The Dugout
Man dressed in rags, unshaven, and filthy, sitting in a red mobility chair sitting in a empty dugout in a local park
Man: I hear you! I hear you! That’s enough already, geez, will you cut it out ?! Ugh, My stomach has been growling at me for weeks. It just doesn’t ever seem to shut up. You know you’re so demanding, its not like I can get you food anytime you feel like it. Just because my shirt is stained doesn’t mean I’m a chef. I really don’t want to think about food right now, so it would be nice if you would stop asking me to feed you. I feel weird digging out of the trash, that’s why I hardly ever go trash digging. I would rather sit in the baseball dugout and sleep, that way I’m in the shade and away from the sun. Since you are being extra obnoxious today I guess I will just have to look through the garbage.
Man makes his way out of the abandoned dugout and to the nearest trashcan
Man: Hey look a coffee cup! Yes! It actually has coffee in it still. Usually when I find the coffee cups they’re empty so I ended up drinking flat soda. I haven’t had coffee for so long, but I have never really been a big coffee fan, but I always loved meeting the guys in the local coffee shop and sipping in fresh brewed memories. But lately, I’ve been taking some time for myself and takin’ it easy. Hopefully the guys and I can catch up one of these days over our luxury drink. During those seven years, a cup coffee was like eating mom’s homemade pecan pie. But now that I’m back its become a bittersweet brew for me; it always depended on how well we ran around the horrors of it all, and how many lumps of sugary memories we could dump into the bitter experience. When I look down into the brownish liquid all I see is the dark jungle that I lived in for seven years. I see thick overgrown vines and the paranoia. Now, everyone around me is out there grooving to the disco and tripping into waves of color and light, while I spend my evenings in the dark dugout.
Man: It wasn’t all bad, I mean, Vietnam exempted me from college papers, and a hefty tuition and gave me what any teenage boy would want to do: just sit on your ass. As much as don’t like to go out to those crazy night scenes, I’ve always wanted to try out the latest fad, dancin’ around the colorful checkerboard floor. It’s harder to see the crew when they are all out in the clubs, they wouldn’t want to be seen with a cripple. So I’ve just been waitin’ for more coffee talks.
Finishes the coffee, as he puts the cup back into the trashcan he notices a receipt from the year 2000
The millennium?! Already?! What the Fuck?! Year 2000! Is this some kind of joke. Maybe this is a misprint, yeah, It can’t be year 2000 already. The clock wasn’t ticking this fast, last I checked. I could have sworn it was 1975.
Man wheels himself across the street to the nearby school and looks at a calendar on the reception desk, sees that it is in fact the year 2000.
Time has really changed I guess. Where have I been all this time? Did the dugout freeze me? But it’s not cold in there. Hmm that’s strange. Is this real? Maybe I’m in a dream, I spend my days sleeping, so I’m probably in a really vivid dream right now. Maybe if I close and then open my eyes I’ll really wake up from the dream.
Closes his eyes for about ten seconds and only sees that he is in the same exact position and place.
What? I didn’t move, I’m still in the dream. I thought dreams end when you wake up? Maybe I’m still asleep? Or what if I’m dead? Was I shot?
Checks around his body for wounds, sees that he is fine
I definitely didn’t get shot, so I’m alive, that’s good. What a peculiar dream I’m in. But this dream is exactly like my reality. I can’t tell them apart. Everything seems to be the same except for the fact that it is supposedly year 2000. The one thing that will definitely indicate the year I’m living in is the children. Yeah I’ll go look at the children. Children signify the present right? Sure they do, they’re young and hip they know what’s going on.
He wheels himself over out of the reception area and outside the cafeteria building full of children aged 11-14, sees them in through the window playing with Nintendo Gameboys.
Look at those kids with their gadgets, investing their time in a screen. Why would they want to remove themselves from reality?! WHY???!! Don’t they want to not know who they are and where they are? Why would they purposely trap themselves in a fantasy world, staring into these little handheld prisons. I don’t even know what happened to records. Where are my records?!
Speeds away from the school back to his dugout and starts frantically looking around for his records, but tilts to one side and tips his chair over and falls to the ground.
FUCK! My mind is just as shriveled up as my useless legs! Where I am?! Who am I?! Fuck this chair! Fuck Vietnam!!!!!!!!! Where is reality?? Is it in the deepest part of the jungle? Is it in the in the children? Is it now, with me on the ground? Is life living in the muck and grime? Is there anything better for me? Will I ever make it out of the ground, will I ever see out of the grunge and into the glory I once had? I won’t ever know, will I?! I’ve been living a fuckin’ dream all my goddamn life! Fuck you America!
Throws flag attached to scooter in the dirt, struggles to get back in his chair, cursing to himself.
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