to be dead? That silent bleakness, it crept into your mind and you panicked and reached for air. It’s that same panic that reaches into our hearts as we suit up for this show we put on. Before we step in front of the bullets and cameras that panic flushes our system like those times you dove so deep in the pool, and couldn’t find the surface. Helpless we float there searching for the way out, for that muffled silence to end, to be immersed in the sun again, and here the laughter of children. To loose your mind is a worse death than death. In death it’s just you. Your family mourns and moves on with their life. In the shell shocked minds of the boys and girls, of the zombies of war, we fear that existence more because of the suffering. Lost in a desert somewhere are the souls of a countless many. They wander those fields with Polaroids of chaos and devastation, only to visit us in dreams and bile soaked photo album. We fear the husked life of the undead. Of those few who can’t escape it. That link to the past. We fear bruises on children and wives. We fear the loneliness only found in a veteran’s hall. We fear the aching in our asses from sitting too long in a VA hospital somewhere, and the tenderness in our throats from too many pills and too many shots. I can’t explain it any better. See it for yourself though. Go to those places the lonely go at night. Find those mythical vets who talk themselves, who wear black bags under their eye from fear of sleep. Those with scarred knuckles, and scarred hearts. Search them out, search for the eyes, and see them as they stare off for ages, peering though bodies, and walls, past distances, and through time. Their eyes are focused on one thing, that last thing they saw before they died. The movies don’t talk about it so much. Yes, zombies are scary, but it is far scarier to become a zombie.

 

 (Tent flap raises, and is set up like the tent of the base shrink. There is a desk and a chair. Goose is in the chair across from the desk, and the shrink sits at the desk. His name is LtCol Bloom. Col Bloom is an older man, and a little fat for his uniform. He wears glasses and has a mustache. He speaks with a southern accent.)

 

Col. Bloom: Alright son, what’s the problem?

 

Goose: I’m not sure.

 

Col. Bloom: There’s got to be something wrong, other wise they wouldn’t have sent you here.

 

Goose: I’ve been having nightmares.

 

Col. Bloom: That’s it? Jesus, these people are wasting my time.

 

Goose: Sir?

 

Col. Bloom: Sorry son, not you. I’ve just been getting people in and out of my office for any little thing. Anyone who gets scared, or pisses themselves, or has a bad dream they send them to good ol’ LtCol Bloom. He’ll make everything better. You got anything besides bad dreams?

 

Goose: Uh, well…

 

Col. Bloom: Com’on kid, gimme something. I’m getting bored here. They send me all these folks who are simply reacting normally to this s**t, and they expect me to fix it. How do you suppose I fix something that isn’t broken?

 

Goose: well, sir…

 

Col. Bloom: I had a kid in here a little while ago, I can’t tell you his name of course, but he’s that new cop from one of the Dakotas, I don’t know why they need two. They both have like eight people in them, they should just combine them, any way he got shot at and ended up killing a guy. He started crying after the fight, so they sent him to me. There’s nothing wrong with that, he just killed a guy, that goes against everything we’re ever taught growing up. I’d be a little shaken too. Plus in high stress environments, the human body will occasionally just start to weep, it happens all the time. It’s a natural reaction. What the hell am I supposed to do about that?

 

Goose: Some times it just helps to talk to someone sir. To let it out a little.

 

Col. Bloom: I know that. I am a shrink for f**k sake.

 

Goose: Uh, yes sir, sorry.

 

Col. Bloom: Don’t be. I shouldn’t be throwing this s**t at you anyway. So where do you work?

 

Goose: The MCP

 

Col. Bloom: Never heard of it. What do you guys do there?

 

Goose: It’s the Mortuary Collection Point. We process the bodies to be sent home.

 

Col. Bloom: Jesus Christ. You do need help son. Did you pick that job?

 

Goose: Yes sir.

 

Col. Bloom: What the hell for?

 

Goose: Not enough people volunteered, and I figured I might be able to handle it so I’d volunteer so somebody who couldn’t didn’t get forced into it.

 

Col. Bloom: Gotcha. So…can you hack it?

 

Goose: I’ve been able to for a few months now.

 

Col. Bloom: So now you’re having nightmares?

 

Goose: Well, for starts.

 

Col. Bloom: There’s more?

 

Goose: Well, yes sir.

 

Col. Bloom: Well what the hell is it?

 

Goose: I think I’m either hallucinating or day dreaming, but…

 

Col. Bloom: But what?

 

Goose: They talk to me sometimes. I know it’s not real, it’s just my imagination, but last time it happened I passed out, or something, I don’t know.

 

Col. Bloom: Creepy.

 

Goose: (Slighted)Yeah

 

Col. Bloom: So your nightmares are about these bodies?

 

Goose: Some of them.

 

Col. Bloom: Oh, I see.

 

Goose: Well sir usually the ones about the bodies are actually kind of pleasant.

 

Col. Bloom: Pleasant? Like how?

 

Goose: Well there was Darryl. We just played Euchre. And Kate, we…uh

 

Col. Bloom: Kate? What did you do with her?

 

Goose: I think we made love.

 

Col. Bloom: You fucked a dead chick?

 

Goose: No, I dreamed about it.

 

Col. Bloom: I’m not sure what’s worse.

 

Goose: I think I should go sir.

 

Col. Bloom: no, no. I’m sorry. Keep going, you just kind of threw me off guard. So these dreams don’t really bother you?

 

Goose: Not really sir, they’re weird, but those aren’t the dreams that bother the others.

 

Col. Bloom: Bother the others?

 

Goose: Yeah the Elephant dreams, when I have those I guess I scream and yell in my sleep?

 

Col. Bloom: So f*****g dead chicks is cool with you, but elephants make you scream?

 

Goose: Sir! No! It’s not that the elephant is scary, it’s what he paints.

 

Col. Bloom: Paints?

 

Goose: Yeah, he paints pictures of wars, and dead people, and all kinds of terrible s**t. It’s just creepy, they’re so childish, and so simple. I just can’t understand why such a simple, peaceful animal would be compelled to paint these things, why it would stretch what colors it knows into figures of death and hate. It shouldn’t have to know these things. I feel bad for it, I…

 

Col. Bloom: Well, times up. How about you come back at…let’s say…1300 next Friday. Ok?

 

Goose: Uh, ok sir.

 

Col. Bloom: Alrighty, we’ll get to the bottom of this and get you back to sleeping good again.

 

Goose: Yes, sir.

 

(Tent goes black, sides come down.)

 

(A finger painted elephant is projected on the stage. Curtains close)

 

Intermission

 

(Tent flap raises. Inside of tent is set up as the MCP)

(The whole team is there except for whitey. He has left for the army)

(Goose is processing a body, checking it over, and recording information onto paper work on a clip board.)

(Jaws and Ed sit at the desk closest to the front of the stage, facing the audience)

(Princess is helping goose)

(Gramps, Wash, and Dude are nearer to the back of the tent talking)

 

Dude: We need to get that boy out of here.

 

Wash: He’ll be fine, it’s not like he’s totally loosing it, he just has those s****y dreams and every once in a while he…

 

Goose: (Talking to the body) Knock it off

 

Princess: What the f**k?! I didn’t do s**t!

 

Goose: Not you! (Goes back to his work) (Princess stares at him)

 

Gramps: Does that.

 

Wash: Well yeah.

 

Dude: Did he say how his little visit to the psych doc went?

 

Wash: He said they didn’t really cover much, it was kind of quick, probably a preliminary or some s**t.

 

Gramps: Or it was…

 

Dude: Typical military medicine

 

Wash: Don’t get sick.

 

Gramps: You’re probably right on there. Did they give him any meds?

 

Wash: Nah, they just told him to go to the exchange and get some Nyquil.

 

Gramps: What?

 

Wash: Just to help him fall asleep.

 

Gramps: He falls asleep fine, it’s just all the bullshit that happens once he’s asleep

 

Dude: Well at least they were close

 

Wash: To what?

 

Dude: It’s that dart board medicine. The sinuses are relatively close to the brain.

 

Gramps: Ha ha, no s**t.

 

Dude: They pull that s**t all the time. I went into the medics to clear up a yeast infection

 

Wash: Sick!

 

Dude: Are you done?

 

Wash: Are you?

 

Dude: No. I went in to clear up a YEAST INFECTION, and they gave me Motrin, and some s**t for athlete’s foot. It took them three more tries to get me the right s**t.

 

Gramps: When the f**k was this?

 

Dude: When we were working in the dining facility

 

Wash: Were you baking.

 

Dude: F**k you Wash.

 

Ed: (To Jaws) Do you think Goose will be ok?

 

Jaws: Yeah, he’ll be fine. He just needs to get laid.

 

Ed: Will that fix it?

 

Jaws: Come’on. Doesn’t that usually make you feel better?

 

Ed: I guess.

 

Jaws: You guess?

 

Ed: Yeah, I guess.

 

Jaws: Well what the f**k do you do to feel better?

 

Ed: I usually play with my kitties. That makes me feel good.

 

Jaws: Kitties?

 

Ed: Yeah, I have three of them back home. I have pictures. (Reaches into his pocket and pulls out pictures and puts them on the desk in front of Jaws) (Pointing to each one) This one is Key-Key, and that one is Chink, and that one is the baby, that’s Missy.

 

Jaws: Ed?

 

Ed: Yeah?

 

Jaws: Are you gay?

 

Ed: No, why?

 

Jaws: No reason. Any way, once we get home, he’ll be fine. Won’t you Goosey?

 

Goose: Huh? Yeah, yeah. Sounds good.

 

Jaws: See.

 

Princess: Sick bro!

 

Goose: What?

 

Princess: A scorpion!

 

Goose: Where?

 

Princess: In his mouth, it just crawled out from inside.

 

Goose: That’s fucked up.

 

Princess: Yeah, no s**t.

 

Goose: People eat the weirdest s**t.

 

Princess: What the…I ought to slap you.

 

Goose: I’m f*****g with you Princess PJ.

 

Princess: Oh. And I was TACP, not PJ.

 

Goose: Same difference.

 

Princess: Bullshit.

 

Goose: I know, I was giving you the benefit of the doubt. Everyone knows PJs are way more hard core than TACPs.

 

Princess: I…I…

 

Goose: Chill bro. I’m just f*****g with you some more. I don’t care what you did before this. I’m just glad you’re here doing this with me, with us. I’m glad all of you are here. I wouldn’t have wanted to work with a nicer bunch of people.

 

Princess: Oh…Thanks. What’s that supposed to mean?

 

Goose: Nothing. I’m just glad to be where I am.

 

Gramps: He’s getting weird

 

Dude: He’s always been weird, Gramps.

 

Wash: You know his type, or at least know him well enough. The kid’s too damn smart.

 

Dude: Well…yeah. But he’s wigging out all the time and it’s just getting creepy.

 

Wash: He’ll be fine. Won’t you Goosey?

 

Goose: Huh? Yeah. Roger that.

 

Princess: What’s your deal today bro?

 

Goose: Nothing. What do you mean?

 

Princess: You’re acting all, I don’t know, you seem back to normal. That ain’t normal, nobody does that.

 

Goose: It’s cool bro, I finally had a good dream last night.

 

Princess: Really? What was it about?

 

Jaws: F*****g b*****s with big ol fat t*****s and…

 

Ed: Going home?

 

Dude: The war?

 

Gramps: Biscuits and Gravy?

 

Wash: Your mom?...my mom?

 

Goose: Yeah

 

Princess: Which one?

 

Goose: All of them.

 

Princess: Well tell us Sgt Nightmares

 

Goose: Alright. (The crew focuses on Goose to listen to him.) It started with that elephant.

 

Ed: The painting one?

 

Goose: No the mechanic

 

Ed: There are mechanic elephants?

 

Goose: Any way, well he was still painting the same creepy s**t, but I finally got to see more. It wasn’t just his trunk, it wasn’t just his paintings of piles of dead babies, teenage girls sitting in cars with the engine on and the garage door down, it was more. He wasn’t painting just those things, he was painting everything.

 

Dude: Everything?

 

Goose: yeah, he was painting everything happening in the world, things that just happened are about to happen, but he’s doing it out of memory.

 

Ed: An Elephant never forgets

 

Jaws: But how could it remember?

 

Goose: I don’t know, it’s a dream you know? But I think the elephant is more than an elephant.

 

Ed: Like god?

 

Wash: I think Goosey might be the last one to start dreaming about god and s**t.

 

Goose: Maybe though. Maybe it wasn’t like the bearded creep out gods, maybe it was one of my gods, but in a different form, or maybe an African god, or an Indian, or Japanese God. They knew though, they remembered what has to happen, and in it with all the terrible things, there was more pretty things. People in love, kids playing, forests, hills, snow, sand, all of it was there too.

 

Gramps: (Trying to hurry the conversation to a close) Sounds terrific. Wel’p let’s get back to work. We got to get this body in the fridge.

 

Ed: Aww, come on. This sounds neat, and he’ll still be dead in a few minutes.

 

Gramps: I don’t want to hear any more.

 

Goose: (Looking apologetic) It’s ok. I’ll stop.

 

(Everyone is kind of weirded out by what happened but slowly get’s back to work)

(Goose and Gramps look at each other and nod)

Lights in the tent dim out, and the two of them step out the side of the tent to the front of the stage, in front of the tent. Goose pulls a cigarette pack from his cargo pocket, puts one in his mouth, and offers one to gramps. Gramps declines, then decides to take one.)

 

Gramps: That Elephant. What color was it?

 

Goose: Uh, gray. I think. But it had some designs painted on it.

 

Gramps: Was this one of them? (Gramps pulls up his sleeve, and shows a tattoo on his forearm. At the same time the symbol is projected across the stage.)

 

Goose: Yeah! That’s the one that was on top of his head! Where’d you get that? That’s weird, I don’t think I’ve ever seen any of your ink, I wonder how I dreamt about it.

 

Gramps: I got it in Viet-Nam. When I was younger than you, and obviously dumber, I was in the Marine Corps.

 

Goose: Before you joined the Army? And then the Air Force? You never mentioned it before. Not even Mom, or Grandma.

 

Gramps: Yeah…well, your Grandma and I decided not to tell your mother.

 

Goose: Why?

 

Gramps: I kept having nightmares, and we figured the best way to get around it was just to avoid it.

 

(Projected over the stage are images of jungles and of vine covered statues.)

 

Gramps: I was a scout. It was fun, we got to stay at the nicer bases in the cities, then we’d just go out into the jungle for a week or two. They treated us well. Beer and women, what ever we wanted. It was the first time in my life I had a beard.

 

Goose: Cool.

 

Gramps: Yeah. Well we were sent out to find some monastery where they thought Chuck was hiding weapons and s**t.

 

Goose: Chuck?

 

Gramps: Yeah, Charlie and I were on closer terms. In my team, if you killed a VC in hand to hand, you earned the right to call him Chuck.

 

Goose: Sick.

 

Gramps: Didn’t think your ol’ Grampa was such a hard a*s? Any way, we got lost. We had to go over this mountain and the fog came in during the early morning, and before we knew it, we didn’t know s**t. So we stayed put until the fog broke, and just kept heading up to the top. It’s when we got there that we came across your Elephant. With that symbol on his head. It was a temple, a beautiful one, it was full of young little monks and nuns, children. All in bright robes, all with bright smiles, all amongst bright flowers, under the bright sun. It was the first pretty thing any of us had seen in a long time.

 

Goose: Sounds…pretty. (Lights another smoke)

 

Gramps: It was. We stayed there for almost a week, playing and relaxing with the kids. We had completely forgotten about that war. It was like that island in the Odyssey. Time stopped.

We sat and watched the Elephant paint. They told us they never taught him how to, he just knew how, and that he was older than any of them.

He painted little paintings on long rolls of paper, and the children would lie next to it, rolling it for the elephant, as he would slowly change the scenes with his brush. He painted us climbing up the mountain, and the fog, he painted protests in DC, he painted restaurants in Europe, he painted Russia, he painted everything.

Then one day, he painted himself, bold and red, and the children, bold and red, and us, green. And little men in black. We were oblivious (Shakes his head and lowers it) it was right there in front of us.

We went to sleep in that dream, and awoke right back in the nightmare.

We slept a little away from the temple, hidden off to avoid being seen. It worked, Chuck came through and fucked all those poor little kids. Their tiny little heads covered the ground like when the apple rot and fall of the tree. Their bodies in twisted poses, confused. The elephant was hacked to bits, his paintings, ages of massive scrolls of rice paper, all burnt up. I stayed another week, weeping and cleaning the mess of our young friends.

 

Goose: S**t.

 

Gramps: Yeah. We found one little girl though, mostly dead, but still alive. She asked us to find her Elephant. When we told her what had happened to him, she smiled. She knew, but she knew something we didn’t. She said that he would we be back, and we had to help her find him.

She died in my arms. I think I loved her Eric. That’s why I never told you, that’s why we don’t talk about it. That’s why I had nightmares. I didn’t mean to pass them on to you.

 

(Jungle images fade into desert images, then fade out)

 

Goose: What?! you loved a little girl? How old was she, like seven.

 

Gramps: F**k you buddy. Yeah, she was like seven or eight, but when I held her, when I looked in her eyes, I knew she’d spent far more time on this planet than me.

 

Goose: I gotcha.

 

Gramps: Don’t f**k with me kid, and don’t go in there telling your buddies.

 

Goose: I…I won’t. I know what you mean, when those bodies come in, they…they still have life in them. I just try to ease them out.

 

Gramps: I’m sorry boy. I never thought about it as any more as a bad couple weeks in the jungle, I had no idea. (Starts weeping and hugs Goose)

 

(Lights in the tent fade back on, and Jaws is standing by where a window would be in the tent, obviously leaning over the desk to peek his head through.)

 

Jaws: Let’s go sweet hearts, this guy is heavy as f**k, we need everyone’s help.

 

Goose: (To Jaws) We’re coming.

 

(Goose and gramps walk back into the tent, as they do so the lights fade inside and the tent flap lowers.)

 

(Projected across the stage are the paintings again, but mixed with the images of horror are images of beauty.)

 

Narrator: I first met Goose at bar. He was wasted. He was spouted at the mouth about politics, philosophy, religion, and dumb jokes. I knew who he was, I’d seen him around the squadron, but I’d never talked to him before. He was interesting for sure, but I couldn’t really get all of what he was saying. He had a habit of starting or finishing his sentences in his head. Out of no where he’d say, “that’s why she said that.” I look at him confused, and he’d point off somewhere at some chick crying on the phone. The kid could see everything, and how everything connected. Poor b*****d. He was one of the toughest guys to understand, but we knew to follow his lead. He’d been in only a couple years, and had more stripes than most of the folks who’d been in twice as long. He told me about his religion, about all the different gods and goddesses and the stories. I listened, confused, always wondering where these drawn out tales and calculations would lead, then eventually, maybe a few minutes, a few hours, a few weeks, in one case a few years, it would hit you. Like de ja vous, a moment would pass, and remembering pieces of a drunken rant, things began to make sense, things that were never confusing before, but just made a new kind of sense. That was the Goose. Risen from the dead, and knee deep in them. He had a sick sense of humor, and a grasp on things no one else could ever understand. The funniest part about him, was that how much he knew, how much he talked, he would stop dead in his tracks when it came to women. That was funny. Those half statements became even shorter, and at the end of each night he walked home alone from the bar, while a girl who loved him danced with another man. Poor b*****d.

 

(Projection fades and the tent flaps raise with the lights on, the tent is set up like a sleeping tent, Goose and Wash are still in bed, Jaws runs in.)

 

Jaws: Get up! Get up!

 

Wash: (Tired and pissed) What the f**k!

 

Jaws: It’s Gramps, they found him by the flag pole last night.

 

Goose: What!

 

Jaws: Let’s go. He’s at the Medics now.

 

(Goose and Wash hurry and run out the tent)

(Tent flaps abruptly shut, lights are off)

(Projected on the screen are the paintings, good and bad, mixed with the jungle and desert images, all fade slowly in and out of one another, Purcells’ Music for the Funeral of Queen Mary plays over the images. The final image is that of a hand connected to a slit wrist resting in a pool of blood soaking into the thirsty sand. Images and music fade out.)

 

(Tent flaps raise slowly as the music fades out last.)

(The lights slowly come back on)

(The tent is set up like the morgue again)

(Everyone is sad as they slowly process the body of Gramps)

(Goose, Princess, Dude, and Wash stand over the body, recording information, Jaws and Ed are at their front desk filling out toe tags.)

 

Wash: F**k. What the f**k? Why would he do this?

 

Dude: We’ll never know, there’s no point in kicking yourself in the teeth about it.

 

Princess: Are you going to escort him home?

 

Goose: No.

 

Wash: Why not?

 

Goose: I decided to let the Chief do it. He’s real close with Grandma and Grandpa. Plus, well. I don’t know, that’s just what I decided to do.

 

Ed: He was your Grandpa?

 

Goose: Yeah Ed. He is.

 

Ed: I did not know that.

 

Jaws: (ribs Ed)

 

Ed: Ouch

 

Goose: (Cracks a grin) That’s ok Ed, we kept it that way, just didn’t talk about it. Didn’t want people to think there was any favoritism or anything.

 

Ed: Ok…Goose…

 

Goose: Yeah.

 

Ed: I’m real sorry (breaks down crying)

 

Jaws: (Puts an arm around Ed’s back) It’s alright brother. He had a good run of it. He had fun. You know that.

 

Ed: (Through his tears) Yeah…but why did he have to die?

 

Princess: Yeah…Goose, we’re all real sorry.

 

Goose: I know, you’re the sorriest bunch of troops I ever worked with.

 

(Everyone cracks a brief little smile)

 

Dude: You know you’re authorized to go home now. Take the week they give you, take another week of leave, and then we’ll see you when we all get home.

 

Wash: (Playing, punches Goose in the shoulder) Yeah dude, get out of here. We’ll see you then.

 

Goose: I appreciate it, guys. I really do, but I’m going to stick it out. Like you said, it’s just two weeks. (Looks at the body)

 

Princess: I figured you say that.

 

(They start to put Gramps into the body bag, and zip it. Goose stops Princess’s hand)

 

Goose: Guys, could I maybe have a minute?

 

Dude: Yeah Goosey. Yeah.

 

(Everyone but Goose steps just outside the tent)

 

Goose: (Starts Angry, then grows sadder, and begins crying) What the f**k were you thinking? Grandma’s going to be pissed. Mom’s going to be pissed. I’m…I’m going to miss you. (Leans over hugging the body) Why would you do that to us? I don’t care about the dreams, and the Elephants, please don’t let that be the reason why. Just tell me. Just say something. I know you’re in there. (Weeps, then stands up wiping tears from his eyes as they stream down his face) Answer me! Say something god damn it! Why is it that total strangers blown in half and missing pieces will open their hearts and spill their guts to me. A random cadaver off a random battle field tells me their life story every time they enter this tent. They stay with me until they leave, they haunt me as if I were a f*****g bus terminal, they want to play cards, chat, f**k, they want to speak to me, and you won’t. (Grabs the body and starts to prop it up) Just say something! (He unzips the bag to the waist, and the body just slumps forward on itself.) SAY SOMETHING! (He collapses, the body falls with him, resting in his lap. Goose holds him under the shoulders, with his hand and chin on top of Gramp’s head, he begins to cry harder.)

 

Wash: (Peeks his head in) Goose? You, ok? (Looks around and spots the two of them on the floor.) Oh Jesus. (Turns his head to the out side) Guys get in here (Runs over and squats next to Goose putting his hand on his back.)

 

(Everyone else comes in, and settles near the two either squatting, or sitting.)

 

(Lights fade, Tent flap falls)

 

Narrator: Poor B*****d. Everyone spoke to him, but he didn’t have a soul to speak with himself.

 

(Tent flap raises, lights come on.)

(Tent is set up for sleeping again)

(Goose sits on his cot, and everyone sits around him)

(Princess stands outside smoking)

 

Wash: Are you sure you don’t want to go home bro?

 

Goose: Yeah I’m sure.

 

Dude: It’s ok, man. We don’t need you to stay if you don’t want to. We’ll be ok.

 

Goose: I’m ok. I’m staying.

 

Ed: Do you want to talk or something?

 

Goose: (Smiles at Ed) No I’m ok, but when I want to you’ll be the first person I talk to.

 

Ed: Ok Goose. Ok

Goose: (Gets up, and walks outside the tent to join Princess in a smoke, pulls out a smoke, puts it in his mouth.) Got a light.

 

Princess: Yeah. (pulls out a lighter and hands it to Goose. Goose lights his smoke)

 

Goose: Princess?

 

Princess: Yeah.

 

Goose: What’s the real deal on your handle?

 

Princess: You won’t tell them? (Points inside)

 

Goose: I only talk to the corpses bro.

 

Princess: (Smirks) Yeah. Well, it was when I was back in TACP school, in between jump and dive. I wanted out.

 

Goose: Out?

 

Princess: Yeah. A buddy of mine back home called to tell me my girlfriend was cheating on me.

 

Goose: Ouch

 

Princess: That’s putting it lightly.

 

Goose: And you wanted out?

 

Princess: Yeah, I…I figured if I was home I could fix it, I could…she wouldn’t need to cheat if I was there. So I tried to get out.

 

Goose: How?

 

Princess: I told them I was a f*g. You know the don’t ask don’t tell bullshit (Goose nods) I figured I’d tell them I was a homo, and they’d cut me loose, I’d go home, f**k the misses and bust a few teeth. But they wouldn’t let me out.

 

Goose: Why?

 

Princess: Cause I was too good.

 

Goose: What ever.

 

Princess: No dude, I’m serious. I was good, I mean real good. I had some of the top scores, I was always an element or team leader, I was good. I kept doing good, cause, you know I had an image, so I started going to PT in a training bra and short shorts, and when that didn’t work I’d wear skirts off duty, and when that didn’t work I tried wearing them on duty.

 

Goose: That must have pissed them off.

 

Princess: Oh, it did. But the commander was real cool, now that I think about it. We had a formation one day, and he called me front and center. I was wearing my BDUs, but with a short camouflaged skirt instead of the pants, and I had make up and clip on earrings. He handed me a tiara and told me to put it on. He turned to all the other guys in the flight and told them I was the dumbest airmen he’d met yet. Traipsing around the base like some fairy princess, in skirts, and heels, all for some blown out cheating snatch back home, but I was still beating everyone else in the class. He said “If Princess here can do it, why can’t you f*****s.?” He gave me a coin and a stripe that day.

 

Goose: And you still graduated?

 

Princess: Of course I did.

 

Goose: So you did f**k up your knee on a jump.

 

Princess: Yeah man.

 

Goose: So why’d you keep the handle

 

Princess: (Looks Goose in the eye, flicks his cigarette butt, and turns to walk into the tent) (looks back at Goose) Why do we do half the s**t we do? (Turns back to the tent and walks in)

 

Goose: (Just before Princess is all the way in the tent, he slaps him on the a*s) I don’t know. I don’t know. (Walks into the tent)

 

(As Goose walks into the tent the flaps fall again and the lights dim)

 

(Projected on the stage are images of the team huddled up for photo ops, the photos change as members of the team disappear. Then it shifts to just the sand.)

 

(Projection fades, tent flaps raise, the inside of the tent is black lit, it’s set up for sleeping again, but Goose and Whitey and two other people are in the ghost make up playing cards)

 

Goose: Whitey?

 

Whitey: What?

 

Goose: Not to change the subject, but what the hell are you doing here.

 

Whitey: What am I doing here? What are you doing here?

 

Goose: Oh, I picked up another tour.

 

Whitey: The others?

 

Goose: Ed and Wash are here. The others stayed home. So back to what I was saying. What are you doing here?

 

Whitey: The rest of me will get here tomorrow, figured since you were in town I’d stop in and chill a little longer than the other.

 

Goose: What the f**k happened?

 

Whitey: Dude, it sucked. I hopped the convoy south, to pick up supplies or some s**t, you can never tell with the army because they mostly grunt and hooah and expect you to know what the hell it means,…

 

Goose: And…?

 

Whitey: And one of them mother f****n IEDs tagged us out.

 

Dead Guy 1: At least I didn’t loose my dick.

 

Dead Guy 2: It’s not like you’ll be able to use it.

 

Dead Guy 1: Dude, there’s going to be chicks in heaven. There have to be.

 

Dead Guy 2: Marines don’t go to heaven, man.

 

Dead Guy 1: (Disappointed) Oh.

 

Whitey: (To Goose) Marines.

 

Goose: I don’t think anyone goes to heaven…or hell.

 

Dead Guy 1: How do you know?

 

Dead Guy 2: He works in the Morgue dude.

 

Dead Guy 1: Yeah, but not the chapel!

 

Whitey: I’d listen to him if I were you. He knows a lot about this kind of s**t.

(Picks up a beer from next to his leg and sips it.)

 

(Curtains close)

Reviews

[Jack Yatsko]

Very well done...Sorry it took me so long to get to you, but I hit some obstacles over these past few months. Anyway, I agree with everything Legion has said...Emotional, deep, and a very good story. ^_^

[Legion]

I have many things to say about this.

First: BRAVO! BRAVO! BRAVO! If you could actually see me right now, I would give you a standing ovation and a round of applause. Several times over.

Second: I seldom cry or get that emotional. You had me in tears during two parts of this. The section dealing with the comparison of the coffin coming home and remember the child the dead soldier was. Also, the section about the place where the painting elephant was and what happened to them by Charlie (Chuck). I hate crying! But I couldn't help it. It was that emotional.

Third: The narrator's parts could be seperated and it would still be a poignant and memorial story all its own (especially the first few narration sections. If this ever does make it to stage or film (and I hope to God or the gods it does), I would really hate to be the one to have to memorize all that, but would do my damnest to do it if it was me to bring justice to it. Can I have the part? That or Goose's part? :)

Fourth: How much of this is based on actually experiences that you have had?

Fifth: I thought for a moment there that the elephant may be a representation of the GOP and its warmongering ways. Liked your description much better.

Sixth: Really loved the names of the characters and how they were mostly in opposition to those characters. I mean really, a black man named Whitey. That was great! Talk about anti-profiling. :)

All in all, this is going into my favorites and I plan on passing it along. Damn good write. Damn good storyline. Damn good everything (with the exception of a few grammatical errors). Kudos and, once again, BRAVO!