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It was a hot, dry, dull day in Strangetown, and Tank and Dusty were at the pawn shop. Dusty was looking for…something. Probably something for his bike. Tank wasn’t really sure. It wasn’t that Dusty hadn’t told him, it was that Tank had still been only half-awake when Dusty had knocked on his door and invited him out, and the reason he’d only been half-awake was that he hadn’t really been fully asleep the night prior. He’d had a few choice words for Dusty for waking him up (even though he hadn’t really been asleep), which Dusty seemed to find very amusing. Tank didn’t get the joke.
But he couldn’t exactly say no and tell Dusty to fuck off. Because he’d kind of promised his therapist that he was going to be more “open to trying new things”, and even though he’d been lying, she still kept asking him about it. So he said yes. And then he told Dusty to fuck off. In a friendly sort of way.
Dusty was perusing the shelves, occasionally picking up some small trinket and turning it over in his large, pawlike hands. Meanwhile, Tank had quickly become far more interested in the man behind the register. No, don’t stare. That would be rude. More importantly, he might kick your ass. Or, even worse, share some embarrassing story about you from back in high school and Dusty will never, ever let it go.
Dusty elbowed him. “Hey. That cashier keeps staring at you. What’s up with that?” he whispered.
Well, if that’s how he wants to play this. Tank immediately whipped his head around to stare right back. He and Johnny locked eyes, completely motionless for several seconds before Johnny made the first move.
“Tank? No way! What are you doing here, man?”
“Hey, he knows you!” Dusty exclaimed jubilantly.
Tank grimaced. “No, he doesn’t.”
“Sure I do!” Johnny was grinning maniacally, apparently even more invigorated now that he knew he was being a nuisance. “We went to school together. I’m friends with his brother.”
“Your brother?” Dusty tilted his head. “Oh, yeah, you were telling me about him. He’s a…paralegal? Parachute?”
Paramedic, Tank wanted to say, but Johnny spoke over him instead.
“Nah, not that one.” Johnny corrected incorrectly. “The other one. Tank’s oldest of three.”
“Three?” Dusty frowned, counting on his fingers. “But you said…”
“Shh!” Tank quickly hushed him, before turning back and glaring daggers at Johnny. “You. Are not helping.”
“Who said I was trying to help?” Johnny asked, with an air of mock-innocence. “Personally, I’m perfectly happy making things worse.” He shrugged. “But if you want to talk about something else, I’m game. How long you been back in Strangetown for?”
“A few months.” Tank scowled. Fine, he’d go along with it. If he didn’t, Johnny would probably go back to pressing him about that other topic.
“A few months? Damn!” Johnny looked impressed. Tank didn’t know exactly why Johnny would be impressed, but he was prepared to act pleased with himself until he heard the next words out of Johnny’s mouth. “You must, like, never go outside. I haven’t seen you once.”
Tank’s shoulders slumped. Dusty laughed, a loud guffaw. “This guy’s a trip! No wonder you two are friends.”
“Not friends.” Both Tank and Johnny immediately insisted in unison.
Dusty laughed again.“What a trip!” he repeated. “Hey– I gotta head out. I’ll leave you two to catch up, eh?”
“We definitely don’t need to–” Tank started, but he was almost immediately cut off by Johnny.
“Thanks, man! Good to meet ya, come back soon!” Johnny waved exaggeratedly as Dusty lumbered out of the store. Then he turned back towards Tank, that stupid grin still on his face.
“...I hate you.” Tank hissed through gritted teeth.
“I know.” Johnny picked up a coin and spun it on the countertop. “Least I can do is make sure I deserve it. So– back in Strangetown, huh? And keeping it a secret, too. Bet that’s got quite the story behind it.”
“What makes you think I’m keeping it a secret? For all you know, I told lots of people before I left.”
“I talk to your brothers.” Johnny pointed out. He leaned forward slightly across the counter. “Both of them.”
Tank clenched his jaw again, but said nothing. Yeah, so he hadn’t told Buck– so what? It was his own damn business where he moved to, and he didn’t owe it to any damn nosy busybodies to tell them when or why. Also, Buck would worry. Tank didn’t want that. Buck worried about him enough as it was.
“So– how's it been going for ya? Being back in Strangetown, I mean.”
“I don’t know.” It was at this point that Tank realized he could just…leave, if he wanted to. It hadn’t really occurred to him before. He couldn’t have left with Dusty; unfortunately Dusty would’ve all too likely stopped him and insisted he catch up with his “old friend”. But there was nothing in particular stopping him now. For some reason, though, he kept on with the conversation. “It’s..a lot’s changed. It’s weird.”
Maybe that was it, the reason he wasn’t walking away. It was a relief, to finally have someone acknowledge what the fuck was going on.
Johnny seemed to agree. “Thank you.” His whole demeanor immediately shifted, and he leaned dramatically across the counter. “It’s been driving me nuts since I got here. No one else seems to realize. The high school we went to? Gone. Not like, bulldozed-and-turned-into-a-subdivision gone, never existed gone. Who would raise a kid here, right? That’s what people say when I tell them I grew up around here. Sure, yeah, they’ve got other reasons to think I’m not actually from here, but still.” He shook his head. “There’s an old guy who’s got a ranch just outside of town, says he’s lived here for over sixty years. I asked my mom about him, she’s never met him before. Never even heard of him. And she knew everybody. It’s eerie, man. It’s eerie.” He looked up a little, at Tank. “You gotta back me on this next time it comes up, okay? Maybe if you’re saying it too, the people here will stop thinking I’m crazy.”
“That, uh…” Tank wasn’t quite sure how to explain it, if Johnny somehow hadn’t already noticed. “That might not help, actually. Might make things worse.”
Johnny paused, looking Tank up and down. The full-face tattoo. The weird gloves. The out-of-place military garb. The general aura of there’s definitely something going on with that guy, like maybe he got hit in the head a few too many times, but he’s also kinda angry all the time so let’s agree to not mention it . “Shit. You’re right.” Johnny sighed, slumping back down again. “Dammit.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tank kept running into Johnny every now and then, whenever he had reason to visit the pawn shop. Johnny seemed to be there nearly every day; Tank had yet to see anyone else running the register. Whenever Tank came in, Johnny would immediately perk up and greet him with an enthusiasm that more than bordered on mockery. Tank was annoyed at first, but soon shifted to a sort of bemused fascination. Johnny was lonely, he realized. Lonely enough to be earnestly interested in talking to someone like him. It was actually a little sad to watch. No one should ever have to feel that desperate. Out of sympathy, Tank decided to play into it a little, stopping by the pawn shop even when he wasn’t looking to buy anything, hanging around til closing time when the store was empty and listening to Johnny prattle on about anything and everything as he went about tidying up and locking the doors for the night.
That particular evening, the topic of discussion was a cool rock Johnny had found out in the desert. It wasn’t like, rare or special or anything, just looked kinda funny. He’d seen it while he was out with his metal detector looking for old spaceship parts. He’d started doing that a while back, y’know, and by now some people had actually started bringing them to him to buy. Hey, wouldn’t it be fun if they also brought him cool rocks sometimes? Not like, to buy, that would be bullshit, but just like…to look at. His job was kind of boring. Had to be, if seeing a cool rock was the highlight of his week.
“You know, I was hearing about that.” Tank said, narrowing his eyes.
“...What, the rock I found? I didn’t think it was that interesting.”
“Not that, dumbass.” Johnny didn’t even blink at the insult, having apparently learned from seeing Tank and Dusty together that that sort of thing was in fact a term of endearment. Or at least, like, moderate agreeableness. “No, I meant I heard you tell people you buy those spaceship parts because you’re trying to rebuild your own ship to go back home.”
“Mm-hmm.” Johnny hoisted his heavily-laden backpack onto his back. Someone had probably been in earlier that day, selling him more illegitimate goods. “And?”
“You’re lying to people.”
“No, I’m not.”
Tank crossed his arms. “You can’t fool me. Go back home? You were born here.”
“What an astute observation.” Johnny said wryly. “But it’s still not a lie. I take these, clean them up, and sell them to the scientists that scrounge around by the power plant. They pay me extra cause the pieces are already in good shape and I know what kinds of parts they like the most. Then, I use the profits to help pay my rent. Ergo, I sell them to help me get home.”
That…didn’t seem quite right, but Tank wasn’t sure how to refute it. “You aren’t building a spaceship, though.”
“Never told anyone I was. People came up with that part all on their own.”
“You still never corrected them.”
“Oh, I did.” Johnny’s face was suddenly dead serious. “I’ve told people I’m not building a spaceship, I’ve told people I was born here. They. Don’t. Believe. Me.” He shook his head. “After about the eightieth time of getting asked, ‘but where are you really from?’, I decided that maybe you just can’t fix stupid.”
“But you can profit off it.”
“Exactly. I’m so glad you understand.”
Tank hesitated. “Well…I guess it’s not technically lying…”
“Right! Not dishonest, just good business sense. Now–” He jabbed a finger at Tank. “I’ve let you in on one of my little secrets. You owe me the same.”
“I…what?” Okay, that definitely wasn’t how it worked.
“Yep, you do. I make the rules, and I’ve decided.” Johnny leaned against the counter in a way that was probably supposed to look cool and nonchalant, but Tank suspected it was mostly because Johnny’s backpack was really freakin’ heavy. “Frankly, you should admire my restraint. Cause I really could’ve pressed you on this sooner. When you came in here that first time, with Dusty– I still remember what he said you told him. You remember?”
“...I remember.” Tank said dully. Yeah, he knew this one was gonna come back to bite him.
“You didn’t tell him you’ve got two brothers.”
“Because I don’t.”
“Nuh-uh. As you already pointed out, I was born here. Which means you and I grew up together. Which is why I know both your brothers.”
“Times change.” Tank crossed his arms. Bad idea. It hurt. But he didn’t want Johnny to know that, so he kept them crossed. “I’ve got one younger brother. Ripp has one younger brother. Buck’s got two older brothers.”
“My guy, that is not how math works.”
“Yes it is.” Tank said stubbornly. “Look– he changed his last name and hasn’t spoken to me in ten years. I can take a fuckin’ hint. If he wants to disown me, I’m not gonna stop him. I’m… respecting his boundaries.
Johnny paused, then cocked his head. “...Okay. First of all, where the fuck did you learn to talk like that? Because I know it wasn’t at home.
“Like what?” Tank asked stubbornly.
“Like a therapy textbook.”
“I have a counselor. With the V.A. She gives me worksheets.” That were all really boring and stupid, but she kept saying I wasn’t being cooperative, and I kinda needed to get back on her good side. Tank decided he was better off leaving out that particular detail.
“...Alright.” Johnny nodded thoughtfully. “You know what? Good for you. I’ll give you credit on that one.”
“Maybe don’t. She doesn’t like me very much.”
Johnny very obviously stifled a laugh, but tried to stay polite. “You, uh, you get credit anyways. I think. Either way, it’s besides the point. There’s still one flaw in your brilliant calculations.”
“Oh, really.” Tank said dryly. “And what would that be, Mr. Know-It-All?”
“Ripp tells people he has two brothers.”
There was a long, long pause. “...Johnny.” Tank’s voice was pained. “It’s 10pm on a Tuesday. Don’t do this to me right now.”
“His birthday’s next month. You should send him something. Write a letter, maybe. I think he’d like that.”
“I’ve gotta go. It’s getting late.” Tank turned to head out the door, not meeting Johnny’s eye.
“I’ll send you his address.” Johnny called out after him. Tank didn’t turn around.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The next day, Tank found a folded piece of paper in his mailbox with Ripp’s address written on the inside. There were no stamps, nothing else on the front. Johnny must have put it there himself. It was pretty easy to tell where Tank lived.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Three days later, and Tank had still barely looked at the paper Johnny had left. He was doing his best to put it out of his mind. Ripp’s birthday wasn’t til next month. He had time. And even if he missed it, oh well. It’d be pretty easy to pretend that he’d forgotten the day. Or, to pretend he’d never had that conversation with Johnny at all. Twelve years, it wasn’t like Ripp was expecting to hear from him. Twelve years, eleven months, and four days. Not that Tank was counting. No, really, he hadn’t been. He’d completely lost count. Had to look it up. Pretty sure he’d told Johnny it was only ten. Oh well.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Four days after Johnny left him the paper, he still couldn’t get it out of his mind.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Out of the three of them, Ripp had been the first of them to leave home. Technically Tank moved out first, enlisting in the army the moment he was old enough, but he still came back to Strangetown every chance he got. Dad was getting older, and all his years as a soldier were finally catching up with him. He was too proud to admit it of course, which is why he would never ask anyone for help, which was why Tank needed to help him out as much as he could. Ripp, though, didn’t see it that way. The night before his eighteenth birthday, he packed up everything he could carry in a duffel bag and snuck out right at midnight. The very second that he was no longer legally bound to living in that house anymore, he was out.
How did Tank know that? Because he was there. As luck would have it, Strangetown nealrly always had some sort of bullshit going on that needed the military’s eyes and ears. And, as luck would have it, very few people wanted to be stationed in a tiny, creepy, run-down barely-a-town where the omnipresent threat of alien…abduction loomed over you like a kid burning ants with a magnifying glance. No one else wanted to be there. Tank didn’t want to have to leave. The perfect fit. Like a set of clothes so tight they’d have to cut them off you if you ended up in the E.R while wearing them.
Or like his army uniform.
Or both.
But he hadn’t been thinking about that at the time.
He knew where Ripp was staying, of course. Over at Ophelia’s place. Not the most creative, but apparently it was working. One day, when he knew Dad was going to be gone over the weekend and Buck was going to be over at the Smith’s, Tank took it upon himself to “helpfully” call and leave a message saying that if Ripp wanted to come over and pack up the rest of his things, Tank would be around that next evening to help. Just him. No one else.
“Helpfully”.
“Seriously? That’s why you suddenly decided to start acting so nice? I should’ve known I should’ve fucking known.” Ripp scowled at him from across the top of a taped-up cardboard box. “Get me back here just so you could try to talk me out of leaving, huh? Typical.”
“I just want to keep you from doing something you’ll regret.”
“Regret? Like I wouldn’t have done this years ago if I could have.”
“Yeah, and? Proves my point. It’s childish. You’re an adult now, act like it. Dad’s not gonna be around forever. And once he’s gone, you’re going to miss him.”
“I’m going to show up to his funeral to spit on his grave, that’s what I’m going to do.”
“Oh, stop being such a brat. He didn’t do everything perfectly, I won’t argue that, but there’s a lot that you don’t understand about him. You never even tried.”
Unsurprisingly, the negotiations failed. No treaty was reached. Ripp loaded up the boxes into the back of the pickup truck he’d borrowed off some out-of-town friend that Tank didn’t know, not saying a single word, not even lifting his head. Before driving off, though, Ripp turned to face him one last time.
“You said I don’t understand him,” he started off, looking Tank dead in the eye. “And maybe I don’t. I don’t understand him at all. But I understand you. It’s all an act, isn’t it? Deep down, I think you know exactly what you’re doing. You know that the only difference between you and me is that you’re willing to fold yourself into whatever shape he wants you to be. You’re willing to crush the part of yourself that still gives a damn, just so it never has a chance to inconvenience him. And that’s what’s keeping you safe. I think you know that. And I think it’s eating you alive.” Ripp’s voice suddenly softened, his tone oddly compassionate. “You don’t get why I’m doing this. And I don’t expect you to. But I hope you get it someday. I really, truly do.”
Buck was the second to leave home. No one saw it coming. The facade he created was perfect. Buck’s plan, as far as anyone knew, was to go to college first and then join the army as a medic. He spent ages talking about it, hyping it up. Honestly, he probably didn’t need to try so hard– Dad didn’t take much convincing. It was clear to anyone that Buck didn’t have the makings of a soldier, but he was smart, and even though it wasn’t the esteemed title of fourth-generation General, having an army doctor in the family was better than having another washout. Because, yeah– it was pretty clear by that point that even though Tank might make a halfway decent soldier, the initial good impression he’d made in boot camp had long since worn off. He was very good at following orders, and pretty rubbish at everything else. Dad had one more chance to turn out a kid who he could brag about, and Buck swore up and down that he’d make that happen, he was so excited for this, he was so happy to have finally found a way to make his old man proud.
Two weeks after he left for college, Dad got a letter from him in the mail. No return address. He’d changed schools, never had any intention of joining the army, and had even less intention of ever returning home. It had all been an act. Dad was furious. Tank was…he didn’t really know what he was feeling. Maybe he was just a bit sad about Buck being gone. Yeah, that was probably it. Nothing else. Nothing else worth considering.
Buck did eventually call him, an unfamiliar number that Tank almost didn’t answer when he saw it pop up on his cell phone screen. But something made him chance it. A more sentimental person might have called it hope. Tank preferred to avoid hippie bullshit like that.
And for good reason. As expected, any outstretched hand came with caveats.
“Hey, uh, before I say anything else…I think it goes without saying, but don’t give Dad this number. Like, I know you wouldn’t do that, I trust you, but..yeah. Don’t tell him any of this. You can promise me that, right?”
Buck had always been so hard to say no to. More than once, when Buck was little, Dad had accused Tank of being too soft on him. He needs to toughen up. He needs to learn. But Tank never really had it in him. “I won’t say anything.”
“Good. Good.” Buck sounded very relieved. “Ripp didn’t want me talking to you at all, cause he said there was no way you wouldn’t snitch on me. But I knew you’d be fine with it. I know you.”
Well, now Tank definitely couldn’t tell Dad. “I won’t say a word. I promise. So you can tell Ripp, he didn’t have anything to worry about.”
There was a long pause. “I…still might not tell him you and I are talking. It’s…I think there’s other stuff he’s worried about. And I don’t want him to worry. So I…we might keep this part secret, too. Okay?”
“Okay.” Tank suddenly felt very ready to change the topic. “So, how do you like the new school? Is it…somewhere nice?” It was such a stupid-sounding question, but he didn’t really know what else to ask. Or, what else Buck would be willing to tell him.
“It’s great.” There wasn’t even a hint of hesitation in his voice. “I mean, it’s been hard, sure. Harder than I expected, and I knew it wasn’t gonna be easy. But it’s been worth it, every second. Looking out and seeing the city lights, it’s like…like walking through the night sky, filled with stars. I know that sounds stupid. Don’t laugh, okay? You’d get it, if you were here. And all the people I’ve met…I don’t know. I don’t know how to say it. But the world’s so much bigger than I realized. So much bigger than Dad made it sound. I mean, not really, I guess, I know he’s travelled way more than I have, and so have you. For work. But…it’s different. It feels different. I think you get what I mean.”
He did. And he pretended he didn’t. “That’s…nice.” The conversation dragged to a halt. Tank didn’t have anything else to say. That odd feeling was back, the same one he’d had back when he’d offered to help Ripp pack up his old things, or when Dad had first gotten Buck’s letter. He couldn't put words to it. Not because he didn’t know the right words, but because he’d sealed those thoughts away so tightly that he couldn’t reach them even if he tried.
Good for him. I wish that was me. I wish that was me.
Ripp did eventually find out that Tank and Buck were still talking, although Tank never learned how. There had been quite an argument about it, and Tank never learned the details of that either. Technically, Buck didn’t even say there had been an argument. From the way he was talking, though, it was abundantly evident.
“I mean, he doesn’t…he doesn’t have the right to tell me who I can and can’t talk to, that’s all I’m saying. He has his reasons. I’m not discounting that. But it’s not up to him, is it? I’m nineteen, I can make my own choices. That’s the whole point of this, right?” Buck had laughed a little, very nervously. “That’s why I did what I did, right? Why I…moved out. He doesn’t have to like it. But it’s not up to him. Right? I’m not a baby anymore. And if he still thinks you might rat me out to Dad…I mean, I can’t stop him from thinking that, but he’s wrong, you wouldn’t do that, and besides, if you were going to, you’d have done it already. Right?” Another nervous laugh.
“Right.” Tank could’ve quelled that particular argument very quickly– he and Dad actually hadn’t spoken at all in months by that point. By now, Tank was supposed to be well on his way to becoming a General just like his father and his father’s father and his father’s father’s father, and he was supposed to be married with kids of his own who would themselves someday grow up to follow in the exact same path. Instead he was stuck as a low-ranking un-medaled nothing who spent his spare nights getting felt up by strange guys in bars who liked a man in uniform and who were sleazy enough not to care that their cheap date didn’t know how to hold a conversation about anything other than military history and tactical strategy. Eventually, the extra help around the house wasn’t worth it to his father when weighed against the cost of having to look his revolting disgrace of an eldest son in the face for one more goddamn fucking day.
Even if that wasn’t the only reason Ripp didn’t want him and Buck talking, it certainly would’ve helped his case. But Tank couldn’t bring himself to admit that he was a failure at the only thing he was good at.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Five days after Johnny left him the paper with Ripp’s address, Tank bought a camera.
It was a cheap, plasticky thing, meant to be bought on vacation and then tossed in the attic (if it was lucky). He’d bought it at the pawn shop, unfortunately, which meant Johnny was raising his eyebrows at him the whole time.
“Ooh, a camera? Whatcha doin with that? Making a documentary? Gonna start an artsy blog? Want to take a picture of those huge fuckass rats out by the nuclear power plant just to prove to yourself you’re not hallucinating? I did that once. No luck, turns out those suckers are real. I kinda want one as a pet, but my landlord says nothing over 20 pounds. I told him, pretty sure I weigh more than that, and I shed more than a dog does. Don’t think he thought that was funny. Wrote something down on a clipboard. Not like, on paper. Just wrote it straight on the board. That was weird.”
Tank grumbled politely and rolled his eyes perfunctorily. If he gave any more of a reaction, Johnny would know it was for something important and become utterly insufferable about it. Tank’s usual intimidation tactics were useless– Johnny didn’t give a shit, and he knew how to be even worse. To his credit, it was a good approach. Tank had to appreciate the skill.
Over the next few days, Tank managed to somehow scrounge up enough pictures to fill an envelope. A few of the sunset over the dunes. One of Johnny, behind the counter at the pawn shop, looking a little confused. Tank even ended up feeling bold enough to hand the camera over to Dusty for a little while, letting him take a few candid shots. Helping Dusty with his bike. Sitting at the kitchen table with Ms. Hogg. Standing with his hands in his pockets, idly watching the clouds float by. Tank grimaced at all of them– he hated how he looked in photographs. This was a shitty idea, stupid, pointless, childish, but he didn’t really have a better one.
Tank slipped the pictures into the envelope. Nothing else, no letter, no note. People said that a picture was worth a thousand words, but he had multiple and they still only added up to six– I didn’t know what to say. At the last minute, though, right before sealing the envelope, he hesitated. No– there was one more thing he should say. He didn’t particularly want to. Actually, he didn’t want to at all, not in the least. But, on the off chance that Ripp actually did open the envelope instead of just throwing it in the trash as soon as he saw the return address– there was one thing that Tank knew he should say. Something Ripp didn’t hear half as much as he probably should.
Before he could change his mind, Tank pulled the last photo out of the envelope. Grabbing a pen, he flipped the photo over to write on the blank side.
You were right.
I’m sorry.
Without looking, he stuck the photo back in the envelope and sealed it, adding a stamp to one corner and his own address on the other. In the center he carefully wrote out the address Johnny had given him, followed by a name. Ripp Vandermorgan.
Their mother’s maiden name.
A few weeks passed. Mail was sometimes slow in and out of Strangetown. He tried not to think about it. On occasion, he succeeded. But not very often. Did he even want a response? He tried not to think about that either. Ripp’s birthday came and went, still with nothing.
And then one morning– there was something in his mailbox.
Maybe it was junk mail. He could hope, right? Nope. No such luck. It was from Ripp. An envelope just about the same size as the one Tank had sent out– and for the same reason. Opening the envelope, a stack of photographs spilled out. For a while Tank just thumbed through the pictures, soaking up every little detail he could commit to memory. Ripp, sitting at a wooden dining-room table with three other people, some sort of complicated board game with tiny figurines spread out in front of them. He was squinting his eyes and sticking out his tongue, making faces for whoever was holding the camera. In the background, you could see the edge of a countertop stacked with random papers and boxes– knowing Ripp, that was probably all the crap he’d moved off the table to make room. The next picture, him and Buck, somewhere outside, somewhere green. A park, maybe. They lived in the same city now, Tank hadn’t realized that til Johnny had given him Ripp’s address. Ripp had his arm slung around Buck’s shoulder, and Buck had a look of faux-annoyance at having his picture taken. Ripp was grinning. His nose still crinkled up when he smiled, just like when he was a little kid, and he’d grown his hair out into a long ponytail, just like he’d always said he was going to once Dad couldn’t force him to cut it off. In the sunlight, you could see faint, silvery, long-healed scars crisscrossing his forearms. He didn’t look embarrassed of them. He didn’t look like he was thinking about them at all.
Ripp had never made good on his promise to spit on Dad’s grave at his funeral. Buck didn’t show up either– although, a few months later, he visited Tank in the hospital after...the accident. There was something he’d said, something Tank had put out of his mind immediately, almost forgotten. But not quite.
As usual, Tank had been the one starting shit. “I guess it’s good that Ripp isn’t here,” he’d said one day. “So he can’t say, “I told you so””.
It was spurred on by nothing and perhaps could’ve stayed as an inside thought, but at the time he was jacked up on painkillers and not the most inclined to keep things to himself. Buck just sighed. “I know you think he hates you,” he said after a long pause. “But he doesn’t. He did. He used to, I’m not going to lie about that. But he’s…he’s worked through some things since then. And he definitely wouldn't blame you for– this.”
“Yeah, right.” Tank had mumbled. “What lie did you come up with so he’d let you come here? Cause I know he didn’t want you to.”
“I didn’t have to lie to him. He paid for my plane ticket.”
Tank scoffed and turned away in disbelief, but Buck kept going. “He cares about you, Tank. It just looks different. It has to look different for him. But he still cares. Things can change. I know you don’t believe me. But they do.”
Buck had gotten one thing right– Tank hadn’t believed him at all. Change? What kind of bullshit was that? Tank had certainly never seen it happen. At least not yet. In the time since then, he’d changed more than he ever thought he could– unwillingly, usually, dragged with gritted teeth and much complaining, but he had.
He’d spent all those years building up an image in his mind of bitterness, of resentment, of scorn and superiority. But when he looked at those photos, that wasn’t what he saw.
He saw someone who had been waiting– hoping– for him to come home.