riptide_asylum (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
riptide_asylum) wrote2010-02-05 10:06 am
riptide_asylum) wrote2010-02-05 10:06 am
Entry tags:
"The Night Chicago Died" (Other, 1974)
Title: The Night Chicago Died
Rating: PG
Summary: Nick returns stateside and tries to adjust to life back home.
Nick hasn't slept much since he got home.
He goes through the motions. Gets in bed under the quilt his nana made, and lies still, staring at the ceiling. Tries not to think about Cody, or the war. Tries not to think about Cody, or everything going wrong at work. Tries not to think about Cody, or the sadness in his mother's eyes each morning when she kisses his forehead before she goes to work, the same sadness in her eyes when they sit silent and uneasy over dinner, the tv blaring in the background.
One night, Nick can't stand it anymore and he gets up and soundlessly shoves his feet into his boots, putting on his Army jacket he knows no longer smells like anyone but him. He takes his keys and slips out of the fourth-floor apartment and out into Chicago's winter night.
The South Side's always cold, year-round, but Nick's never felt it before now. He hunches into his jacket, not even remotely keeping him warm, and heads west, toward the bars and the park. Neon lights and dance music, floating across the night, bouncing off the concrete. Civilian sounds.
It's nothing like Saigon, Chicago. Saigon's always in heat, someone's heat, always exhaling sweat and cigarettes and laughter, heavy with the exhaust of countless motorbikes clogging the streets, two-beat motors in time with the raucous shouts of G.I.s, the simpering giggles of too-young girls.
Chicago's just...cold.
Nick turns the corner past Gino's and keeps going. He slows his steps, keeping an eye out.
He doesn't have long to wait.
"Hey. Soldier. You looking for a party or what?"
Her accent's broader than he's used to, from someplace outside the city, south somewhere.
Nick stops and turns.
She's older than the girls in Saigon. A fine-boned blonde freezing her ass off in a mini skirt and some type of fluffy sweater barely doing its job. At least she's got boots, Nick thinks. Good ones, too. He shrugs. "Maybe."
She takes his arm. "Buy a girl a cup of coffee while you make up your mind."
He doesn't object, and they make their way to O'Doyles. If she notices how stiffly he holds his arm, how careful he is to keep her apart from him, she makes no mention of it. She's just as quiet as he is until they're sitting across from one another at a table in the corner, two stools and two cups and nothing is right, Nick thinks. He watches her drink her coffee, lips staining the cardboard bright pink. "How is it?" he asks.
"Good. That was real nice of ya. Best party I've had all night."
She flushes, as if realizing, but Nick looks away, giving her an out. His coffee sits untouched on the table in front of him. Chicago's got a lot going for it, but since he's gotten back, he's realized his hometown can't make coffee worth a damn.
And it can't give him back Cody.
Panic rises in Nick's throat and his eyes automatically find the exits. Front door, restroom, one behind the bar. Straight out through the plate-glass if he has to. Like that one time at the Me Fine Bar, back in-country, when he and Cody bet Pitbull he couldn't...he couldn't...
"Hey."
Nick blinks himself back to the present, breathing hard through his nose. Controlling.
"We don't have to--look, you don't seem like you're really looking for a party, but if you just wanna talk, it's half-price, okay?"
No, Nick thinks. It's not okay. It's not okay that the best time of my life turns out to have been a stinking, steaming warzone half a world away, or that right now, my best friend in the world is out there somewhere all alone, maybe scared or lonely or in trouble...or worse yet maybe none of those things.
"I gotta go," Nick manages.
The blonde nods. "Thanks for the coffee. I mean it."
He rises and fishes out his wallet, throwing too many bills on the table.
"Look you don't have to--"
Nick's gone before she finishes her sentence. Front door and back out into the night, breathing deeply frigid winter air. Yeah, he thinks, I did.
It was a stupid idea, he knows now. Nothing's gonna make him sleep. Not ever. Well, one thing, maybe, but he doesn't have the faintest idea how he'd go about finding Cody, or even if Cody wants to be found.
He's fine, Nick tells himself, heading back toward his mother's apartment building. He's doing fine, betcha.
The lie's more bitter than O'Doyle's coffee.
Nick lets himself back in through the front door as quietly as he knows how, only half-convinced he heard his mother wake up and listen to him padding back through the warm apartment to his bedroom. She needs her sleep. All day on her feet taking other people's orders. She can't stay awake trying to deal with her fuck-up veteran son.
Nick undresses soundlessly and gets back into bed, the bed he's had since he was a kid, the bed that's not a bivy in a steaming foxhole with Cody breathing down his neck, unable to get comfortable and shifting his knee over--
Nick swallows hard, angrily. He pulls Nana's quilt up over himself and lies awake in the darkness, staring up at the ceiling, busy with the business of not being asleep.
Rating: PG
Summary: Nick returns stateside and tries to adjust to life back home.
Nick hasn't slept much since he got home.
He goes through the motions. Gets in bed under the quilt his nana made, and lies still, staring at the ceiling. Tries not to think about Cody, or the war. Tries not to think about Cody, or everything going wrong at work. Tries not to think about Cody, or the sadness in his mother's eyes each morning when she kisses his forehead before she goes to work, the same sadness in her eyes when they sit silent and uneasy over dinner, the tv blaring in the background.
One night, Nick can't stand it anymore and he gets up and soundlessly shoves his feet into his boots, putting on his Army jacket he knows no longer smells like anyone but him. He takes his keys and slips out of the fourth-floor apartment and out into Chicago's winter night.
The South Side's always cold, year-round, but Nick's never felt it before now. He hunches into his jacket, not even remotely keeping him warm, and heads west, toward the bars and the park. Neon lights and dance music, floating across the night, bouncing off the concrete. Civilian sounds.
It's nothing like Saigon, Chicago. Saigon's always in heat, someone's heat, always exhaling sweat and cigarettes and laughter, heavy with the exhaust of countless motorbikes clogging the streets, two-beat motors in time with the raucous shouts of G.I.s, the simpering giggles of too-young girls.
Chicago's just...cold.
Nick turns the corner past Gino's and keeps going. He slows his steps, keeping an eye out.
He doesn't have long to wait.
"Hey. Soldier. You looking for a party or what?"
Her accent's broader than he's used to, from someplace outside the city, south somewhere.
Nick stops and turns.
She's older than the girls in Saigon. A fine-boned blonde freezing her ass off in a mini skirt and some type of fluffy sweater barely doing its job. At least she's got boots, Nick thinks. Good ones, too. He shrugs. "Maybe."
She takes his arm. "Buy a girl a cup of coffee while you make up your mind."
He doesn't object, and they make their way to O'Doyles. If she notices how stiffly he holds his arm, how careful he is to keep her apart from him, she makes no mention of it. She's just as quiet as he is until they're sitting across from one another at a table in the corner, two stools and two cups and nothing is right, Nick thinks. He watches her drink her coffee, lips staining the cardboard bright pink. "How is it?" he asks.
"Good. That was real nice of ya. Best party I've had all night."
She flushes, as if realizing, but Nick looks away, giving her an out. His coffee sits untouched on the table in front of him. Chicago's got a lot going for it, but since he's gotten back, he's realized his hometown can't make coffee worth a damn.
And it can't give him back Cody.
Panic rises in Nick's throat and his eyes automatically find the exits. Front door, restroom, one behind the bar. Straight out through the plate-glass if he has to. Like that one time at the Me Fine Bar, back in-country, when he and Cody bet Pitbull he couldn't...he couldn't...
"Hey."
Nick blinks himself back to the present, breathing hard through his nose. Controlling.
"We don't have to--look, you don't seem like you're really looking for a party, but if you just wanna talk, it's half-price, okay?"
No, Nick thinks. It's not okay. It's not okay that the best time of my life turns out to have been a stinking, steaming warzone half a world away, or that right now, my best friend in the world is out there somewhere all alone, maybe scared or lonely or in trouble...or worse yet maybe none of those things.
"I gotta go," Nick manages.
The blonde nods. "Thanks for the coffee. I mean it."
He rises and fishes out his wallet, throwing too many bills on the table.
"Look you don't have to--"
Nick's gone before she finishes her sentence. Front door and back out into the night, breathing deeply frigid winter air. Yeah, he thinks, I did.
It was a stupid idea, he knows now. Nothing's gonna make him sleep. Not ever. Well, one thing, maybe, but he doesn't have the faintest idea how he'd go about finding Cody, or even if Cody wants to be found.
He's fine, Nick tells himself, heading back toward his mother's apartment building. He's doing fine, betcha.
The lie's more bitter than O'Doyle's coffee.
Nick lets himself back in through the front door as quietly as he knows how, only half-convinced he heard his mother wake up and listen to him padding back through the warm apartment to his bedroom. She needs her sleep. All day on her feet taking other people's orders. She can't stay awake trying to deal with her fuck-up veteran son.
Nick undresses soundlessly and gets back into bed, the bed he's had since he was a kid, the bed that's not a bivy in a steaming foxhole with Cody breathing down his neck, unable to get comfortable and shifting his knee over--
Nick swallows hard, angrily. He pulls Nana's quilt up over himself and lies awake in the darkness, staring up at the ceiling, busy with the business of not being asleep.