Dumbfounded, he caught up with Sunny at the PX, where he was loading two cases of beer and five big bags of chips into a cart.
–Hey, sir?
A wide grin greeted him. –Professor Miller! ”Sir?” Qué pasa?
–Your wallet. I found it on the floor! Here.
His bunkmate took the wallet with a relieved whistle.
–Gracias, amigo. You peek inside?
–Ehhh ...yes I did. Mark said. –Um. Sir. Are you a captain?
Sunny's expression turned stony, like the photo on his ID.
–I was. The Army and I didn’t part on the best terms.
–What happened?
–I was dishonorably discharged. Cuervo es un pájaro de mal agüero, no? I don’t talk about it.
–I'm sorry, I...
–No problems. I’m just here to make money, ese. The grin was back, and he slapped Mark hard on the back. –Jajaja. We could use some bonding time, sí Pepe? Let’s watch a movie, eat Cheetos, and drink beer! Ain’t no harm in having some fun while we’re stuck here?
–Yes. I…I need to buy some toilet paper.
–Ohhh. Need company on the throne, huh? Haha! Just kidding!
Sunny grabbed a bag of Flaming Cheetos and tossed it in the cart, then pointed to a rack of glossy publications. –Ay! Playboy! I’ll have some to keep me sane when I’m away from mi novia. You?
–No, I’ll pass, thanks.
–Suit yourself. Let me know if you change your mind. Haha!
–Will do, thanks.
Mark paid for his toilet rolls and left the PX with a headache. He decided to walk around the camp, trying to clear his head of Alejandro’s chatter, but he didn’t get far.
–Hey, Millerado! Wait up!
He turned around. Sunny was already catching up to him, carrying a six-pack in each arm and some plastic bags.
–Hey amigo, my bad for clowning around like that. It’s just how I roll, you know? Trying to keep the vibes chill and all. War is rough, ese! So how ‘bout we reschedule those Cheetos?
–Yeah, sounds fine.
–Great! We can ditch these BDUs, put on some PJs, and watch some flicks! What do you say, PFC Grumpy Pants?
–Not tonight, I have a migraine.
–Friday then? Sunny held up one of the bags like a peace offering. –Chili Cheese Fritos! You’re Mexicano! Listen, I know I can be hella intense sometimes, but I just wanna make sure we good, eh?
–Yeah, we’re good.
Back in the room, Sunny dumped his bags on the bunk, opened a beer and drank.
–Cerveza PFC?
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–Nah, I don’t drink anymore. Had an accident.
–What? You wanna talk about it?
–Nope.
–Jaja. The former captain grabbed a magazine and started fanning himself with it. –Oye, I'm gonna hit the shower and amuse myself with girls. Ok? He ripped off his shirt and threw it across the bunk. –See you cabrón! Don't do anything I wouldn't do, eh.
And then he was gone, leaving the room suddenly silent. Mark sank down at the desk, his head buzzing like a thousand flies.
Heck, this was worse than the chickens in old Pete’s barn at feeding time.
The pen and paper were still where he’d left them, and he started writing just to calm himself down.
Hi Ma,
Hope everything’s going well back home. I’ve been practicing shooting with the M16, getting better every day. The food here’s better than I thought it would be—not great, but not bad. I got a new bunkmate. He’s from Mexico and kinda loco, but he’s alright. Calls himself Sunny, which fits him, I guess. He is ––
He paused, the pen tapping against the paper. His eyes drifted to the empty bunk and Sunny's red shirt lying there. Without thinking, he reached out for it. Old Spice. Sweat. Liquor. He brought the shirt to his chin and closed his eyes. El Fenómeno.
–Boo! Hahaha!
Sunny was back in nothing but a towel and a toothbrush hanging from his mouth.
Mark dropped the shirt like it was on fire.
This wasn’t happening. No. That wasn’t what this was. Not even close.
–Oye, what you doing with mi camisa you loco? Ahah, you were inhaling testosterone! No se preocupes, amigo.
He pulled the toothbrush out and let the towel fall to the floor, nothing between Mark and him but air.
–Relax and take a good look, it’s something to dream about tonight, right? Hahaha!
He gave his butt a little shake.
–Private Grumpy, give a hug, cabrón. Come on, don’t be shy! Stand up.
Mark stood up, hands dangling at his sides. Sunny grabbed his wrists, guiding them to his own back, their faces just inches apart. A warmth spread from the young soldier's cheeks all the way down to his toes as two wet, muscular arms wrapped around him.
–Nothing to worry about eh, guapo?
–I…no… I...
–Bien. See you in the morning, Pepe. Buenos Noches!
Sunny winked and climbed into his bed as if nothing had happened, and a few minutes later he was snoring. Mark sank back onto the bed, his heart pounding like crazy.
”Fucking shit", he mumbled to himself. "Fucking, fucking, fucking shit."
The alarm clock screamed at five-thirty. Sunny was already up, ready in his running gear, looking fresh as a daisy.
–Come on, Sleeping Beauty! Time to run!
They ran side by side for about a mile in the heat before Sunny abruptly stopped.
–Cabrón, I think I pulled a muscle! Check my back, PFC.
He turned around and dropped to all fours with his shorts stretched tight, leaving nothing to the imagination.
–Yes, uh...sure.
Mark went to work, kneading the bronze-colored muscles glistening with sweat.
–A little more to the left, Grumpyazon. Lower... lower LOWER...ahhh...mmm, you have magic hands! He looked over his shoulder. –Now check my front, ese.
–Uh? Ok?
Sunny bounced to his feet and pointed at his groin.
–Got a problem with my polla! It won't go down! Can you fix that, PFC?
–What? Mark stepped back. –No! You... you...idiot!
–Chillax, compadre! Tú estás más rojo que un jitomate! Hahah!
–I ain’t having this! I’ll report you for harassment! First that towel and now this!
–Ay, it was just a prank! Forgive me!
–I ain’t no joke! Fuck off!
Mark ran back to the camp, straight for Sergeant Jackson’s office.
Jackson, a man in his 40s with short-cropped hair, BC glasses, and a no-nonsense demeanor, looked up from the pile of paperwork on his desk.
–At ease, Miller. What’s on your mind?
–Sorry about the shorts, sergeant, it’s about... about...
–Private Rodriguez, right?
–Uh? Yessir, but how...?
–Listen, Rodriguez may be an aggravating son of a gun, but he’s also one hell of a soldier. Understand?
–Yessir, Roger that. Mark swallowed. – Sir, did you know Rodriguez was a captain, sir?
Jackson’s facial expression didn’t change, but something in his eyes shifted.
–Yes. I knew.
–But if he was a captain, then why–
–Miller. Rodriguez didn’t lose his rank because he wasn’t good enough! He’s got more battle scars than most of us combined. But there’s something you should know.
–What, sir?
–He likes you, Miller.
–I don’t understand.
Jackson let out a breath.
–Let’s just say that’s why he’s not a captain anymore. It wasn’t about combat. Don’t get me wrong—Rodriguez is a damn good soldier, but his personal life caught up with him.
–Wait, are you saying he’s—
–I’m saying, be careful. Rodriguez is not just another grunt. He’s got his own reasons for getting close to you, and you need to keep that in mind.
–Yessir, but...
–You know what I mean, boy. And try to loosen up a bit, alright? You’re in the Army, but it doesn’t mean you can’t have a sense of humor once in a while.
–So, I can’t have another room then?
–I wish I could help you, but there are no vacancies; you’re stuck together until further notice.
–But sir!
Jackson leaned back in his chair. He looked at Mark over the rim of his glasses and sighed.
–Your best bet is to make the most of it. Dismissed.
No vacancies.
He was stuck with this damn Rodriguez.