Utah Saints (pt 7).

It was right after we got to Ft. Knox that me and Dixie started to buddy up, seeing as his bunk was right over mine, and this one night we was waiting to jump Harper outside of the PX ‘cause Dixie said Harper was checking him out in the shower. You sure, I asked Dixie, and he said why, you want to go fuck him or something and I said no, I just didn’t think that queers could get into the Army cause of all them questions they ask you. And then little fairy John Harper was coming out the door with his new haircut, and I didn’t even see Dixie move ‘cause he was that fast, out of the dark and knocking Harper down on the curb. Hey, Dixie said to him, You like looking at my cock? And Harper was trying to get up, but Dixie kicked him, and he was wearing his jump boots, the kind with the big knobs on the toes, shined up hard enough to catch the parking lot lights in big white circles. Harper kept trying to get up. What? he kept saying, What? What? Like a chicken clucking. Then I jumped on Harper only he threw me right off and got in a good shot right to my eye. I remember Dixie pushing me out of the way while he took care of Harper, and all I could do was watch and feel like a little sissy shit.

I’m in the crapper at one of them highway bathrooms; I got a dirty magazine in one hand and the others going to town while I’m looking at these dudes bending each other over, and every time I get close I start thinking about something I don’t want to. Like my wife. Like her finding my dirty mags behind the tub, throwing ‘em at me and crying. My dad’ll kill you, she said, Kill you good you queer boy. I smacked her a good one, one I been waiting to give her for a while, and then I took off running down the road ‘til I was out of breath, and walked ‘til my feet hurt.

Fuck. I pull up my pants. I can’t cum. Not after that dead boy.

I push open the metal door, and the first thing I see is this blonde kid standing in the middle of the room, laughing. He’s pointing at the floor, and holding his gut like he just heard the fucking funniest joke in the world. Just laughing.

Sorry mister, he says. He talks kind of funny, and when he looks at me, it looks like half of his mouth is screwed up or something, like he can only talk out the side of it. Maybe he’s retarded – but it don’t stop him from being just about the best looking kid I ever saw. Blonde hair, really bright blue eyes –

I slap myself, and I don’t even care if the retard sees me. I don’t let those thoughts in my head no more, no more at all, not even one.

What’s so funny? I say.

Nothing, the kid says. My papa’s making me laugh.

I look at the stalls. They’re all empty. Everything’s wet and shiny in here, like the kid pissed all over everything, roof to floor, right before I got here.

Your papa? I say.

Yeah, Pretty-boy says (don’t call him that). He’s dead, he was in the shower and he fell down. I found him, and his big ding-a-ling was hanging out. The kid puts his hand over his mouth again and laughs and laughs. Jesus. This kid ain’t retarded, he’s nuts.

I run my hands under the water; they just feel dirty all the time now. Door opens and a dude comes in, a bug-ugly trucker in a John Deere hat. He starts to take a place at the other end of the trough, but stops and looks at the kid who’s still laughing.

You wanna shut the fuck up? he says. I’m trying to piss.

He ain’t hurting nobody, I say.

You his butt buddy? Ugly says. And I tell Ugly to go fuck himself and go back to my truck, saying mind your own business, Ham Sandwich, that’s what you gotta do.

The kid is walking on the side of the road, whistling and clapping his hands when I pull up next to him a half mile down the turnpike. You need a ride? I ask him.

I can’t go home, he tells me. People are dead, and I don’t like dead people.

The way this kid is smiling at me is like hot butter. I can drop you off someplace, I say, reaching over and opening the door, and he says thanks and gets right in like nothing.

My name’s Ham, I tell him.

Like ham sandwich? he says, looking real proud of how he figured that out, and I laugh and tell him fuck right, just like that, just like the sandwiches.