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Water: A Ted Kline Novel

By Tim White

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Epilogue: Thud, Thud
“You are only young once, but you can stay immature indefinitely.” Ogden Nash
Six years earlier:
The dark clouds rolled in from the southwest, expressing their anger with white-hot spears of lightning and baritone rumbles of thunder. The trees danced in the wind as if trying to escape their rooted captivity. Discarded pieces of litter darted quickly across the streets and parking lots, trying to find some place to hide from nature’s anger. To punish them, the clouds released large raindrops that fell at a sharp angle, soaking them and slowing their escape.
In the offices, the rain slammed against the windows to taunt those inside. Such was the fury the workers watched as they took unscheduled respites from their labors. They watch in amazement as the storm, with all of its elements, tried to rearrange the world.
“Do you think I’m stupid?” The sergeant screamed, flecks of spittle flying from his mouth like shrapnel from a grenade. He stood from his chair behind his desk, glaring at the MP sitting across from him. He despised this jerk. Hated him. He didn’t hate many people, but this one was inviting hatred.
Upon standing, he noticed that nearly everyone in the building had diverted their attention from the rain to the drama playing before them. This “disciplinary action” had become more interesting than the angry weather outside, which was far more interesting than the mundane work on the desks and computers. Every cubicle in the office had one or two people designated to take care of some type of business for the military police in Fort Bragg, North Carolina, and at the moment, he had all of their attention. And he didn’t want it.
Normally Sergeant Clayton Bells, who hated the name “Clay Bells” that this MP had hung on him, would have kept the discipline private. But sometimes someone needed to be publically shamed, even humiliated, especially when their public disregard for rank and authority was becoming legendary. It only proved that his respect was lacking.
What goes thud, thud? Clay bells. That was the work of this moron sitting across from him. Now Bell s’ associates were heard saying, “thud, thud,” almost at a whisper when they passed on the sidewalks and in the halls. Even in the lunchroom, he could hear, “thud, thud”, said just low enough he couldn’t determine who said it.
“Do you think I’m stupid?” he repeated, this time a half an octave higher. The tall, black Sergeant glared at the disgraced MP for a moment and then sank back into his chair.
“No, sir.” Silence hung in the air like the clingy humidity destined to oppress this southern town when the storm moved east and the wicked sun reappeared. This was the worst case of irresponsibility Bells had ever seen. His entire squad was ready to hang him. Nobody liked him. It was one practical joke after another. It never stopped. For this perpetual prankster it never got old. But it did for everyone else. Really old.
“No, what? You don’t have anything to say but, ‘No, sir?’” Bells leaned forward in his chair, arms on his desk.
“No, sir. I don’t think you’re stupid. I believe you’ve removed all doubt about that.”
Bells immediately stood again. Repressed giggles could be heard around the room. Somewhere among the cubicle workers where purchases were supposed to be made, transfers filed, maintenance records updated, and assignments processed, a soft male voice, barely audibly, said, “Thud, thud.”
Bells caught his breath. He looked around to see if he could catch anyone laughing. There was no sign of laughter on anyone’s face, but many had looked the other way to hide their expressions. No one was taking credit for the inappropriate remark either. This was no laughing matter. The firing squad came to his mind briefly. He had been chewing on this smart aleck for 20 minutes now. This was reducing the production of the office far more than this rebel was worth.
“I ought to throw you in the brig and forget where I put you,” Bells hissed. “I ought to court martial you and issue a dishonorable discharge. But you and I both know the General would end my career if I did,” stating the last sentence decibels softer.
The MP’s expression never changed. He looked as though he was contemplating a nap. Bells had never seen anyone give up and become as completely apathetic as this one. He never really fit into the army and never tried to fit. It was time to resolve this.
“Kline, I have your dismissal papers all ready to fill out. All you have to do is sign them and you will be released of your duties to go and be worthless somewhere else.”
“Just show me where to sign, Clay.”
Bells slammed the papers in front of the MP. He slammed a pen on top of it.
“What do you have to say about this?”
“Thud, thud.”
It took a day for Bells to realize that the MP had signed “Clay Bells” in the blank instead of his own name.

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