(no subject)
Title: Americana: The Return of Pete "The Pit Stain" Porter
Rating: PG
Warnings: not so nice language, as usual.
Sam opened the house door and threw his backpack onto the pile of shoes just inside. He straightened his posture after seeing his mother sitting on the living room couch, arms folded over her chest - although instead of the stern look that would be expected with this body language, she wore a comforting look. The very same look Sam remembered his mother having when she was forced to break it to him that his pet mouse had died after getting under the oven when Pete had let it out of its cage.
"What happened?" Sam moved no closer than just past the now closed door.
"Sam..." his mother sighed and stood, letting her hands fall to her sides, showing defeat in her inward battle to bring forth the proper words. She inhaled deeply to match her preceding sigh, "Peter is coming home to visit."
His voice cracked, "What?!" Sam ran forward to his mother. "He ain't stayin' in his old room is he?"
"Yes Sam, but-"
"No!"
"Just listen to-"
"No Ma, he's nothing but a bully and I really don't got time for this right now!"
"Sam, you aren't a little kid anymore, he can't-"
"Can't what, Ma?" Sam threw his hands into the air emphatically. "I may not be a little kid anymore Momma, but he ain't either."
"He's your brother, Samuel."
"He's a Marine!"
"There is nothing wrong with being a Marine! For Christ's sakes, Sam, one of your favorite movies is Full Metal Jacket!"
"Actors and fake filmed death got nothin' to do with it! He's a real Marine! When I saw him last he was nothin' but a bully who could kick my ass, now he's a bully who can kill me!"
"He's your brother; he would never do anything that serious."
"Not that I'm gonna give him the chance!" Sam walked past his mother and to the kitchen phone. "I'm gonna be stayin' at Jimmy's 'til he leaves."
She sighed and tapped her foot on the kitchen's linoleum, "If his Mother is okay with it...and you will at least spend dinner with us."
"Fine...but Jimmy's comin' to dinner with us."
*****
"So what was so important that you couldn't tell me over the phone?" Jimmy flopped on this bed next to Sam's bag of clothes, then kicked it off the bed, frowning.
"He's back." Sam slumped onto the floor.
Pete had been a walking nightmare to Jimmy and Sam for their entire lives, but was ten times worse those few years before he was finally able to leave their small hometown and join the Marines. If he ever became a topic of discussion his name was never spoken. Pete was the tall and mysterious He looming in the back of both Sam and Jimmy's minds, keeping the boys from becoming too accustomed to the automatic surge of respect they'd gotten once Pete left because they would always have that reputation of his to keep people from being too mean - for fear that He would return and kick the asses of those who dared smack around his kin - and also a certain undisclosed degree of coolness for no longer having their asses kicked by Pete in front of anyone anywhere. In a way his being there made the fact that he'd left so much sweeter, but his return could potentially ruin every bit of acting they'd done to somehow convince half of the town's population that they weren't awkward teenage losers.
"We hafta do somethin'!"
"There's nothin' to be done. He's comin' whether we like it or not."
"No...not like that, I realize he can't be stopped. I mean we gotta do somethin'. Key up his car, piss in some random corner of his room so he can spend days thinkin' it's him that smells that way, fa-"
"So we can get killed? He's gone from noogies, to headlocks, to just straight breakin' our necks."
"He can't take both of us."
"Yes Jimmy," Sam raised his eyebrows and nodded his head, "he can. Have you even taken a look at us lately? We're scrawny little white kids. I mean, look at you!" Sam gestured to Jimmy's leather coat that hung on the doorknob. "You've had nine years to fill out that coat and despite the fact that its holey to hell 'cause you wear it every goddamn day it still don't fit!"
Jimmy stood on top of the bed, "Don't you go attackin' my fuckin' size just 'cause you wanna give up!"
Sam rested his head against the wall and closed his eyes. "I ain't givin' up...I'm just facin' the facts. If he tries to kick our asses, we don't got a chance." He opened his eyes and repeated himself, "We don't got a chance."
Jimmy plopped down to a sitting position on the bed and rested his elbows atop his knees. He glared off into the distance indignantly and muttered to himself as he usually did when suppressing a tantrum of stubbornness, "...I can fight...well..."
Sam looked over at Jimmy rested his head in his hands, getting annoyed with Jimmy's lack of acceptance. "I know you can Jimmy, but there's a difference between fightin' a mascot or some kid the same size as us and fightin' a fuckin' Marine."
"Well..." Jimmy was still muttering, "what if we were fightin' a drugged up Marine..."
"Jimmy, you're startin' to sound like a lunatic."
Jimmy let out what was nearly an old geezer's, 'harrumph!' and ended his muttering fit with a loud and clear observation, "And you're startin' to sound like your mother."
"Jimmy-"
"I know Sam...can I at least verbally taunt him?"
Sam gave him a look that showed he was clearly iffy on allowing this.
"Can I verbally taunt him in front of your mother?"
Sam knew that Pete never flew off the handle around their mother. She would walk in on one of his bullying spats, sure, but shit never got started in front of her. "Sure."
"And will you get rid of that face and gimme a little support if I do?"
Sam laughed a little. "Abso-fuckin'-lutely."
*****
Jimmy let his knuckles lightly brush the door, and swallowed hard.
"Just knock already." Sam folded his arms over his chest and stared out into the front lawn. They had just neatly placed their bikes in the garage, which was an unusual occurrence. Sam felt stupid enough for that, and just wanted to get this surely painful reunion over with, he was bored of doing everything he could to extend the time leading to it.
Jimmy pulled his hand back and brought it down loudly on the door. Exhaling weakly he repeated the motion two more times. "We'll think of something...we'll get him back for whatever he's gonna do..."
The door swung open and Sam's mother gave the both of them a warm and reassuring smile. Sam glanced past her small shoulders into the living room and there he sat. Peter Kendall Porter, Peter "The Pit Stain" Porter to those who dared to admit that he was a two dimensional paint-by-numbers bully. And here he was, buzz cut and all, after God knows how many months, weeks, days, of 'how to better beat up Sammy' training.
Sam's mother moved to let Jimmy walk past her, but put a hand on Sam's shoulder. "I know you aren't gonna believe me, but he's stressed that he is not the bully that he used to be."
"Oh I'll bet." Sam shook his head, to show his mother that he was disappointed in her choice to trust in whatever Pete had said.
She put her hands up defensively and raised both brows, "Whatever you wanna believe, Sam, it's up to you."
Sam returned her an apologetic smile, suddenly feeling bad for judging his mother so harshly. He moved into the room far enough for her to close the door behind them and watched as she walked around the two boys and sat in the recliner next to Pete's seat on the couch. Sam was intent on not making eye contact with him too much, but Jimmy was blatantly sending him glares.
"I was just tellin' Pete how I'd really have to get used to that hair."
Mother, Sam thought, always the peace keeper.
Pete smiled, "I see you've still got your mop, Sammy."
Sam made eye contact with Pete for the first time, and suddenly felt very childish for keeping his hair the same all those years. It was the very same style his mother had gotten cut on him since he was five years old, just after her bowl cut phase. Actually, when Sam really thought about it, his hair was just a modified bowl cut. A bowl cut that just happened to have no such distinctive part and shorter choppier cuts in the back. In reality, the fact that Sam considered shaking his head frantically an unproblematic form of brushing his hair was one of the only things that kept him from resembling that very five year old version of himself. Because of this chain of thoughts, Sam forced his posture straight and attempted to make his shoulders look broad. "My name ain't Sammy."
Pete's eyes faltered, though his wide smile still held. Seeing the look in his eye Sam's mother replied on her eldest son's behalf, "Well your name isn't Sam either, Samuel." She let out a laugh and was relieved to see Pete's eyes brighten again. This woman was hell bent on every person in her house having an, at the very least, decent time.
Jimmy seemingly floated a few steps back to stand at Sam's side. He leaned closer to Sam's ear and muttered, "Jesus fuckin' Christ those teeth are white..."
Sam's cold and complacent look faded to a confused one as he looked at his friend, who was staring like an angry - but hypnotized - bystander at his brother's teeth. "What?"
"I really missed bein' with family." Pete said, his smile leaving.
"Aww," Jimmy feigned pity, "poor Petey couldn't find himself a bitch in the Marines?"
"Jimmy..." That one word from Sam's mother's lips was a warning in and of itself and Jimmy apologized, which had now become a reflex.
Dinner was spent with Sam scowling at Pete from across the table and Jimmy exerting tiny scoffs every time he made an even remotely friendly comment towards the two younger boys. Sam's father seemed to be deaf when something less than positive was said or even hinted at and his mother would simply mutter a small, "Boys..." or "Please..." when she sensed that anyone at the table was become especially uncomfortable.
"Well, Boys..." Sam's mother began after her husband had left the table.
"Well, Momma," Pete laughed, "really Momma, you have no idea how great it feels to be thought of as one of the boys..."
Jimmy and Sam both rolled their eyes.
"I mean, you do get this great sense of...brotherhood when you're in the Marines but-"
"Gay." Jimmy snorted, followed by a chuckle from Sam.
"...but," Pete had hardly paused, "its nothing compared to the sense of unity you get when you know you're being included in a group you've known almost your entire life. Not even just Sam, Jimmy too..."
"Why don'cha just kiss me already, Candypants-"
"Jimmy, honestly! Are you five years old?" Sam's mother had kept outbursts of anger to a minimum, but felt that since Sam's father had left the table Jimmy was taking full advantage of that. Sam's laughs, which would normally be egging Jimmy on to no end, came to a halt as everyone at the table became dead serious.
"S-sorry Ma'am..." Jimmy looked down like a bruised puppy.
"Momma, don't shout at Jimmy, please. I understand this treatment from the both of them. I was a terror all of Sam's life, and most of Jimmy's despite the fact that I didn't even know his name until well after him n' Sam were friends. I wanna apologize to them, I-" he turned to Jimmy and Sam's side of the dinner table, "I wanna apologize to the both of you. I'm so sorry for puttin' you guys through that. You don’t have to forgive me, I just want you to consider the fact that I have changed."
Jimmy bit back the urge to follow up Pete's last words with, "into a faggot," after seeing Sam's mother's expectant glare. "I'll...consider it."
"Yeah..." Sam followed up.
"Thank you so much, guys. That's really all I ask."
*****
"I'm callin' bullshit on that fucker!" Jimmy slammed his bedroom door shut and kicked off his shoes.
Sam shrugged.
"Who the fuck does he think he is, spoutin' that 6' 3" pile of crap on us...not to mention on your Momma...I mean, does he have any respect for the woman?!"
Sam shrugged again.
"And of all the fuckin' clichés to throw at us!"
Sam shrugged once more, this time leaning against Jimmy's dresser.
"Talkin' that mess about bein' part of the group...the group. Does he think we're the fuckin' Power Rangers or some shit like that?!"
"Jimmy," Sam decided to nip Jimmy's rant in the bud, "have you considered the fact maybe he just...y'know, actually made a change while he was in the Marines?"
Jimmy made a face that Sam guessed a nun would make after The Pope blasphemed. "W-what?!" a look the nun would make after The Pope burned the Vatican, "You can't fall for that shit, Sam!"
"Well...he was in the Marines…you've seen movies and heard shit about the Marines. I guess that can change you or whatever."
Jimmy let random syllables and sounds exit his mouth as he desperately searched the sullied portion of his vocabulary for words to explain his friend's momentary madness. "Bu...wh...a-asshat..." was all he could manage.
Sam sighed, "Jimmy, let's just agree to disagree."
"Fine, but Pete's gonna have to fuckin' prove himself before I fold."
Americana: Part 1
Americana: Part 2
Americana: A Very Jimmy Drabble
Americana: Yesteryears Installment 1
Americana: Yesteryears Installment 2
Americana: I Smell Mascot
Rating: PG
Warnings: not so nice language, as usual.
Sam opened the house door and threw his backpack onto the pile of shoes just inside. He straightened his posture after seeing his mother sitting on the living room couch, arms folded over her chest - although instead of the stern look that would be expected with this body language, she wore a comforting look. The very same look Sam remembered his mother having when she was forced to break it to him that his pet mouse had died after getting under the oven when Pete had let it out of its cage.
"What happened?" Sam moved no closer than just past the now closed door.
"Sam..." his mother sighed and stood, letting her hands fall to her sides, showing defeat in her inward battle to bring forth the proper words. She inhaled deeply to match her preceding sigh, "Peter is coming home to visit."
His voice cracked, "What?!" Sam ran forward to his mother. "He ain't stayin' in his old room is he?"
"Yes Sam, but-"
"No!"
"Just listen to-"
"No Ma, he's nothing but a bully and I really don't got time for this right now!"
"Sam, you aren't a little kid anymore, he can't-"
"Can't what, Ma?" Sam threw his hands into the air emphatically. "I may not be a little kid anymore Momma, but he ain't either."
"He's your brother, Samuel."
"He's a Marine!"
"There is nothing wrong with being a Marine! For Christ's sakes, Sam, one of your favorite movies is Full Metal Jacket!"
"Actors and fake filmed death got nothin' to do with it! He's a real Marine! When I saw him last he was nothin' but a bully who could kick my ass, now he's a bully who can kill me!"
"He's your brother; he would never do anything that serious."
"Not that I'm gonna give him the chance!" Sam walked past his mother and to the kitchen phone. "I'm gonna be stayin' at Jimmy's 'til he leaves."
She sighed and tapped her foot on the kitchen's linoleum, "If his Mother is okay with it...and you will at least spend dinner with us."
"Fine...but Jimmy's comin' to dinner with us."
*****
"So what was so important that you couldn't tell me over the phone?" Jimmy flopped on this bed next to Sam's bag of clothes, then kicked it off the bed, frowning.
"He's back." Sam slumped onto the floor.
Pete had been a walking nightmare to Jimmy and Sam for their entire lives, but was ten times worse those few years before he was finally able to leave their small hometown and join the Marines. If he ever became a topic of discussion his name was never spoken. Pete was the tall and mysterious He looming in the back of both Sam and Jimmy's minds, keeping the boys from becoming too accustomed to the automatic surge of respect they'd gotten once Pete left because they would always have that reputation of his to keep people from being too mean - for fear that He would return and kick the asses of those who dared smack around his kin - and also a certain undisclosed degree of coolness for no longer having their asses kicked by Pete in front of anyone anywhere. In a way his being there made the fact that he'd left so much sweeter, but his return could potentially ruin every bit of acting they'd done to somehow convince half of the town's population that they weren't awkward teenage losers.
"We hafta do somethin'!"
"There's nothin' to be done. He's comin' whether we like it or not."
"No...not like that, I realize he can't be stopped. I mean we gotta do somethin'. Key up his car, piss in some random corner of his room so he can spend days thinkin' it's him that smells that way, fa-"
"So we can get killed? He's gone from noogies, to headlocks, to just straight breakin' our necks."
"He can't take both of us."
"Yes Jimmy," Sam raised his eyebrows and nodded his head, "he can. Have you even taken a look at us lately? We're scrawny little white kids. I mean, look at you!" Sam gestured to Jimmy's leather coat that hung on the doorknob. "You've had nine years to fill out that coat and despite the fact that its holey to hell 'cause you wear it every goddamn day it still don't fit!"
Jimmy stood on top of the bed, "Don't you go attackin' my fuckin' size just 'cause you wanna give up!"
Sam rested his head against the wall and closed his eyes. "I ain't givin' up...I'm just facin' the facts. If he tries to kick our asses, we don't got a chance." He opened his eyes and repeated himself, "We don't got a chance."
Jimmy plopped down to a sitting position on the bed and rested his elbows atop his knees. He glared off into the distance indignantly and muttered to himself as he usually did when suppressing a tantrum of stubbornness, "...I can fight...well..."
Sam looked over at Jimmy rested his head in his hands, getting annoyed with Jimmy's lack of acceptance. "I know you can Jimmy, but there's a difference between fightin' a mascot or some kid the same size as us and fightin' a fuckin' Marine."
"Well..." Jimmy was still muttering, "what if we were fightin' a drugged up Marine..."
"Jimmy, you're startin' to sound like a lunatic."
Jimmy let out what was nearly an old geezer's, 'harrumph!' and ended his muttering fit with a loud and clear observation, "And you're startin' to sound like your mother."
"Jimmy-"
"I know Sam...can I at least verbally taunt him?"
Sam gave him a look that showed he was clearly iffy on allowing this.
"Can I verbally taunt him in front of your mother?"
Sam knew that Pete never flew off the handle around their mother. She would walk in on one of his bullying spats, sure, but shit never got started in front of her. "Sure."
"And will you get rid of that face and gimme a little support if I do?"
Sam laughed a little. "Abso-fuckin'-lutely."
*****
Jimmy let his knuckles lightly brush the door, and swallowed hard.
"Just knock already." Sam folded his arms over his chest and stared out into the front lawn. They had just neatly placed their bikes in the garage, which was an unusual occurrence. Sam felt stupid enough for that, and just wanted to get this surely painful reunion over with, he was bored of doing everything he could to extend the time leading to it.
Jimmy pulled his hand back and brought it down loudly on the door. Exhaling weakly he repeated the motion two more times. "We'll think of something...we'll get him back for whatever he's gonna do..."
The door swung open and Sam's mother gave the both of them a warm and reassuring smile. Sam glanced past her small shoulders into the living room and there he sat. Peter Kendall Porter, Peter "The Pit Stain" Porter to those who dared to admit that he was a two dimensional paint-by-numbers bully. And here he was, buzz cut and all, after God knows how many months, weeks, days, of 'how to better beat up Sammy' training.
Sam's mother moved to let Jimmy walk past her, but put a hand on Sam's shoulder. "I know you aren't gonna believe me, but he's stressed that he is not the bully that he used to be."
"Oh I'll bet." Sam shook his head, to show his mother that he was disappointed in her choice to trust in whatever Pete had said.
She put her hands up defensively and raised both brows, "Whatever you wanna believe, Sam, it's up to you."
Sam returned her an apologetic smile, suddenly feeling bad for judging his mother so harshly. He moved into the room far enough for her to close the door behind them and watched as she walked around the two boys and sat in the recliner next to Pete's seat on the couch. Sam was intent on not making eye contact with him too much, but Jimmy was blatantly sending him glares.
"I was just tellin' Pete how I'd really have to get used to that hair."
Mother, Sam thought, always the peace keeper.
Pete smiled, "I see you've still got your mop, Sammy."
Sam made eye contact with Pete for the first time, and suddenly felt very childish for keeping his hair the same all those years. It was the very same style his mother had gotten cut on him since he was five years old, just after her bowl cut phase. Actually, when Sam really thought about it, his hair was just a modified bowl cut. A bowl cut that just happened to have no such distinctive part and shorter choppier cuts in the back. In reality, the fact that Sam considered shaking his head frantically an unproblematic form of brushing his hair was one of the only things that kept him from resembling that very five year old version of himself. Because of this chain of thoughts, Sam forced his posture straight and attempted to make his shoulders look broad. "My name ain't Sammy."
Pete's eyes faltered, though his wide smile still held. Seeing the look in his eye Sam's mother replied on her eldest son's behalf, "Well your name isn't Sam either, Samuel." She let out a laugh and was relieved to see Pete's eyes brighten again. This woman was hell bent on every person in her house having an, at the very least, decent time.
Jimmy seemingly floated a few steps back to stand at Sam's side. He leaned closer to Sam's ear and muttered, "Jesus fuckin' Christ those teeth are white..."
Sam's cold and complacent look faded to a confused one as he looked at his friend, who was staring like an angry - but hypnotized - bystander at his brother's teeth. "What?"
"I really missed bein' with family." Pete said, his smile leaving.
"Aww," Jimmy feigned pity, "poor Petey couldn't find himself a bitch in the Marines?"
"Jimmy..." That one word from Sam's mother's lips was a warning in and of itself and Jimmy apologized, which had now become a reflex.
Dinner was spent with Sam scowling at Pete from across the table and Jimmy exerting tiny scoffs every time he made an even remotely friendly comment towards the two younger boys. Sam's father seemed to be deaf when something less than positive was said or even hinted at and his mother would simply mutter a small, "Boys..." or "Please..." when she sensed that anyone at the table was become especially uncomfortable.
"Well, Boys..." Sam's mother began after her husband had left the table.
"Well, Momma," Pete laughed, "really Momma, you have no idea how great it feels to be thought of as one of the boys..."
Jimmy and Sam both rolled their eyes.
"I mean, you do get this great sense of...brotherhood when you're in the Marines but-"
"Gay." Jimmy snorted, followed by a chuckle from Sam.
"...but," Pete had hardly paused, "its nothing compared to the sense of unity you get when you know you're being included in a group you've known almost your entire life. Not even just Sam, Jimmy too..."
"Why don'cha just kiss me already, Candypants-"
"Jimmy, honestly! Are you five years old?" Sam's mother had kept outbursts of anger to a minimum, but felt that since Sam's father had left the table Jimmy was taking full advantage of that. Sam's laughs, which would normally be egging Jimmy on to no end, came to a halt as everyone at the table became dead serious.
"S-sorry Ma'am..." Jimmy looked down like a bruised puppy.
"Momma, don't shout at Jimmy, please. I understand this treatment from the both of them. I was a terror all of Sam's life, and most of Jimmy's despite the fact that I didn't even know his name until well after him n' Sam were friends. I wanna apologize to them, I-" he turned to Jimmy and Sam's side of the dinner table, "I wanna apologize to the both of you. I'm so sorry for puttin' you guys through that. You don’t have to forgive me, I just want you to consider the fact that I have changed."
Jimmy bit back the urge to follow up Pete's last words with, "into a faggot," after seeing Sam's mother's expectant glare. "I'll...consider it."
"Yeah..." Sam followed up.
"Thank you so much, guys. That's really all I ask."
*****
"I'm callin' bullshit on that fucker!" Jimmy slammed his bedroom door shut and kicked off his shoes.
Sam shrugged.
"Who the fuck does he think he is, spoutin' that 6' 3" pile of crap on us...not to mention on your Momma...I mean, does he have any respect for the woman?!"
Sam shrugged again.
"And of all the fuckin' clichés to throw at us!"
Sam shrugged once more, this time leaning against Jimmy's dresser.
"Talkin' that mess about bein' part of the group...the group. Does he think we're the fuckin' Power Rangers or some shit like that?!"
"Jimmy," Sam decided to nip Jimmy's rant in the bud, "have you considered the fact maybe he just...y'know, actually made a change while he was in the Marines?"
Jimmy made a face that Sam guessed a nun would make after The Pope blasphemed. "W-what?!" a look the nun would make after The Pope burned the Vatican, "You can't fall for that shit, Sam!"
"Well...he was in the Marines…you've seen movies and heard shit about the Marines. I guess that can change you or whatever."
Jimmy let random syllables and sounds exit his mouth as he desperately searched the sullied portion of his vocabulary for words to explain his friend's momentary madness. "Bu...wh...a-asshat..." was all he could manage.
Sam sighed, "Jimmy, let's just agree to disagree."
"Fine, but Pete's gonna have to fuckin' prove himself before I fold."
Americana: Part 1
Americana: Part 2
Americana: A Very Jimmy Drabble
Americana: Yesteryears Installment 1
Americana: Yesteryears Installment 2
Americana: I Smell Mascot