Third Person - Complete

You Can't Go Home Again

It was raining when Roberts got out of the cab, staring at the little house in front of him. It was designed the same as every other house in the little cul-de-sac, with an attached garage, a lawn with a white picket fence, and a driveway. Even though he had only been gone less than year it just felt like the house should look different some how.

It didn't though.

"You need help with your luggage?" The cabbie asked.

"Please," Roberts said, staring at the house.

It looked... alien. Foreign.

The cabbie got out, getting Roberts's suitcases out of the trunk. Roberts hadn't had suitcases, his luggage had been his dufflebags, but Stillwater had borrowed the suitcases from someone else. Roberts had been surprised at how Stillwater had packed his stuff carefully, asking if Roberts wanted each article of clothing before folding it and putting it in the suitcase.

The way Stillwater had treated him had creeped Roberts out. Stillwater had waited at the Air Force terminal for the flight with Roberts and right before Roberts had boarded the plane Stillwater had handed him an envelope that had read "Wounded Soldier's Fund."

It had contained a bunch of twenty dollar bills.

"Ready," the cabbie said.

"All right," Roberts said, still staring at the house. His thoughts felt fuzzy and Roberts figured it was the painkillers he'd taken when he'd gotten off the plane.

Roberts walked up to the gate, opening it with his left hand. His right arm was in a sling to take the weight off his shoulder and keep his collarbone still even though he wore a figure-eight brace brace under his Class-A's.

Before he'd ended up in 2/19th, Roberts had loved his Class-A uniform. Loved the way it looked, how official and snazzy he looked in it. The fact he'd had two Army Achievement Medals as well as his National Defense Medal ribbons, his rifle and grenade Expert marksmanship badges.

Now he hated it.

The fact that when he'd gone to see Colonel Henry, who had signed Roberts's leave form and encouraged him to continue medical care while on leave, Roberts had been pinned with new medals. The awards had been pinned to his Class-A's, Roberts standing in front of the big Colonel, with the Executive Officer, the Sergeant Major, Lieutenant Dawson, Sergeant Battle, and Sergeant Stillwater watching.

It had hurt, getting those medals. In some way that Roberts didn't understand.

The gate crunched as it the spring pulled it shut behind the cabbie.

It felt strange. It was seven in the morning according to Roberts's new watch, but it felt... off. Maybe it was the rain, maybe the clouds, but Roberts felt off. Like the day wasn't moving, like time was holding still.

When they reached the porch the cabbie set down the bags.

"How much do I owe you?" Roberts asked.

"Twenty-eight thirty-five," The cabbie said.

Roberts nodded, reaching in his front pocket and digging out his wallet. He used his teeth to help tear open the wallet, digging out two twenties.

"Keep the change. Thanks, man," Roberts said.

"Thank you," The cabbie said. "Hope you heal up good."

"Thanks," Roberts said, staring at the door as the cabbie walked away.

Somewhere behind him a dog barked.

The door was the same. Dark stained wood, little half-moon glass window, brass door handle. Roberts could see the scratches on the brass kick plate at the base of the door and thought to himself that he'd never noticed them before. The doorbell light was glowing slightly. Not enough to cast light, even with the overcast day, just enough to light up the little plastic bump.