A Soldier's Duty

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After some deliberation, I’ve come to a decision: Thanks for the support. I think I’ll continue writing for now. Most of my stories will now be private.

And fuck the haters.

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This story if a continuation of three entries ago (this one).

After a barrage of singles and doubles in the club, me and Christal Champagne were ready to start the longer hits, but we ran into a recurring problem with Asians after clubs: the JFK rule (explained at the beginning of this entry). So I decided to try and sneak around it. I couldn’t pretend to head home and double back towards Christal’s because the Princess lives in the same complex as her. But I live across the street from both of them.

I figured I would surreptitiously dial Chistal after the Princess staggered back into her apartment and then meet up with Christal for a clandestine home run derby. After a loud and pronounced goodbye, I made a scene of fumbling with my keys before opening the door. Once inside, I made a point of saying goodnight to D-German and closing my bedroom door. Listening carefully, I waited ten agonizing minutes until he started snoring. I then deviously tiptoed to my deck and started scrolling through my cellphone while trying to hold back the chuckle escaping from my throat.

This plan is perfect. I'm so smart. Hee hee.

Except for one small loophole: I didn’t have her number.

I was momentarily crestfallen. But I was on the high of too much drinking, the club bass still reverberating in my perforated eardrums and the taste of first still on my lips and the shape of second still on my palms. I just had to fix the loophole. But there was no way I could get her number in the current situation. The JFK rule was a huge obstacle.

Hmmm.

I spent a minute pondering retarded ideas then came up with a great one. Just hit her intercom! She lives across the street!

But I couldn't go out through the front door, it made a disturbingly loud creaking noise…Idiot! You’re on the deck!

I gauged the height with swimmy eyes. 8 feet? 9 feet?

I can jump that.

I just had to roll at the end like I saw in those Parkour Youtube videos.

I clambered over the deck railing. Ok. Whoa. Ok. The 8 feet was looking more like 11 now that I was actually attempting it. Fuck. I can’t.

Just do it.

No, I couldn’t. This was stupid.

But this was more than just sex. This is for America. I opened my eyes from the internal battle and blinked in surprise. In all my years of inner turmoil, this line of argument had never surfaced. I closed my eyes again and settled down for the debate.

This is for America. All that trailblazing, risk taking, not giving a fucking damn that your forefathers embodied. This is it. This is the test if you’re American. An American wouldn’t give a shit and just jump. A Japanese, a Chinese, a Korean, a Canadian, they wouldn’t jump. They would find some excuse. “My leg hurts.” “I have to do homework.” “I’m too emo.” But the American, he would jump…even if he’s an emo geek with a bum leg. He would jump.

But I’m Japanese, I weakly offered.

You’re not Japanese. You don’t eat rice 3 times a day, hell you don’t even eat it once a week. You eat meat and slather your fries with ketchup…just to piss off the French. You’re American.

You’re not Japanese. You’re not shy, hell you’re usually the center of the party. You can drink more than half a beer. Hell, you actually like the taste of Budweiser…and you pointedly guzzle it to piss off Canadians. You’re American.

You’re not Japanese—

I cut it off. Fuck it. I’m doing it.

Forgetting all pretense of silence, a strangled yell heaved out of my chest as I pushed off and glided forward like a bald eagle.

I smashed into the ground in an unceremonious heap.

Oww. Oww.

At least I was 100%!A(MISSING)merican. Albeit a sore American with a bum ankle. I pushed myself up. Onwards, ho!

Oh wait! How could I have forgotten?

I dropped back down to the ground, attempting to mimic the state I was in a minute ago.

And then I rolled. Cuz that’s what the Parkour guys do after their jumps.

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After successfully rolling, I assessed the situation with squinted eyes. Not because I was overly suspicious. Just because my eyes happen to take on that shape at all times of the day.

I usually happen to hate the shape of my eyes because I tend to get a distorted view on life, but here, it was necessary. I needed these to complete the image I had. I embodied America…I’m a fucking Special Ops motherfucker. That deck I just jumped from was the equivalent of a heli-jump. I was now in the yard. Enemy territory.

I put myself in an unnatural crouch. Hands near my chest like I was holding a rifle. My club shirt was getting in the way.

I stood up, took it off, and wrapped it around my head. There. I glanced at my reflection in a window. I nodded.

Yes. I am a badass.

I made sure my eyes were still squinty. I crouched again. Assess the situation.

Houses all around. Silence is key.

A ten foot tall wooden fence perimeter to the back alley.

Ok. Get to the fence first.

I put a finger to my ear. “Gen, ready to go.”

I put a hesitant foot forward. Then another.

Wait, wait. Hold on.

I stood up then retraced two steps back.

I crouched. “Snake. Out.” I grinned. That’s more like it.

I quickly traded my smile for a scowl. I was in enemy territory. I put a foot forward. Checked in all directions.

I put another foot forward, checked in all directions. I put another foot forward...And stumbled.

What the fuck?

I had tripped over a stick. I had checked every direction except down. Fuck, who knew rebels hid in the ground?

Wait. I picked the stick up and grinned. They were careless, and had left me a weapon.

After ten minutes or so, I had closed the ten feet to the fence. Now what?

The voice in my head started chirping again.

Right, right, climb or I’m not American.

I started climbing…pretty hard when considering my ankle was still burning from the jump and i had to hold onto the stick and the fence was just vertical posts (no horizontal posts for footholds or handholds). Basically, it was akin to treeclimbing…which I obviously have no experience in.

After twenty or so attempts and landing on my ass multiple times, I was ready to give up.

Oh wait, what if I threw my weapon over first...and then clambered over? But it might get into enemy hands...

I looked at the sheer wall in front of me. It was worth the risk. I tossed the stick over and started climbing.

I finally made it to the top.

I couldn’t go down…it was impossible to climb down. I had to jump. Fuck. I didn't want to.

Right, I have to jump if I’m American.

I jumped and rolled in one motion, got onto my feet and pumped my arm.

Nice. I’m improving.

I once again started scowling. I was in enemy territory again. I crouched.

Thankfully, no one had picked up the stick. I once again brandished my weapon.

“Snake. Out.”

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It took thirty minutes or so of hobbling crouch walking to get the twenty meters or so to the apartment.

When I got there, I immediately plastered myself to the wall and did a sideways shuffle to the door. Locked. Obviously.

Shit. The telephone pad was on the other side of the door.

I looked around, then dove for the other side.

I landed right in front of the door.

I stood up and dove the rest of the way.

Good. I got up and brushed myself off.

I stared at the telephone pad. Hmm. Then looked around it.

No directory. And I have no clue what her room is.

I pressed my hand up to my ear. “Snake to control. Reached objective. Requesting code.”

Unfortunately, “control” didn’t reply. It had probably been infiltrated.

Fuck. I'm cut off, alone in enemy territory. Shit...

Whatever, I can do this. GI Joe did.

I tried to remember a cool quote from Saving Private Ryan or Full Metal Jacket or Apocalypse Now. Nothing came to mind so I spouted one from Tropic Thunder that was absolutely irrelevant. "I'm a lead farmer, bitch!"

I closed my eyes and rapidly hit 5-3. I waited. No answer…not even a ring.

Aha! This apartment probably uses triple digit room numbers!

5-3 didn’t work so…4-6-1. Nope, no ring. 4-0-1. A ring! But no answer. I see…I took a step back. 5 stories. And not too many windows…so probably 1-5 for the first digit, 0 for the middle and then 1-6 for the last.

“You tried to outsmart me, but now I’ve got you.”

I chuckled. I was winning.

Ignoring years of experience losing money in casinos, I knew I was lucky. I swiftly hit 303.

Ring.

Ring.

Click. It was picked up.

“Hello?”

I was about to reply in similar fashion, but a soldier doesn’t bog down in pleasantries. He gives commands. “Come down.”

“No. Why?”

Fuck playing soldier. I swallowed my pride. “Please?”

“Fine.” Click.

I put a finger to my ear. “Snake to Control. Ohhhhhh yeaaaaah!”

I would surprise kiss her…just as she came out.

An ambush...I whirled around to look for a bush to hide behind.

A potted plant: perfect.

I lay behind it, making myself motionless.

The front door opened and she looked around and as her head spun away, I jumped out and made out with her.

She screamed in my mouth but she settled down and quickly reciprocated. Soon, our tongues moved from a line brawl to a lazy game of tonsil hockey.

After awhile, she finally pushed me away. Panting.

We stood, staring at each other as the light from the entranceway bathed us in light.

She because I was covered in scrapes and bruises from an hourlong mission to get to an apartment twenty meters away, had a bruised lip from one too many singles at the club, had a fucking club shirt tied bandana style over my head and I was still crouching like a recon soldier with a bum ankle.

I because the occupant of room 303 was a short white girl who looked like shit because her makeup was running and she was still in a skimpy club dress at 5am in the morning.

She broke the deadlock. “Oh, I thought you were one of my friends.”

“Oh…me too.”

We stood in silence, each trying to create a nighttime history for the person in front of us.

“You’re pretty good at kissing…but that was weird…do you always kiss-ambush people?”

“Umm, no. I was just feeling overly romantic. And drunk. I haven’t had sex in over a year and my love life is nonexistent and I can’t pick up girls like I used to and I really want a girlfriend but every girl I manage to pick up doesn't want to start a relationship and this shit is destroying me because I wanna get married at 22 so I figured I had to do something drastic to win over this girl.”

She took a step back. She looked me over. “Wanna come in and talk about it?”

I blinked in surprise. I looked her over. “You’ll do for tonight,” I thought to myself.

"Sure," I said out loud.

“Snake to control. I’m off for some R&R.”

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Comments

[C BENZ]

MUAHAHAHA
Amazing. it's even better if i read it when i'm tipsy! WOO HOO! Snake. out.

[yakyu otaku]

Fuck Yeah.
Oh man, America rules so hard. We totally own this planet. Too bad you're not a Vietnamese American though, might've helped you navigate those obstacles. Charlie loves climbing trees.

[generationk]

haha
i just re-read this, im fucking retarded...and you guys are fucking hilarious