2019-12-15 - Sometimes, You Have To Take It With You

The string of obscenities that is pouring from the mouth of Tyrone Grier rivals those of the father in A Christmas Story as he fights the furnace in the basement. But Tyrone isn't fighting a furnace. He's packing. For better or for worse, it's not going to take him very long. The man doesn't own very much. But first, he's going to do some definite throwing of things to make himself feel better.

Once all of his clothes are off of their hangars and distributed around his bedroom, Tyrone rolls into the kitchen and throws open his refridgerator. Panting, he surveys what's there and the hardest liquor on hand is the bottles of Budweiser. So, he grabs one of those, pops the cap off on his counter, and chugs it. He tosses the bottle in the sink and reaches for another, repeating the cycle.

When he's reaching for the fourth beer, he finally stops. He's not sure how long he's been sitting in his kitchen, now. He's also not entirely sure how sober he is at the moment. Looking at the three empty bottles in his sink, he decides that regardless of his current state of sobriety, he'd better not have that fourth bottle if he wants to finish packing tonight. And he /needs/ to do that. He needs to get all of his stuff together and he needs to go. Now. Before he changes his mind, before he has any better ideas and before anyone else can try and stop him.

The thought of someone else trying to stop him makes him look at the small stand that sits next to his door. There are two books presently sitting on top of it. Books he'd just checked out from the library today, where Harper had tried to talk to him. Yeah, Harper would definitely try and stop him. She'd want to talk to him. She'd want to know how he felt, and why he felt that way, and what led up to it, and all of that other psychological mumbo-jumbo he'd gone through when he was recovering from getting shot. Talking Helps Heal, they told him. It was all a bunch of bullshit, if you asked him. Talking didn't help, it just made him feel worse. And the whole 'feeling' thing was the worst part of it.

What can you do with a feeling? Nothing. You can't punch it. You can't shoot it. You can't walk away from it. You can numb it- that's what the three beers were for. You could deny it, which never worked. You could actually /feel/ it, and then that typically led to tears or anger or frustration or to whatever was on the other side of those things .... Tyrone had no clue what happened on the other /side/ of feeling. He never got that far. He got to the feeling part, and it was terrible and horrible and unsurvivable. But there was something else you could do with feelings. You could lock them down.

That was what Tyrone did, any time those pesky feelings started to come up. You recognize them, you see them coming on, and you shove them into a box and you lock that box and you put that box away, soldier. You don't open that box, you don't look at that box, you don't even talk about that box. And the further you bury it, the better, because it's less likely to get opened up that way.

His jaw tightening and his shoulders squaring, Tyrone put some duct tape over the crack in the box and put it away. He thumped himself in his chest, nodded, and double-checked. Yup. Feelings were squared away, sir, everything was back to normal. He wasn't feeling anything, he wasn't angry, he wasn't sad, he wasn't scared, he was tip-top, ready to go and raring for action. Hoo-rah.

His bedroom disagreed with that, though. But he would get that corrected presently. Picking up clothes, they were folded, then rolled. He got his rucksack out of the closet and began filling it. He'd only acquired a few new articles since he'd come to Gray Harbor less than a year ago, so most everything should fit. What won't, he'll leave to be donated. He'll mail a key to Harper, he's got her return address on the letter she sent him .... She can figure out what to do with his TV and his Playstation, too. She'll know what to do, she's smart.

(Then why didn't you listen to her or ask her for help?)Oo. Tyrone's brain asks. This question would force him to re-evaluate his current actions, and so he silences it. That fourth beer starts to sound better, but he refrains. Instead, he focuses on shoving his clothes into his ruck sack. Then, he opens his drawers and pulls out his uniforms, which are completely shielded from his ire. These are treated with the utmost respect as he straightens them out and prepares them for transfer into his garment bag. That takes a little bit longer, but it should. They belong to The Corps. They deserve more time and attention.

By the time his clothes are packed, it's late. The fact that he hasn't eaten dawns on him and he goes into the kitchen and starts to cook dinner. Mac 'n' cheese, his favorite. While the noodles boil, he goes about cleaning his kitchen. It's not hard, since he never uses any of the other dishes he owns. They're taken out and set on the counter as he cleans the cupboards. By then, the noodles are ready and he finishes fixing the macaroni. As he gets ready to eat it, the thought of saying some sort of grace just makes him sneer. If God was up there, he was an asshole and Tyrone didn't want anything to do with him. So he ate the meal like he would any other, finishing it in less than ten minutes. And then he cleaned those dishes thoroughly and set them on the counter, too.

The bathroom took a little more effort to clean, but he managed that, too. His towels were folded and set on the counter. The few toiletries he would take with him were put into the small bag that would stow in his kit bag. The rest were either poured down the drain or set on the counter to find better homes, under Harper's direction. Next, he switched on his Playstation and started the 'system reset' on that which would wipe out all of his data. While it was doing that, he got out his vacuum and started working on that. Trash was rounded up, next and bags collected next to the door. Then his PS4 was disconnected and unplugged, cables wrapped, bound and set on the TV stand. He unplugged his TV and wound that cable up, too. The router that let him connect to the internet in his apartment wsa next and it was also set on the TV stand.

When Tyrone finished taking the trash out, he returned and made a final sweep of his apartment. Everything he was taking with him was packed in his ruck sack, or his kit. Everything else was neatly set out where it could be easily found and then appropriately dealt with. He'd almost forgotten about the letter taped to the back side of his door. He pulled that down and read it again. He still didn't understand the poem that Harper had copied down and he certainly didn't agree with what he did understand. But, poetry wasn't his thing. The letter, though, was still very sweet, even if it wasn't even close to true. Harper really had the best heart. Grabbing a paper towel out of the kitchen and a pen, Tyrone wrote his own note back to Harper and left it on top of the letter, which he set on the counter next to his dishes.

"Dear Harper. Thank you for the very nice and very sweet letter. I appreciate the sentiment. I hate to say it, though, but you were wrong. Besides you and maybe one other girl, I have not found a single person in Gray Harbor who really thinks I'm special or worth anything. And I'm not being dramatic, it's the truth. Which is why I'm LEAVING Gray Harbor. There's no reason for me to stay, anymore. I will miss you, though. You're really incredible. Never change, even if you come across Marines that just won't listen to you. You've got a good heart. I'll miss you. Sincerely, Tyrone."

With that accomplished, Tyrone puts on his jacket and his utility cover and moves to load himself up. He has no idea when the last commercial bus for Seattle leaves, but he'll take an Uber if he has to. And then he'll figure out where to go, from there. Just anywhere NOT Gray Harbor will be fine. Heading back into his bedroom, he hangs his backpack from his chair and then slings his rucksack around his neck so it rests on his lap.

In these last moments, he considers what he's leaving behind. First off, Easton, who invited him in the first place. Never mind the fact that he revealed he was bi. That didn't bother him. But that he would get in his face over the use of the word dyke, and then threaten him? Obviously, the bond of battle brotherhood had been broken. Then there was Lyric, the first person he'd met when he was Fresh Off The Bus and looking for food. She was gorgeous, and funny, and nice, and Tyrone had fallen for her immediately. But he couldn't call it love because he didn't know her well enough. But she wouldn't TELL him anything about her. He wanted so desperately to care for her and she didn't want to let him in, anyway. She was fine, messing around with him, but he didn't WANT to mess around with her. He wanted to care for her, and to love her, and .... Tyrone had to stop there. The emotions were threatening to break out of the box again.

There were other people he knew that he would miss. Harper, of course. But, having come close to getting emotional already, he forced himself to stop thinking about it. He was also bailing on his job with no notice, but ... what could they do? They'd never see him again, so what did it matter? He'd still get his disability checks. Tyrone goes around, turning off all the lights and the thermostat, and heads out the door, resolving never to return. In his mind, there wouldn't be anything to return to, anyway. Unfortunately, while he doesn't know it now, he's not leaving any of those boxes behind, either. They'll always be with him unless he learns to unpack.