By Woolhats Traveling Mood
It wasn't really short, thank goodness, but his hair had lost all bounce it once owned.
Mike's hair didn't look that bad shorter, he remembered when Mike used to wear it like that out of choice, but he missed his own mass of curls. Peter hadn't said a word on the affair, quietly simmering alone, and Davy? Where exactly was Davy?
Micky continued polishing the floor, just in case the captain came by. He had never been one for accepting authority figures but this guy was really scary.
Mike had snagged a job in the radio room, lucky bastard. Being a natural musician made it easier for Morse code apparently. Peter was working in the canteen, strange but true...and where the hell was Davy?!
Micky was well and truly pissed off and he didn't mind admitting it. Why the hell did they have to be drafted anyway? Vietnam seemed a complete waste of time and it wasn't as if they would be any help on this useless, floating shit hole. Was there any real point? Micky couldn't see any; but then again, he only cleaned the floors...and the toilets, and the decks and everywhere else. Man he just wished the day would be over, as he did every day. He'd only been on the ship for a fortnight, and he
wanted to go home even more with everyday. He knew he should be thankful he wasn't fighting, but with every floor he cleaned he lost that little hint of optimism.
"You missed a spot curly! A snotty young sailor pointed at the floor before Micky as he proudly stepped on it in his filthy boots. Micky sneered, and was tempted to get up and hit him, but he didn't want to be pounded by the young sailor's friends, who were in abundance. Everyone seemed to
be in a gang and Micky couldn't help but feel the loner, a sitting target. He'd only been at sea for two weeks and he was already contemplating suicide.
The youth wandered off after losing interest and Micky sat back on his heels and thought. He hardly saw his friends anymore, despite sharing a cabin with all of them, and quite a few others. He hated hammocks more than ever now. It was typical that they were only there because there weren't enough beds and he lost the bed to Mike, he was never very good at choosing fingers. More importantly, he
hated being so lonely. He rarely saw Mike, who was always doing some kind of shift work, Peter was a dead loss, constantly silent and when he did speak he moaned on and on about peace and humanity.
Micky winced, hating the thought that the only reason he had these rotten jobs was because he had hit one of his best friends. And Davy? Where the fuck was Davy?
Just then, a shadow fell across Micky's back and he involuntarily shivered. Not again, his mind groaned and he turned to face the new interruption.
"Hey Mick," Mike smiled, squatting so that their faces were level.
"Oh, it's you. Micky murmured offhand, giving a little glare.
"What's up?"
"Fucking everything, that's what!"
"Sorry I spoke. Mike rose to leave.
Micky said nothing for a moment, then as the shadow began to fade, turned and called, "Don't go."
Mike stopped and turned, giving Micky a confused glance. Slowly he came closer again, still towering over Micky's humbled form. "Still not settling in huh? His southern drawl sounding loud and clear.
"Would you if you had to scrub fucking floors all day?"
"S'pose not."
"I never see any of you guys anymore, Jeez, it's like prison - they even cut my hair,"
"Mine too,"
"Yeah, well, yours was never that long anyway, and besides, you get a better job."
"Is that jealousy I hear?"
"Fuck you!"
"And the same to you."
Silence. Micky acted as if he were more interested in the floor for a while and then gave a hearty sigh.
"I don't think I can keep doing this Mike."
"Surely you're just being melodramatic now?"
"Can you just stop pissing me off for a moment?"
Mike stopped, closed his mouth, and decided to hear his friend out, an unusual act of equality.
Micky looked at him and sighed again, giving an air of tension to the whole conversation.
Finally Mike spoke. "I just came down here to tell you that I have the next two days free, been saving up my spare time, so when you're finished we could hang out for a while if you like, that is if you stop chewing my head off."
Micky's eyes lit up. "Really?"
"Sure...besides, I haven't seen the others much either."
"That makes two of us,"
Mike gave a small, wry smile. "See ya later Mick," He patted the drummer's shoulder and left just as quietly as he had arrived.
"He's a twisted son of a bitch. Micky told the floor quietly.
The bunks and hammocks filled the long rooms that were known as home to so many men in the bowels of the ship. The place always stank of foot odor and seaweed and every bed had its own individual creak, creating a symphony late at night, especially when the sea had gone beyond 'rough'.
Mike draped his long legs over his top bunk, eyeing Micky asleep in his hammock. He looked so peaceful sometimes, and it was the only time when he wasn't moaning. Yeah, he had
probably had a worse time than all of them, being pampered so much throughout his childhood that he didn't know the meaning of hardship. Mike winced, 'hardship' rang in his ears, the word his mother used so often after pa had left. The bastard.
Micky tried burying his head further in his hammock, failing miserably, his face holding a constant frown. Mike sighed, leaping down and standing beside the hammock, watching it swing level with his shoulder. Slowly, and checking no one else was around, he reached in and gently stroked Micky's face with a crooked finger. "You think you got troubles now, shotgun?" He breathed, closing his eyes
with remorse. It was hard to be ignorant to the stares Micky got from horny fellow sailors. It was going to be a long time in service, Mike knew that from the start, and protecting Micky wasn't one of the jobs he looked forward to doing, he had his own troubles. Why weren't the others around? And where the hell was Davy? No one had seen him in days.
Mike shook his head and went back to his bunk, guilt, fear, and exhaustion gnawing at his insides. He wanted to relax and sleep, but how could he when he was confronted with such a gorgeous sight and knowing full well that it wasn't just him who thought so. He peered around and eyed up a couple of stares aimed at Micky from shipmates, who had just wandered into the room, their bodily reactions
clear to see. This was not the place, or the time to let one's guard down, especially with Micky being so oblivious. Mike knew that they were really just kids, nothing more.
Everywhere they turned, the walls were lined with men who hadn't got laid for what seemed like decades, and nothing was going to stand in their way now. There weren't many new sailors on this ship, so kids like Micky were in extra danger of being 'picked off' and Mike knew that it would be
happening sooner rather than later if he didn't keep his wits about him. Mike rolled his eyes heavenwards for an answer, but didn't find one. At least the others could look after themselves, he hoped, once again looking at the overgrown child before him, baby eyes closed to the world in an unusual moment of bliss. "That's what you get for bringing up kids properly," The Texan murmured to the ceiling as he lay back and fought to stay awake.
Mike was woken by a loud creak near his ear and he groaned at the thought of being aware of the world once again. He rubbed his bleary eyes, cursing himself for falling asleep, and found Peter getting ready to camp down on the lower bunk.
"Hey. Mike whispered,
"Hi. Peter murmured deadpan and disappeared below.
Mike jumped down from his bunk and wished he hadn't. His legs immediately gave way, giddy from sleep and he grabbed onto the bed for support.
"What's up Stork? One of the other sailors laughed and Mike gave a two-fingered solute in reply.
Peter looked at Mike with dull eyes, despairing and angry. Mike gazed at Micky's hammock, and found that his own racket had woken him, and now the drummer lazily allowed his arms to dangle over the sides, bored and listless."That suits you, you know. Micky murmured, giggling at Mike's new nickname, and received Mike's pillow in his face, allowing him to show an even lazier smile in gratitude. He was just about to hurl it back when he stopped, arm suspended in mid-air, his mouth unhinging just a little.
"Where the fuck have you been?! He near screamed as Davy sauntered in.
Davy stalled and gazed at all the eyes that were on him. "About," He wavered his hand uncharacteristically.
Peter rolled his eyes and Mike crossed his arms, stepping into leader mode again. "Any explanations? We thought you'd drowned or something!"
"Just keep yourselves out of my business! Davy scolded, suddenly finding he had nowhere to go off and sulk. It was as he turned to find somewhere to go that Mike noticed something.
"And where did you get that black eye? He pointed to the black and blue swelling that conquered almost a quarter of Davy's face.
"Fell. He said tersely and turned on his hells, leaving them all in a thickening cloud of tension.
Mike stood there, teeth grit in anger and felt like hitting the nearest living thing, but restrained himself.
"Now see what you've done! Peter growled, lying back on his bed, acting like a spoilt teenager.
Mike rolled his eyes and headed towards the door.
"Hey, where ya goin'? Micky was obviously put out,
"Back to work! Mike snarled behind him.
The radio room seemed like miles away, right near the top of the ship. At least there was daylight, Mike always reassured himself. He rounded several more corners and found the small room where he worked alone, one of the minor radio rooms. As he wandered in he found a stranger sitting in his chair, unrecognizable from behind. "Hey, where's Smokey? Mike asked of the usual sailor who he worked shifts with.
"He left early, asked me to watch this place till you arrived. Davy murmured in his distinguishable
accent, "Sod's law I should bump into you again. He choked bitterly.
Mike shut the door, denying Davy's exit - he wanted answers. "Ok Dave, What's going on? He drawled, perching on a nearby desk. Davy turned to face him, his features unreadable.
"I don't know what you're going on about."
"Like hell you don't. Look Dave...I know,"
"Don't analyze me Mike, you don't know anything,"
"Just tell me who it is and I'll sort him out!"
"Shut-up, you don't know.!"
"Davy! Davy was quiet as Mike stood firm, fuming with anger, "I'm not stupid! You're showing all the signs, you didn't think you could fool me could you? Dave...are you being raped.?"
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