Oh Where Oh Where Can He Be?

It took over a week, and several trips going to the army headquarters and the General or his aide coming to my park to sort things out. In the end, it didn’t get sorted out right for me. They decided that dead black man was my Mitch. Can you imagine that? And they transferred me Mitch’s pension, life insurance and death pay. What about the poor black man’s real family? They oughta know he’s dead. That money belongs to them.

It was so ridiculous. I told them Mitch was white when he enrolled in the army. He was white the last time I saw him. And that black man, he don’t look nothing like Mitch. They said, well, he’s 6’2’’, so was Mitch, he was 245 lbs, so was Mitch, he had brown eyes, so did Mitch, he had brown hair, so did Mitch, he enrolled in the army 10 years ago, so did Mitch, he had a wife called Mindy and a son called Jesse, so did Mitch. Like, all the particulars about this man were exactly the same as Mitch’s, except he don’t got Mitch’s face and he ain’t Mitch.

And here’s the thing, Mitch checked off “Caucasian” on his army enrollment application. That mean, white guy, right? But every picture they had of Mitch was of that black man. I don’t understand how this could be. When did they get this dead man mixed up with my Mitch? Know what else puzzles me? How come Mitch was in Iraq with no one from his old squadron? He got sent to Iraq by himself. No one knew him there. No one knew what he looked like before he went to Iraq. And now suddenly, Mitch came back a dead black man. How come the army didn’t chase that down?

Instead, they put in their file I was too shocked and upset about Mitch’s death and could not make a positive identification. They’re going with their own records and certifying that Mitch is dead and his body returned to his family. That poor black man, returned to a stranger’s family.

And the bank. They say Mitch never had an account with them. They knew nothing about the money that Mitch saved up over the years. They just know that every month, I was getting a deposit from the army.

And now, I got all that money in my account - $185,000! Because the government put it in there. I don’t want to spend any of it in case the dead man’s family shows up later. But I have no money. Mitch’s money for this month never came in. I gotta dip into that man’s money until something happens. I don’t know what I’m waiting for to happen though.

Sure, the army paid for the funeral, but I still had expenses. They made me go to the funeral and I had to buy a dress. There weren’t a lot of people at the service. Obviously, none of them knew the dead man; none of them knew Mitch neither. I didn’t want to bring everyone from the park, except Sam and Leslie. But they were there for my sake, to make sure nothing crazier happens. I didn’t tell Mitch’s parents either. I mean, c’mon, that’s not Mitch.

It was awful. People started giving me their condolences. I couldn’t say, Hell no, that’s not my husband, I never seen him before until he showed up dead, that’s just some stranger they mistook for Mitch. I didn’t want to sound like a bitch and cause a scene. I mean, whether he’s my husband or not, he’s still dead and don’t deserve to have a scene made at his funeral.

I haven’t told Jesse about any of this yet. What was I supposed to say? Oh, while you were in jail, your dad officially died. But it wasn't him. The government gave us a dead black guy for your father, but then they gave us lots of money too, even though I said the dead guy's not my husband. And because that money belongs to the dead guy’s family, I can’t use it to bail you even though it’s sitting in my bank. And your dad, well I have no idea what happened to him or where he is right now. Actually, that sounds good. Maybe I’ll go with that when I see him.

That is the biggest question, Where is Mitch? What happened to him?

Who's That Man?

The General came back in the afternoon and brought me flowers. Sam and I had done our crying already. I wanted to get this ID thing over with, but I needed time to get used to the idea of Mitch being gone. So we told the General to come back the next day to take me and Sam to the army morgue.

That night, people came to say their condolences. Word got out already. I don’t remember who came, I just remember I didn’t go to bed till late.

The next morning, the General was back. He had an aide with him this time. They walked with me and Sam out the park. Everyone was watching. At the gate, Dean nodded and said, “Hope things work out, Mindy. Good luck.”

We got into the limousine. It was the fanciest car I had ever been in. The aide gave us drinks and food. Gosh, bubbly and orange juice in the morning! And some crescent rolls, real buttery, light and fluffy. They really know how to live, these army guys.

I’m sad that my husband died. But I wasn’t as upset about it as I thought. I mean, Mitch hadn’t really been around the last ten years. I only saw him every six months or so, right? And each time only for a few days. I had my own life going. I hadn’t even seen him for over a year now. I miss the idea of him. Him? Not so much. But I don’t like the idea that I am a widow.

We drove for over three hours. The army head office is outside the capital - it’s a huge place, like a suburb all its own. All along the road, there were barracks and small buildings. Not especially pretty. We finally pulled into a parking lot and walked up to a big building with the national flag all over the place. If you didn’t know this was army headquarters, you’d still suspect the building has something to do with the government.

I was nervous going in. I’ve never seen a dead body before, even though this one is Mitch. The aide took us into a room with big black armchairs. We waited a while, then he and the General came back to take us to the morgue.

Morgues are morgues. No matter if they are in a hospital or in the army building, you still feel creepy knowing you’re going into one. The hallway in the basement had all these doors that were closed. You don’t get an idea of what’s in those rooms, you can’t even peek in a window or nothing.

The aide stopped in front of one of the doors, pulled out a set of keys and opened the door. Yup, it’s the morgue alright. It’s cold inside. He went up to a big drawer, checked the name on the front and pulled it out. I stopped about 10 feet from the drawer.

“Mrs. Batten,” said the aide. “Would you come a bit closer and identify him please.”

Sam put her arm around my waist and we walked up slowly. I couldn’t even look at the body. I was almost right beside it before I turned my head to look. Then I looked and I looked. I looked at him this way and that. I walked around the body and looked from the other side. I bent closer and peered at the face up and down. Sam looked too. She walked around with me and looked. Her eyebrows were cringed in a perplexed way, looking like I felt. The General said,

“Mrs. Batten, is this your husband, Mitchell Batten?”

I look at him, then at the aide. I looked at Sam. I could barely speak. Sam said,

“Have you make a mistake?”

The aide quickly checked the name on the drawer and the papers in his hands. He looked at the body, checked the photograph in his file and said,

“No, m’am, there is no mistake. According to our information, this is Mitchell Batten of Wittle Lake. Mrs. Batten, Is this your husband?”

I said, “No, this is not Mitch. I’ve never seen him in my life.”

The General and the aide huddled in a whisper. Me and Sam formed our own huddle. Then the General turned back to us and said,

“Are you positive, Mrs. Batten? An expired body often doesn’t look as… well, as animated as the man you’re used to. But the facial features are essentially the same.”

“General Glover,” I said, “I don’t expect Mitch to be talking to me telling me that’s his body lying there. I expect he might look a little different. But when you’re dead, you don’t change colour, do you? You don’t suddenly become a difference race soon as you die. This here is a black man. My Mitch is not black.”

The General said, “Mrs. Batten, it’s been a long time since you last saw your husband…”

“What? You think I forgot he’s black or something? This man is not my husband.”

“But all his records and identification show that he is Mitchell Batten.”

“His name may be Mitchell Batten, but he’s not my Mitch.”

The General looked at Sam and said, “Is this man familiar to you?”

“No, I’ve never seen him before. Mitch is white, like you and me, like all of us in this room, not black.”

“Well,” said the General, “Let’s return to my office and we will review all the documents.”

Talking To The General

No one died. No one’s hurt. Just because I got the hots for Ogden, don’t mean I can’t fuck his dad. It was just a bit of a shock meeting him that way. Ogden is 29? I thought he was much younger. But that means he’s not Jesse’s peer. Which makes him more fuckable. We are consenting adults after all. We will be anyway.

I didn’t tell Ray I was Jesse’s mother. It didn’t feel right talking about it. I don’t mix sex and Jesse. I did wonder if I shouldn’t catch a ride with Ray to the prison to see Jesse but decided against it. I wanted to go home and change. So Ray, sweet guy, dropped me off at the park before he went on his way.

Once I was settled in front of my tent, Sam came by.

“Hey, you recovered yet?” she said.

“From what?

“Last week.”

“Oh. Almost. And you?”

“It was mostly my hands that got bleached. But I’m okay. Liz come home yet with the new baby?”

“Yeah, hadn’t seen much of them. They’re their usual quiet selves. What’s new with you?”

We were just catching up. I told her about meeting Ray and she was laughing like a crazy person when a man walked onto my site. He was in his fifties, real stern looking, wearing a black suit. He must be the man who was looking for me last week. I had forgotten about him. When he got close, I said,

“Hey, looking for me?”

“Would you be Mindy Batten?” he asked.

“That’d be me.”

“Are you be married to Mitchell Batten?”

“That’s me.”

“Mrs. Batten. I am from the Army Reserve, 11th Brigade. I am the home officer in charge of the squadron that your husband Mitchell was assigned to. My name is General Sydney Glover.” He stuck out his hand to shake mine. Then he turned to Sam and said, “You must be a friend of Mrs. Batten’s. Hello.” He shook her hand too. He was a real gentleman despite the grim look on his face.

“That’s a striking hair colour you have, Mrs. Batten. May I call you Mindy?” he said.

“Sure, everyone else does,” I said.

“Mindy, I’m making a duty call to you today. I’d like to take you to our office in the city so I can relay some information to you. If you have family or a close friend you’d like to bring, we could accommodate that as well.”

“What’s going on? Is this news about Mitch? What’s happened to him?”

“Or I can relay the information to you here if you prefer, Mindy.”

“Tell me here. Sam is my good friend. She can stay for this. Saves me telling her later.”

“Mindy, the news I have to deliver is not good.”

“Oh crap! What now? What’s Mitch done? Oh for chrissake.” I put my head in my hands. Sam started rubbing my back, saying,

“It’s okay, it’s okay. Let’s hear what the man has to say.”

“Mindy, I came to look for you as soon as we knew. But you weren’t here last week.” He reached over and took my hand. “Mindy, Mitch was killed in action. His body arrived in the city yesterday. I would like to make arrangements with you to come identify the body.”

Sam gasped in spite of herself.

“What?” I screamed. “What do you mean killed in action? What kind of action? Mitch was a cook. A cook in the army. How could he be killed in action? He never fought in the field.”

“Mindy, I know this comes as a shock to you. I’m so sorry,” said the General. He was still squeezing my hand. I shook him off.

“Are you sure it was him?” I said.

“We made a positive identification. He had all his ID on him. His battalion ID’d him. But we also want you to come to identify him. When you are ready, of course.”

“What happened? How did he get in the field?”

“Well, he wasn’t quite in the field.”

“Where was he?”

“He was in the camp kitchen.”

“You guys got bombed?”

“No. Mitch had an accident. He fell.”

“What? How? You better tell me what happened.”

“Mitch had a little too much to drink. He argued with the new chef.”

“What? He was killed by…by one of your chefs? Someone on his own side?”

“No, no, no one killed him. Mitch argued with the chef. That’s all.”

“What did they argue about that Mitch should die for it?”

“We are unable to verify that of course. However, there were witnesses who claim that they argued about whether real clam chowder contains tomatoes.”

“Mitch never made clam chowder at home.”

“That apparently was one of Mitch’s specialties. He put tomatoes in his.”

“So how did he die? What happened?”

“The new chef does not put tomato in his chowder. Mitch wanted to convince him clam chowder is better with tomatoes. Witnesses say they were both quite inebriated. The new chef stormed out of the kitchen. And Mitch set about making a chowder with tomatoes. But he was unsteady. The army does not condone alcohol of course, especially in Iraq, where alcohol is not permitted. We are not sure where Mitch obtained his whisky. We only know that he had quite a high level of alcohol in his blood when he died.

Mitch cut up tomatoes for the chowder. But like I said, he was unsteady. He dropped a lot of tomatoes on the kitchen floor. At one point, he slipped on the tomatoes and banged his head, quite hard. Actually, he hit his head on a large iron grill. He died immediately. Mitch did not suffer, Mindy.”

“What? How can someone die from a single fall?”

“Mindy, it’s rare, but it happens. Especially if you hit the back of your head, hard. Unfortunately, it happened to Mitch.”

“My god, I can’t believe it. I can’t believe this has happened. I can't believe you're telling me this. Now what? What’ll happen to Jesse and me?”

“We’d like you to come and ID the body, when you’re ready. Then we will return the body to you for burial. The army will cover the expenses of course.”

“Is that why there’s been no money coming into my account from Mitch?”

“I don't know anything about any arrangement Mitch may have made for you. However, once we take care of the administrative details, we will be able to pay Mitch’s pension and insurance money out to you. And because the death took place while he was on active duty, there will be additional compensation as well. I don’t know what the total amount of these payments will be. But I have arranged for you to see our administrative personnel to get the details and to sign papers to release the funds.”

Sam was hugging me and crying.

“Mindy,” said the General, “I will take my leave for now. I will come back this afternoon. If you are ready to go identify the body then, I will have a car ready to take you to our office. Otherwise, we can arrange for another time for you to come. Do you have other family or friends you’d like to be with right now?”

“No, no. I have no family near. I don’t want Jesse to know until…well until I see Mitch to make sure it’s him.”

The General left us. I was just stunned.

This was devastating news. My Mitch gone. How will I tell Jesse? I guess I should identify the body first, get whatever payments are coming, then go from there. My god, I am completely alone in the world right now.

At Wits End

Leslie worked at a pub called Wits End. Shannon drove us there without getting us killed. At 8:30, the place wasn’t full yet. Lots of men were standing by the bar or sitting by themselves at tables. There were tall ones and short ones, young ones and old ones, muscular ones and skinny ones. Oh my. There must’ve been 20 men by themselves in that pub. I’ll have my pick tonight.

All the men turned and smiled at us when we walked in. Leslie and another waitress were working. She waved at us and pointed to a table in the corner. We went and sat down.

Leslie came over to take our order. Shannon and the others ordered two drinks each right away.

“What about you, Mindy, what’ll you have?” said Leslie.

I said, “Girls, why are you here, in this pub?”

“We came to drink,” said Molly.

“And to meet men,” said Babsy.

“Well then, why are you ordering drinks?” I said. “How will a man break the ice if he can’t buy you a drink? He won’t want to if you’ve already got a few in front of you.”

“We can drink more than one, you know,” said Babsy.

“That is just no class at all, a woman sitting there with several drinks in front of her,” I said. "You look like a cheap whore in need of a drink, not a classy woman in need of a man.”

“Oh. Okay, I’ll just have one drink, Leslie,” said Molly.

“Me too,” said Babsy.

“Well, I guess I’ll have to keep with my drinking buddies. One only for me please,” sang Shannon.

Leslie shook her head and went to get their drinks.

Over the next half hour, more people came in - women by themselves, couples, and more men. I was checking the guys out to see which ones I liked when this older man came up to me.

“Hey pretty lady, what’re you drinking?” he said. I turned and winked at the girls. “I bet you’d like a screwdriver, won’t you,” he said. He was direct, this one. And a little drunk already. He was too old for my liking, but not shabbily dressed. Travelling through likely. I didn’t want to settle for this one right away when there were so many to pick from.

Leslie came up and put a beer in front of me. She nodded at a young, muscular guy at the bar. “From your friend over there,” she said.

I turned to the older man and said, “Can I take a rain check on that drink? I’m going to say hello to my friend over there.” I picked up my drink and walked over to the bar, glad to get rid of the old codger.

Soon, I was at the bar with several guys around me and we were chatting and laughing. The band started playing so you have to shout even when you’re talking to someone right beside you. It means you have to lean real close and nuzzle someone’s ear in order to be heard.

Body language. You have to know body language when you’re man hunting. I have great body language with a tart accent. Me and these guys, we’re all hanging together because we want to see who I’ll have sex with tonight, and the ones I don’t fuck, they want to get in line for another time. See, no misunderstanding.

How do I know this? Look how I never sit up straight. I’m always draping myself on one man or the other with my arm, leg or body. And I always thrust my breasts out at whoever is in front of me. I touch the man I’m talking to - stroke his chin, arm, back, leg, or butt. Not just touch. You let your fingers linger there so they feel your heat.

My T-shirt helped too. They’re all making like they’re just following instructions to squeeze my boobs and I’m making like I don’t want them to. That way, you keep them all interested. They all stay ‘cause they want more.

Shannon gets it. See how she leans her body into that man behind her while she’s talking to that other guy? But Molly and Babsy - no one’s talking to them. They’re just hangers on to what Molly’s doing.

Things were going pretty good for me. But then that bitch Shannon stood up and walked over. Somehow she’d ditched her sweater. She was just wearing her cardigan, with the top buttons open, and she had cleavage, and her nipples showed through her cardigan. She sauntered by with one hand held up and purred, “Hello boys,” stroking every guy around me on the jaw.

All my guys, they turned their heads to watch her wiggle down the hall into the ladies room.

I struggled for words. Me, a pro at keeping men’s attention. I said, “You like that do you?”

They muttered, “Yeah, no, she’s nice, but you’re nice too”. Oh fuck off and die already.

After that, the guys got all awkward and straightened up, like they just woke up or something. One left and stood by the hall, probably to wait for fucking Shannon to come back. One just went back to his table and sat down. One ordered me a drink, then said, “Excuse me.” I never saw him again for the rest of the night. Another one stood by, all embarrassed and uncomfortable. So I sent him to sit down with the one already at the table. I needed a break from flirting. I’m not going home empty-handed tonight. I needed a new plan to snag me a man.

I hate that bitch Shannon. I went back to our table where Molly and Babsy were and sat down. All that work wasted. I am not going to give her the satisfaction of going home with anyone either. Just wait till you get back, bitch.

The old guy who wanted to buy me a screwdriver earlier came over. He said,

“Can I interest you in a dance?”

Well, why not? I didn’t want to sit there with the ding dongs. And I didn’t want Shannon to come back and see she’s crashed my party. So I got up and danced with him.

“My name is Reebus,” said the screwdriver man.

“Beavis?” I said.

“No, Reebus, Reebus,” he shouted. “You can call me Ray. You are very beautiful.”

Well now he’s talking. For an old guy, he’s got good dance moves. He’s got rhythm and seemed sure on the dance floor. He moved real close to me and push his groin into me. Wow, good equipment. Then he moved back and twirled me round and round. Somehow, I adapted my moves to his. But I made sure I brushed my breasts against his chest and arms every once in a while. I couldn’t help it. Every now and then, he touched my breasts, but ever so subtly, like it was an accident.

“We make good moves together,” Ray said.

“We’re on fire,” I said.

After about half an hour, he said,

“Would you like a drink now? A screwdriver, perhaps? Or straight to the screw?”

Oh he’s so sassy.

“Yes, all of them,” I said.

So he took my hand and led me outside. We got into his car and drive to his motel by the edge of town. We ran into his room and were almost naked before he could lock the door.

Oh my god, it was just the best fuck ever. I really wanted it. We were all over each other. Who knew an old guy like that could do it twice.

In the morning, I said,

“What’s your name again?”

“Ray.”

“You’re not from around here, are you?”

“No, I came here to see my son.”

“Where’s your son?”

“He’s about an hour away in the city.”

“What does he do?”

“I’m not sure. He’s 29 and single. He does bits of this and that to get by I think. He’s actually a resident of Wittle Lake. He’s got a room somewhere here. But he got into a bit of trouble a while ago and is spending some time in the county jail right now.”

“Did he commit a crime or something?”

“I’m not sure. I think he and some kid set fire to a solid waste sanitation truck.”

“No kidding.”

Oh Jesus Christ, I know I just fucked Ogden’s dad.

Gussied Up

I was so desperate for sex I was even nice to stupid Shannon the gossip whore. I saw her when I went to the showers. She had just finished and was talking with Leslie. When she saw me, she said,

“Oh, how are things going with you, Mindy.”

I hate the way she singsongs when she talks, always trying to sound so faky chirpy and phony concerned at the same time.

“I’ve been better, Shan,” I said. “Hi Leslie.” Leslie was my other good friend. I was hoping Shannon would leave so I could talk to Leslie.

“Mindy, I came looking for you a couple of times, but you were out. You okay?” said Leslie.

“Yeah. Just been busy.” I said.

“We’ve been so worried about you too,” said phony baloney Shannon.

Yeah, as if. Shannon’s husband left her four years ago for a younger, blonder, boobsier bimbo, or maybe she was the young, blond, boobsy bimbo so he left her. When the marriage broke up, she moved in with her parents in the park. She supposedly looks after them now. But there's nothing wrong with them. They were fine before she got here. They are still fine.

“I’m just getting ready for work,” said Leslie. She works as a waitress at a pub in town. “I’ll finish late. Are you around tomorrow? How about I come by when I get up?”

“I’m here, unless I get a ride to see Jesse,” I said.

“Oh, the girls and I, we’re going into town tonight. To have a few drinks, maybe meet some guys.” said Shannon. “Hey, maybe we’ll go to Leslie’s pub. You want to come with us?”

What? Shannon the lying canon asking me to go out with her bimbos? I’d rather be nailed to the toilet floor than to be seen outside the park with her. But then it’s a night out. And I might get lucky. I need to get lucky. Shannon is just transportation, a ride, ‘cause that’s all she’s good for. And now she can be my ride. Oh I can be so funny sometimes.

“Sure, Shannon, I’d love to go,” I said. Leslie gave me that wide-eye you-know-what-you’re-getting-into? look. “You driving?”

“Yeah,” said Shannon, looking surprised and regretting her invitation. But she recovered immediately. “We’re meeting at the gate at 8:00. Don’t be late, or we’ll go without you. Ha ha ha. Ta, ta.” She wiggled down the road to her site.

Leslie said, “What’re you doing? You really going to spend the night with that bunch?”

“I get lonely,” I said.

“Oh god, the things you do for sex. Get them to come to the pub. I want to be there to see you hanging with her.”

So I got showered and dressed. I had $10 from what Sam loaned me. But how I operate, I don’t pay for my own drinks. I have principles. If a guy can’t buy you a drink at a pub, he doesn't deserve to have a go at you.

I can get used to this short hair. You don’t have to blow dry it or anything. You just mousse and gel it and you look sexy and real dangerous with your hair standing up. I put on my best bra that lifts and separates. The trick to attracting men for sex is to put your boobs up front where they belong. I got good, noticeable boobs. They just need a little help with positioning sometimes.

And if you got a good ass like me, show that off in tight jeans and heels. You gotta stand up straight too, not hunched over like you’re afraid of what men are thinking. Red lipstick is a must. Makes men think about blow jobs.

I wore my red T-shirt with “Squeeze Here” across the front in big bold letters. And I wore my red fuck-me pumps to match my lipstick and T-shirt. God I looked classic. Simple but hot. I feel six inches taller already.

So I get to the gate just before 8:00 and the other two girls were already there. We were just waiting for Shannon.

“Hey, I heard you were coming with us,” said Molly.

“How come you never came with us before,” said Babsy.

“I wanted a change,” I said.

What was I supposed to say? I don’t like you and I don’t want to be seen with the likes of you? Even standing there waiting, I didn’t want to talk to these two ding-dongs. Look at them. Molly has a drabby long-sleeve shirt on. Where do her boobs end and her stomach begin? And short shorts? She’s too fat for them. And Babsy, she’s got on a blue and green striped sports bra, with chains and beads hanging off her neck. A man would choke on her junk if he tried to kiss her neck. And for god sakes, she’s got on sweat bell bottoms, with a stripe down the side of the leg. Who does she think she is, Sporty Spice?

Shannon came running up with her dyed blond hair all twisted in a knot on top of her head. She was wearing a pink sweater and cardigan set, black pants and black flats. What kind of look is that? Where’s the sex appeal?

She said to me, “You look good, trussed up. I mean, all dressed and gussied up like that.” Shannon curled her lip in a smirk.

The bitch. I have to ditch this bunch when we get to the pub.