American Bad Boy(14)
When they told me I could discharge and finish my treatment at the Spalding Center near my hometown, I agreed. I mean, what else was I gonna do? Go hang out in an orange grove with my parents in Florida? Besides the military, Colorado has been the only home I’ve ever known.
I stare out my window blankly at the city sliding by. Suddenly, my eyes snap to focus when I see the red, white and blue flapping crisply in the spring wind. A row of flags lines the street, out the other window it’s the same. The blue on the flags compete with the blue of the sky. Parsons turns the corner and the road is lined down both sides with motorbikes, firemen, police and a ton of folks cheering.
A bunch of them are holding signs. “Welcome home.” “American Hero!” I wasn’t expecting this. The car slows down, and we pass hundreds of people waving and smiling. I roll down the window and wave back. On the sidewalk I see a pretty young thing with a couple of kids standing knee high to her. One of the boys stands straight and brings his little hand to his temple in a salute. I’m no softie, but I feel my heart twinge as I raise my hand to salute back at him.
The crowd seems endless; hell I’ve seen Veteran’s Day parades with less turn out. I know that when the footage first got released of me kicking the grenade away from Cooper, I was getting all kinds of attention. Interviews with 20/20, 60 minutes, even Oprah sat down with me. As the months in recovery wore on, the media buzz died down.
Unfortunately, so did all the fan mail from women who were offering me marriages and a womb to put my kids in. The wedding offers didn’t do anything for me, but some of the nasty descriptions of what they wanted to do to me to show their gratitude helped me get through some dark times. Luckily, when I was allowed to leave the hospital and mingle in the community, many more women were all too happy to show me just how grateful they really were. And flexible. If there’s anything better than a hot piece of ass with a patriotic streak and a deep throat, I don’t want to know.
No, wait, I do want to know. Send her my way.
“Well, holy shit Captain, it looks like the whole state came out to see you,” Lopez mutters in awe.
He’s not wrong, the street leading to the hospital is throbbing with people waving, shaking signs welcoming me over their heads and people giving me a thumbs up or salute.
A thunderous roar behind us makes me jump in my seat and twist around, fraying my nerves. For a second, my mind flashes to the desert and I expect to see a formation of Humvees rattling through the dust. Instead, I see a motorcycle group is roaring their engines as they follow the car in a different sort of convoy. My heart stops beating wildly in my chest and instead, I feel myself fighting to keep a lump in my throat from forming as I watch the group trail us in a v-formation, like a pack of Canadian geese heading south for the winter, with our car leading the way.
“I feel like I’m driving the president or something,” Parsons finally speaks again. I guess the crowd is even impressive enough to make him forget about the whole sperminator thing. For now, anyway.
He slows to a crawl as we make our way past the smiling faces. I could get out and walk faster than we’re driving and I’ve got one leg. It’s not like he has much choice though, with all the kids jumping around the car and trying to run up beside us, we’ve got to be careful.
Finally, we pull up to the rehab center and I catch my first glimpse of the media scrum waiting for us outside the front doors. The parking lot is overflowing with vehicles punctuated by full-sized, windowless vans with local and national news slogans and anchors faces plastered to the sides.
“Talk about a hero’s welcome,” Lopez smiles back at me, but the corners of his mouth quickly settle down into a straight line when he sees my face. “Hey, are you ok, Captain? You look a little distant.” His eyes dart over my face as I swallow my emotions and give myself a shake.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I just wasn’t expecting all this,” I answer truthfully. I won’t bother him with the detail about how just a noise brought me back to a war I left almost a year ago. He doesn’t need to know that simple sounds have the ability to make me jump outta my skin. No one needs to know that.
“Whaddya expect,” Parsons interrupts, “he’s probably overwhelmed with how much pussy he’s gonna get here, right Forrester?” His eyes twinkle at me in the rear view mirror and I give out a laugh too loud for the joke.
“Yeah man, you know it. Just scoping out my first hits back here,” I nod and Lopez watches me a bit too closely then nods back, and turns back around in his seat.
“Alright, we’re here,” Parsons announces as he pulls the car up to the curb of the hospital. I can see that the staff have had the foresight to cordon off the crowd from the entrance so I’ll be able to make it inside without being mobbed. Or maybe they did it so the media would be able to get better shots of my arrival. Camera crews line both sides of the sidewalk leading to the front doors of the building, waiting for my big entrance. As Parsons jerks the car to a stop and the guys jump out to retrieve my wheelchair from the trunk, I curse the stupid procedure that requires me to wheel into the building rather than walk in like I’ve been practicing now for seven months.