Star-Spangled Rejects

by J. T. Livingston

  “I’m sorry, Jason,” Doug answered back. “We don’t mean to pry. We just want to help, if we can.”

  “You can’t help with the demons that keep us awake at night,” Jason looked back. “You’re right. I am a Veteran, and I’m pretty sure that Skipper is, too; but, unless you’ve seen and been through the things we have, then there’s no way you can relate to us—to understand why we are who we are today. Anyway…thanks for the update on PJ.”

  Doug watched with sadness as Jason walked away from him. He rubbed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger, and sighed deeply. “I understand more than you’ll ever know, my friend.”

  It was nine o’clock Monday morning by the time Cheryl finished another night shift and collapsed at her kitchen table. She glanced over to the coffee maker and was grateful that Jimmy had made a pot of coffee before he left for school. She got up and poured coffee into a large ceramic mug that Jimmy had made for her when he was eight years old. She stood at the kitchen sink and looked out the small window that provided a view of her driveway. “This cannot be happening…” she shook her head and sat back down at the table.

  “It can’t be him. It’s not possible. How could it be him? No, no…it’s not him…” her wrestling thoughts scrambled for a plausible explanation. “The eyes—his eyes—that’s the only thing I really remember about him…such unbelievably, beautiful eyes.” She closed her own eyes and allowed her memories to take her back in time to almost sixteen years ago.

  ⟡

  The summer of 2000 had been as historically hot as any other summer in Columbus, Georgia; Saturday, July 29 was no different. The high temperature had reached ninety-four degrees by noon, and the squelching humidity threatened to encroach the night as well.

  Cheryl Crennan was fifteen years old at the time, the only child of Olivia and James Crennan. She was a daddy’s girl, and because of that, she often found herself the object of her mother’s ire, sour moods and disposition.

  Olivia constantly criticized her daughter, about the way she dressed, the way she talked, the way she walked, the way she ate her food, the way she laughed. Cheryl grew up feeling like she would never be able to do anything to please her mother, so she took the criticism and bottled it up inside her. However, by early evening July 29, she had taken as much belittling from her mother as she could handle in one day. “Just leave me alone!” she screamed at her, slamming the screen door behind her.

  “You get back here right this instant, Cheryl Renae Crennan!” Olivia yelled.

  Cheryl jumped on her bike and took off down their residential street that was lined on both sides by huge, blossoming crepe myrtle trees. She rode for a couple of miles before she stopped and parked her bike outside a Sonic Drive-In. She sat down at one of the outside tables and ordered a large sweet tea, with extra ice, doubting there could be enough ice in Georgia to cool her down at the moment.

  She was sipping her tea when a car load of teenaged boys drove up and parked behind her table. She cast a quick look at them and recognized a couple of the older boys from her high school. There were four of them all together; two of them she had never seen before. She assumed those two must have attended a different school.

  “Hey! Don’t you go to my school?” the driver asked as he leaned out the window.

  Cheryl ignored him.

  “What’s the matter, beautiful? Are you too good to talk to us?”

  “Not according to my mother,” Cheryl thought. She could not explain what came over her, but she suddenly felt very rebellious, and did something that she had never thought she was capable of doing—she began to flirt with the boy. By the time everyone had eaten their food, the older boy had talked Cheryl into riding with them to a party. He told her they would bring her back to get her bike.

  She never saw that bike again.

  She was one of the youngest girls at the party, and she knew the minute she walked into the dark living room, that she had made a hasty, wrong decision. The loud music, the empty beer bottles, and, the smell of what she thought might be marijuana filled every room. She turned to walk out, but the older boy who went to her school cornered her and placed both hands against the wall, above her shoulders, pinning her in place. “You don’t want to leave; you just got here. We haven’t had any fun yet.”

  “I really should go,” Cheryl mumbled.

  Someone walked past them and handed the boy a lit joint. He took a long toke and handed it to Cheryl. “Go ahead, it’ll relax you, and, trust me…you definitely need to relax.”

  It only took two tokes for the marijuana to hit Cheryl’s brain. The sensation was something she had never before experienced, and, she liked it! She took two more hits off the joint before another girl wrapped her arms around the boy’s waist and pulled him away into another room.

  Cheryl felt a little light-headed and swayed against the wall.

  “Whoa, there—easy now—I’ve got you,” Jason Benton laughed as he tried to keep the pretty girl, they had picked up at Sonic, upright. “Come on, maybe you should sit down.”

  “Oh, I’m fine, just fine…” Cheryl grinned with her eyes half-closed. “In fact, I’ve never felt so fine in all my life.”

  Jason laughed. “Something tells me you’ve never smoked pot before in your life, either.”

  Cheryl shook her head from side to side. “Nope, no pot, no beer, no cigarettes, nope…I’ve never even been…kissed!” She tapped her finger against pursed lips, indicating that he should keep her secret.

  This was fifteen-year old Jason Benton’s last night in Columbus, Georgia. His father had been stationed at Fort Benning for two years and had recently received orders for Korea. It was just a one-year tour, but his parents had agreed that it would be best for the family if they moved back to North Carolina, to be closer to his maternal grandparents. Part of the reason for this party was to be a going-away present from some of the friends he had made. His friends had taken it upon themselves to ensure that Jason lost his virginity before he left Georgia.

  “You’ve never been kissed?” Jason asked with disbelief. “Wow, I find that really hard to believe.”

  Cheryl scrunched up her nose and squeezed her eyes to get a closer look at the boy holding her up. He really was cute, but his eyes were stunning. She had never seen eyes the shade of light blue that his were; they seemed to sparkle like cut crystal. She puckered up her lips and closed her eyes all the way.

  Jason cleared his throat and looked around them to make sure nobody was watching them. They weren’t; they were all too engrossed in their own lustful encounters. He lowered his head and shared his first kiss with the girl with the long, auburn pony-tail and mesmerizing green eyes.

  Cheryl opened her eyes and stared at the boy. “I’ve had pot for the first time, I’ve been kissed for the first time, and, now, I think I want to taste my first beer.”

  “You may not like it,” the boy laughed, “But, come on, I’ll get us some.”

  One hour and three beers later, Jason and Cheryl found their way to one of the back bedrooms, stripped down to their birthday suits, and clumsily lost their virginity to each other—it took less than ten minutes; after which, they both passed out upon the bed.

  Four hours later, the older boy dropped Cheryl off in front of her house. Her mother was waiting on the porch, arms crossed and foot tapping. The boy sped off in a hurry, and Cheryl stumbled on the steps leading up to the porch.

  Olivia took one look at her daughter and suspected what she had been doing. “You filthy slut—get out of my sight!” She turned and went back inside the house, leaving Cheryl puking in the bushes.

  Cheryl’s thoughts slowly returned to the present where she sat slumped at the kitchen table, her coffee now cold. She shook her head in disbelief. “How is this possible? What kind of joke is God trying to play on me?” She shook her head again. “No, no…this simply is not happening. That could not have been him on Saturday night. There must be other men out there with eyes as blue and as mesm
erizing as his.”

  If there was another explanation for what she was thinking, Cheryl Crennan knew she wouldn’t find it sitting at her kitchen table. As tired as she was from working an eight-hour night shift, she pulled her jacket back on, locked the door, and pointed her 2006 Beetle Bug in the direction of the Heavenly Grille Café.

  CHAPTER 7

  Breakfast at the Blankenship’s

  Ernest Blankenship sat at the marble-topped kitchen table, enjoying his cream-cheese Danish and reading the morning paper. He checked the automobile section to make sure his weekly, two-page ad was listed, before he switched to the local news section. “Hmm…there was a murder over the weekend…some homeless person was killed.”

  Rae Blankenship looked up from her Kindle and glanced at her fourth husband. She grimaced inwardly at the sight of his balding head and unattractive pot belly, and wondered if the money and security were really worth having to sleep next to this snoring pig for the rest of her life. A quick glance at the ten thousand dollar wedding ring on her finger solidified her decision, for the time being, anyway. “And, you care about this…why?” she sighed.

  Ernest Blankenship was a good man who had made at least one wrong, personal decision since his first wife, Elizabeth, had passed away from cervical cancer, four years ago. Their only child, Kirk, had been twelve years old when Elizabeth died, and friends had introduced him to Rae Sanchez at a cookout. Marriage was, most certainly, the last thing on his mind, but it only took a few months for the attractive red-head to get under his skin. They were married before the year ended, and that was the beginning of the end of his relationship with his only child.

  “Well, I just think it’s sad that someone was killed, and it’s possible that his family, if he has one, may never know what happened to him. He’s listed as a John Doe.”

  Rae closed the cover of her Kindle and walked to stand behind her husband. She massaged his shoulders and tried not to think of the soft flesh beneath his business suit. She was only forty-nine years old, the same age as her current husband, but she had definitely taken better care of herself than had he. “Well,” she sighed again. “It’s not likely that he could have afforded one of your cars, and I doubt if anyone will really miss him…”

  “That’s a cold thing to say, Rae. Surely you don’t mean that?”

  Rae took her cue from his critical tone. “Of course not, dear. I’m sure the police will find out who he is and who committed this horrible crime. What does it say happened to him?” She did her best to feign some interest in the story her husband was reading.

  “They found his body lying beneath the underpass near the edge of town. I think it’s the underpass near that new café that some of my employees are talking about. They said he suffered severe head trauma and probably died instantly.”

  “Well, I really do doubt the police will spend much time investigating the death of a homeless man,” Rae replied.

  “Again, Rae…that’s a really cruel thing to say.” Ernest pushed away from the table and stared down at his petite and shapely wife. “Sometimes, your opinions…shock and appall me.”

  Rae moved closer to him and wrapped her arms around his huge mid-section. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine him as a younger, firmer man. “I think we both know that you didn’t marry me for my opinions,” she murmured coyly. “Why don’t you come back upstairs with me for a few minutes before you leave?”

  Ernest left the paper open on the article he had been reading about the murder of the homeless man. He reached around his wife for his coffee mug and answered, “I’ve got a busy day.” He turned to straighten his tie and walked out the back door without kissing his wife good-bye.

  Rae watched from the enormous bay kitchen window until her husband’s Mercedes had backed down the long drive-way and turned toward town. “Well, thank God for small miracles,” she snickered. She grabbed her Kindle and made her way slowly up the back staircase to the master suite. She had a lot of shopping to do today and wanted to soak in the tub for an hour before she left.

  Kirk had skipped school and was on the back staircase when he heard the conversation between his father and step-mother. He had slipped into the downstairs den while Rae massaged his father’s shoulders, and, now he waited until he heard the door to the master suite close and the bath water running. He moved slowly into the kitchen and saw the open paper on the kitchen table. It didn’t take him long to find the article about the death of the homeless man. “Nice,” he grinned. “They have no clues, nothing to go on, and I don’t think we have to worry about anyone coming forward with information about the case.” He folded the newspaper and took it with him. “But, just in case, maybe I should try to find that homeless woman and make sure she doesn’t remember anything.”

  Cheryl pulled into the parking lot of the Heavenly Grille Café at nine-thirty. There were only a few empty parking spaces available, and she pulled her Beetle Bug into one closest to the front door. She didn’t notice the black, Toyota Land Cruiser pull in behind her and take the parking space closest to the main road. She took a deep breath, pulled her jacket tight against her, and walked inside the café. “What if he’s here? Oh, my goodness, what if he’s here? What do I say to him, or do I say anything at all to him? I’m sure he wouldn’t remember me, anyway. Maybe he won’t be here at all.” Her rambling thoughts consumed her as she stood inside the warm, inviting café before finally making her way to an empty stool at the counter.

  The handsome man who had served her and Jimmy coffee on Saturday night was behind the counter, talking to a couple of men who looked like they might be lumberjacks or long-distance truckers. Cheryl smiled at him as she slid onto the stool. “Good morning. Could I have some coffee, please?”

  Bertie brushed behind Cheryl and punched her lightly against the shoulder. “Hey, you! It’s good to see you in here again. Where’s that handsome son of yours? Oh, wait, never mind. I forgot that it’s Monday. He’s probably in school, huh?”

  Cheryl warmed at Bertie’s chatter. “Good morning, Bertie. Yes, Jimmy’s in school, or at least, he’d better be!”

  “I don’t think you have to worry too much about that young man,” Bertie grinned. “He’s one of the good ones. You should be very proud of him.”

  “Oh, I am…I am,” Cheryl nodded. “Thank you,” she looked at Doug when he placed a large mug of hot, steaming black coffee in front of her.

  “I’ve got a house full of hungry customers, so I’ve gotta get busy,” Bertie said. “Come on back sometime when we’re not so crowded, and we can have more time to talk about that young man of yours.”

  “I’d like that,” Cheryl smiled. “Maybe I’ll bring him with me the next time.” She waved at Bertie and looked back at Doug. “There’s something very special about Bertie. Why is it that I feel like I’ve known her all my life, yet, I’ve only spoken to her a couple of times?”

  Doug stared at Cheryl and grinned. “Bertie has that effect on a lot of people. She’s easy to talk to, but more importantly, she listens to what people have to say.”

  Cheryl stared into Doug’s emerald-green eyes. They were almost hypnotizing and she felt herself being pulled into a calming sensation of warmth and relaxation. She shook her head and smiled. What was it about some men’s mesmerizing eyes that turned her to utter mush? “I love talking to her,” she hesitated slightly, “But, it was really you I was hoping to talk to this morning. I’m sorry, but I don’t remember your name.”

  “It’s Doug. I met you and Jimmy Saturday evening; I believe it was Brunswick stew night here.”

  Cheryl nodded. “Yes, it was, and please let the cook know that my son and I have not had Brunswick stew that good in a long, long time.”

  “Max will be happy to hear that. May I get you some breakfast to go along with that coffee?”

  “No, thanks—just coffee this morning. Actually…” Cheryl paused, not sure of how much information she needed to share with a complete stranger. “I was wondering if you could tell m
e anything about the man I was sitting next to Saturday night.” She held her hands up and shook her head. “Oh, never mind. You get so many customers in here, I’m sure you couldn’t possibly remember who sat next to me on Saturday night…”

  Doug waited for Cheryl to take a much-needed breath before answering. “I remember every customer that comes in here; in fact, all of us who work here remember every customer—it’s just something we strive to do. You’re talking about Jason…”

  “He had on an old, brown-leather jacket, and…he had light-blue eyes, a black knit cap…”

  Doug nodded his confirmation. “Jason Benton.”

  Cheryl allowed the name to roll around inside her head for a moment. “Jason Benton?”

  “He doesn’t come in very often,” Doug offered. “I see him every day, but I usually go to him, rather than him coming to me.”

  “I don’t understand,” Cheryl looked perplexed.

  Doug pointed toward the parking lot. “See the woods across the highway? Well, behind those bushes is where you’ll find Jason most mornings and evenings. I don’t know where he goes during the day, but I take him coffee and food every morning and late at night after we close up.”

  The look of perplexity on Cheryl’s face deepened as the reality of what Doug said seeped in. Her hand flew to her mouth and she whispered, “You mean, he’s…homeless?”

  Doug nodded. “By choice, I’d say. I don’t know his story, but you can bet he has one to tell. Why are you so curious about Jason? Do you know him?”

  Cheryl nodded as she stood to leave. “Yes, I think I do.” She looked back at Doug and shrugged. “Can you keep a secret?”

  Doug smiled. “What do you think?”

  Cheryl returned his smile. “I think that being in this café is the safest I’ve felt in many years, and I think I could trust you and Bertie with every secret I’ve ever had.” She turned back and walked closer to Doug so that she could whisper in his ear. “I think your friend, Jason Benton, is the father of my son.” She took another sip of coffee, turned, and walked out of the café.