The Eyes Of Men: A Collection Of Short Stories

Soldier Games

"Boys will be boys," said the gas station attendant with a dismissive laugh.

"I am so sorry about this." Clayton's mom apologized once more as she finished paying for the gas and concessions, "Boys put those down and get back into the car!" Clayton took one last swing at Scott with the nerf-foam swords that they had been play-fighting with, before they left the building.

After returning to the minivan, Clayton's mom divvied out the drinks and snacks. "No I wanted the Doritos." Chris complained, "No you got the cool ranch, I got the nacho cheese," Scott said. "Who got the beef jerky?" Cory inquired. "That's mine." Eric's prepubescent voice cracked from the way back row.

"Ok there's three Gatorades, and two Dr.peppers, and one cherry Coke."

"It was supposed to be Pepsi, not Coke!" Clayton complained.

Clayton's mom looked annoyed, "Well maybe if you had been helping instead of horsing around in the store, I would've gotten the right one."

"I'm not going to drink that piss." Clayton whined, "Coke is disgusting... it tastes like dirt."

Clayton's mom paused for a sigh, "That's fine, you don't have to drink it, but that's all that you are getting."

"Mom! Fuck that! Go get me the right one now!" Clayton countered as he kicked the seat.

"Clayton, no, we're not doing this... I'll call-off this entire weekend if you start."

"Mom, don't be a bitch. You're the one who got the wrong drink." Clayton's face was turning purple from anger. The car full of boys had gone mostly quiet now. They weren't used to seeing such abuse of one's own mother. In fact, not a one of them would've openly used that kind of language in front of their mothers.

"Clayton, I am serious," her tone had grown real low now, somewhere between a whisper and a growl.

"Fine, I'll drink the disgusting drink." He unscrewed the cap and gulped down the entire bottle in five deep, rapid gulps. Then he let out a loud belch that would've made a trucker blush.

"That's disgusting." Clayton's mom murmured as she turned away to start the car. The rest of the boys began to laugh now. "Gross! I can smell it!"

"Dude you're such a butt-tard."

"What's a butt-tard?"

"You."

"At least I'm not pussy."

Clayton leaned over the seat and punched Chris in the arm. Chris returned with an even harder punch back. "Oh fuck, that was a good one!" They continued to exchange blows back and forth yelling slurs as the other boys cheered them on.

The rest of the three-and-a-half hour drive went on like this, all the way from the city to the outskirts of town. The car smelled of feet, farts, and testosterone sweat from the 6 eighth-grade boys crowded in, on their way for a weekend to play paintball at Clayton's father's cabin, located on some 16 acres of privately-owned property.

The scenery changed drastically from neighborhoods and retail shops to deep wooded hills lined with pine trees that filled the sky with their plush green branches. The road was windy and desolate all the way up to the cabin.

At the entry there was a large mechanical steel gate that opened with the click of a button like a garage door. Eric was impressed with the size of the cabin. He had imagined something more like the cabins one sees in the movies, like four simple walls made of timber with a wooden roof and a stone chimney, but this was more like a lodge resort then a cabin; like something a movie star would own. Eric knew that Clayton's family had money, but this was beyond his imagination; their hunting cabin was at least three times the size of Eric's family's primary home.