Outcast Read Free

and hear the disgust in his voice.
    Tirrell was led back to the barracks to collect his belongings. The handful of soldiers present who were preoccupied polishing boots, playing a raucous game of dominoes, or writing letters to loved ones snapped to attention when the sergeant walked in.
    â€œAs you were,” the sergeant allowed.
    They relaxed and quietly watched Tirrell as he moved to his bunk and began stuffing his things into a duffel bag. One of his comrades who was with him the night of the fight hurried over to him.
    â€œAre you okay, man?”
    â€œYeah, Hutch. It’s all good,” Tirrell responded without looking at the man.
    â€œYou sure you wanna do this?”
    â€œNothin’ I can do about it now.”
    The last thing he did was remove a photo of his mother and father he had taped to the inside of his footlocker. He smiled sadly before putting it into his shirt pocket and turning to face his friend.
    â€œYou take care, Hutch. Keep your head down.”
    The man nodded. “You too, bruh.”
    Tirrell threw the duffel bag over his shoulder and walked toward the sergeant and the MP who were waiting near the door. As he stepped toward them he sneered at one of the other guys and flipped him the bird: his last “fuck you” to someone, other than the man he’d beaten up, who had given him the most grief.
    Another MP, sitting behind the wheel of a Jeep, waited as he walked through the gate at the mouth of the base. No more words were exchanged between him and his sergeant. He was being banished. There was nothing more to say. Tirrell would never know that it was this same crotchety authoritarian who interceded and spoke to the injured private and appealed to the captain to change his mind in regard to the judgment he was within his right to impose.
    Tirrell tossed his duffel bag into the back seat and hopped in. Before pulling off, he took one last look over the expanse of Fort Bragg, and relief washed over him for the first time since this all began. Whether it was the wrong decision or not, at least he wasn’t going to spend any more time locked away, at least not here. That was enough—for now.

2
    Peering out the window, Tirrell sat anxiously at the back of the Greyhound bus as it motored up the highway toward the Georgia state line. The dusty haze of heat that suffocated the countryside was almost visible; he was thankful for air conditioning. There were hardly any other passengers on the bus; for that he was grateful. He was equally relieved that they all stayed to themselves. For several minutes he considered getting off the bus when it stopped. He thought that perhaps it would be best to head for Charlotte, or Greensboro, or Raleigh-Durham and start over in a place where nobody knew him; somewhere no one had expectations. But, he’d been enough of a coward running away from the Army.
    He could already hear the disenchantment in his grandmother’s voice telling him how he demeaned his grandfather’s memory and all that he stood for. He hadn’t called her in over a month, and he still didn’t feel ready to talk to her. At least the ride back home would give him enough time to devise an adequate cover story for his unexpected return to civilian life. Regret was slathered on his tongue like harsh-tasting medicine as he sat plotting the details and trying to make the words fit the crime. He was a man now and men had to take responsibility for their actions—cowardice or not.
    He’d hoped that Noonie would understand. Maybe even in time she would forgive him. “Noonie” was the endearment his half-brother, Kevin, bestowed on their grandmother, which grew out of her inexplicable love of Moon Pies. As a boy, Tirrell jokingly called her “Moonie,” but “Noonie” was the moniker that stuck. Despite his misgivings, he would be glad to be back in her house again, if she would have him. She was the only one in the family who