Nobody

Idling in Place

It was dark outside and off in the distance I could hear the crackle of fireworks. Once in a while I would see one launch over the trees and explode in a shower of sparks, but those were the big mortar ones you could buy at an Indian Reservation and only came from three different points.

I found the noises didn't really bother me.

One of my Uncles, he'd had a problem with fireworks, but he'd been caught up in the Tet Offensive. The VC had used fireworks to cover their initial movements, so to my Uncle the fireworks had different memories attached than me.

I sipped the sun-tea, with plenty of sugar in it, and watched the fireworks.

The house felt good. I had to admit. Playing around on the bed like a couple of teenagers with Miss Lily-Rylee was a weird thing. Pru and I

Pru is dead

I know

had never really had the opportunity to do things like that. Once our parents found out about us we'd had to meet in secret. When we were married, we were both too 'mature' to do things like that.

Now it seemed that maturity brought about a certain freedom that I hadn't experienced much before.

Well, except when I was Bomber - 3122, and back in 2/19th, there'd been a certain freedom that was almost like this.

Except here I didn't have Henley or Tony breathing down my neck.

Henley. Now there was a stone cold son of a bitch. Died in 2001, going back into the burning hellfire of the Pentagon over and over to rescue people, mostly civilians, trapped in the rubble. He'd hung on, burned over 80% of his body, for eight days before Aine had arrived. According to Aine, her own mother had to lead Henley's soul into Tir na Nog to serve as a knight for the Winter Queen. At the funeral his own wife had cursed him for being lazy and selfish and thoughtless and leaving her all alone to finish raising their adult daughters.

She had been profane, cruel, and never used the same insult twice.

I could still remember her, tears on her face beneath her black veil, her voice thick with rage and grief, railing at him and our uncaring God, her hands clenching the podium she stood at so hard that her knuckles were white. Their daughters, slender beautiful things, had said their goodbyes with such simplicity it rent at my heart.

A man can tell he's getting older when he has to remember whether his friends from his youth are alive or dead.

I got up, going in the house, and pouring myself a glass of tea. The fireworks had died down and I figured it was close to midnight.

The house was missing one thing. I hadn't really missed it at first. I never really had a chance to watch it back at the Ranch, although I'd stood in my office and watched in horror as the towers collapsed and the Pentagon was hit.

I needed a television.

Which meant cable TV.

Hell, I didn't even know what was on TV any more. The last time I watched TV for any length of time, the Transformer cartoons were still on.

I put the sun-tea in the fridge and walked over to island table, leaning on it and looking at the phone. It was a cordless with an answering machine, but it wasn't actually hooked up to anything. I could vaguely remembering running phone and coax cable out to the road, burying it in a pipe with holes drilled in the bottom of the pipe and gravel halfway up like I was laying a nuclear proof dedicated line.

A quick check of the phone book showed me I'd have to go into Irving to get my cable and phone hooked up.

I finished the tea, set the glass in the dishwasher, and went into the bedroom. I stripped down to my boxers, laying on my stomach in the bed. After a few minutes I got up, turned off the AC, and cracked some of the windows, letting the breeze wind through the house.