Chapter 36
It was another fine day in San Diego, California. The sun was shining, and Sam A was feeling upbeat. And it wasn’t the PCP any more.
Pulling into Bobby’s driveway, he checked his reflection in the rear view mirror of the car. He was looking a little unkempt and pale compared to Bobby’s usual look, which he chalked up to the previous night’s unfortunate events. He hadn’t used the shower in the motel, worried that he’d wake up Sam B before he had the chance to put some distance between them.
He was still wearing his hippie flares and loose vest, but he figured he could explain away his clothes, just as he would explain away everything else. It wasn’t the most ideal situation, but he’d talked his way through worse with Brenda by this point.
He opened the door of the car and stepped out onto the lawn, stretching. It had been a long drive, and he hadn’t exactly had a restful sleep the previous night. But it didn’t bother him much; at least the PCP had long since worn off, and that was the important thing.
Stepping up to the doorstep, he opened the front door of the house and peeked inside. It was all quiet. He checked the clock on the mantle: eight thirty or so. He had around an hour and forty-five minutes until he needed to report in for his deployment. Enough time to smooth things over with Brenda.
He strolled into the house, noting that it didn’t look like anybody had gotten up yet. In the kitchen, a plate of food sat untouched. Had Brenda made Bobby dinner, expecting him to return home? That was so sad. And on the kitchen counter…
Oh, Brenda. I’m so sorry.
The counter housed two empty wine bottles, one of which was on its side.
Sam headed into the hall, and opened the bedroom door a crack. Inside, Brenda was prone on the bed, sleeping in her clothes. A tipped-over wine glass lay on the floor by the bed, next to a third open wine bottle.
A worried Sam moved to her side, checking that she was still breathing, before moving her into the recovery position. As he did so, she stirred enough to let out a small moan. He leaned over, seeing that her eyes were half open.
“Morning,” he murmured into her ear. “You okay?”
She squinted, trying to focus on him. “Bobby? I… I thought you left me…” she slurred. It was clear she was far from sobering up.
“I didn’t leave you, Brenda,” Sam reassured her.
Sam B did, but I didn’t.
“Where were you, Bobby?” Brenda asked, her red eyes still struggling to focus on him. “I thought you left me,” she reiterated, possibly having forgotten she’d just said that.
“There was an emergency, and I had to go help Richie,” he said. It wasn’t completely a lie, but it was stretching the truth to breaking point. “I’m sorry, honey. I should have told you before I left, but there wasn’t time. But I’m here now, okay?”
He brushed a lock of hair away from her cheek, and she turned her head upwards toward him.
“Bobby, I’m drunk again,” she confessed, looking sheepish.
“I can see that,” Sam murmured, a sad smile tickling at his lips.
“I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”
“I know you are. It’s okay.”
Uneasily, she clawed at the bed until she was in a sitting position, her head heavily leaning on the wall as she frowned at him.
“No, you don’ understand,” she pressed, “I really tried to give up drinkin’. I did, I tried. But you didn’ come home lass night, Bobby. I thought you left me.”
Sam climbed onto the bed and sat beside her against the wall, clasping his hand in hers.
“I didn’t leave you,” he reassured her softly, “and even when I’m in Vietnam, you’ll still be… Robert Deleon’s wife, okay? Nothing’s gonna change that.”
“Yeh, I know Bobby. I’m sorry—God, I’m sorry, but… but I don’t think I can stop drinkin’ without you here…”
Sam nodded sadly. “I understand, Brenda. I wish there was more I could do about that, but I’m shipping out today. Remember?”
“Oh yeah…” she murmured, her words becoming more vague and slurred. “I packed your things. They’re in the closet, okay…? I love you, Bob…” She trailed off as her eyes fluttered closed and her lolling head found its way onto Sam’s shoulder. She snuggled into him with a soft moan before going still. The two of them sat there for a while, until he began to hear her snoring. He gently lowered her back down to the bed, kissing her on the forehead.
“I’ll wake you before I leave,” he promised as he looked in the closet to find Bobby’s suitcase buckled up and ready, and his neatly pressed Navy uniform hanging above it.
Navy again? Well then, Al should be doubly useful.
He retrieved both case and uniform, and headed out of the room. He hadn’t eaten breakfast, and his stomach was doing back-flips from hunger, so he figured the kitchen might be his first port of call.
After a generous breakfast, he stepped into the bathroom, and Richie’s pallid face looked back at him with a hint of disapproval in his blue eyes.
Well, Sam thought, that was probably his imagination.
Methodically, he readied himself for his departure with a hot shower, a shave, and thorough brushing of his teeth to cleanse away the shame of his failures the day prior. It was nice to have the creature comforts, and a mirror with which to assess his grooming process. He hadn’t realised just how much he missed having a mirror, even if it was never a familiar face that peered back from the glass.
He donned his uniform, and gave himself a final assessment. Well, Richie didn’t have quite the muscle tone of his brother, but it was only obvious when he flexed his arms. Other than that, he looked the part to a tee. He’d have to get used to being called Robert and Bobby, but that was nothing new for him.
Satisfied at the completion of his preparations, he returned to the bedroom to check on Brenda.
She was still fast asleep.
He placed a hand on her arm and shook it slightly.
“Brenda. Brenda, I have to leave now.”
Brenda stirred, her still-red eyes peering up at him. “Where are you going?” she asked, still in a haze.
“Vietnam. I’m reporting for duty, Brenda.”
Sam didn’t think she actually registered what he had said, because she closed her eyes again and rolled over. “Goodnight,” she mumbled, before promptly falling asleep again.
Sam let out a breath, turning away. He’d leave her a note. Something she could read when she had a bit more sense in her.
Wistfully, he wrote out a few lines of heartfelt goodbyes, alongside some lines of love poetry he could vaguely recall from somewhere or other, and left the paper on the coffee table with a glass of water and aspirin, before heading for the door.
“Bye, Brenda,” he said softly to the empty room, before opening the front door—only to receive a great big shove in the other direction. He dropped his suitcase as he stumbled backwards, and the identity of his assailant became clear.
Damn. Why did I take the time to write that poem?
“Hey there, brother,” Sam B said flatly. “Would you mind kindly explaining what the hell your problem is?”
At the same time, Al popped into the room, hand running through his hair.
Sam A frowned at him. “You lied to me, Al. You said he was staying at the commune.”
“Okay, listen…” Al said, biting his lip.
“He just did what I asked him,” Sam B cut in. “Because he—like me—knows you’re being a great big idiot. I can’t let you go.”
“Look, you two,” Al tried, “the two of you need to sit down with me and we’ll work it all out, awright? Man to man. To man.”
“I think this is between us, Al,” Sam A supplied, eyes still fixed upon his double as they stared one another down.
“I concur,” Sam B said, closing the distance between the Sams. “Just you and me.”
For a moment, Sam A thought he was about to throw a punch, but instead he placed both of his hands on Sam A’s shoulders.
“I’ve been thinking of you as Mister Perfect,” he said with a smirk. “But look at what you’re doing. You have no common sense. Don’t you see how doing this is going to get you killed?!”
Sam A didn’t falter. “That’s leaping for you. It’s dangerous. But if I die, at least I’ll die knowing I did all that I could to help. Can you say the same?” He gestured to the hall. “Brenda’s in bed plastered, because of what you did.”
He pressed a finger into Sam B’s chest, causing him to push it away in disgust.
“In case you hadn’t noticed, I have a few more challenges to face than you,” Sam B retorted, “but at least I’m self-aware of them. Look at you. Your—quite frankly—staggering shortsightedness caused you to almost die, and you’re still doing completely foolish things against everyone’s advice. Get a damn grip on yourself!”
For the first time this leap, Sam A was feeling a dormant anger igniting in his belly.
“Your advice?!” he spat. “Like you’ve done anything except beat up a few guys and complain a lot!” he gestured behind him with his thumb. “I’d be better off taking advice from Brenda in there, if I can wake her up to give it.”
“Well, look at that,” Sam B mused. “Sunshine Bear’s got a temper all of a sudden. Here I was thinking I had it all.”
“Well, I was perfectly even-tempered until I had to deal with you. All of what you represent—the parts of me that I wish I could just throw away—and here you are, in the flesh.”
“Hey, now, this isn’t—” Al started, only to be cut off by both Sams speaking in perfect unison.
“Stay out of this, Al.”
“I don’t know where you get off calling me trash.” Sam B thrust a palm into Sam A’s shoulder. “I saved your hippy-dippy ass yesterday, okay? You need me. Yin and goddamn yang. No way you’re gonna handle Vietnam when you can’t even throw a punch!”
Sam A narrowed his eyes. “Watch me.”
With that, he landed a right hook into Sam B’s cheek, sending him stumbling backwards into the door frame.
He rubbed at his face, shocked. “You… hit me.”
Sam A looked, eyes wide, down at his fist, then back up at Sam B. Frankly, he was stunned too. He wouldn’t have dreamed of doing that to anybody else.
Only himself.
He opened his mouth to reply, but was preempted by Sam B returning the blow, and he reeled from the hit, hand at his jaw.
I think it’s time I wrestled with my demons, he thought as he lunged for his double, and the pair of them tumbled out the front door onto the manicured lawn.
“Oh boy,” Al said as he watched on in horror.