It had been about six months since Alan was in the marines — he was told he looked more like a marine so he went with it, but he and his Marine pals were dropped off in San Fernando Valley for a night until they were picked up the next morning. He departed from his friends and went to the sandlot.
None of his childhood friends were here anymore. Bertram went missing, Timmy was in college, he and Tommy were never really that good of friends to hang out just them two, Kenny was in college, Ham was off wrestling, Smalls was in college, Benny was in college, and Squints was probably off somewhere following Wendy. He didn't have the heart to go look for anyone else he had hung out with in elementary through middle school. Nostalgia hit him hard. He missed the summer nights that were spent playing ball in too hot weather and scratching mosquito bites. He missed the treehouse. He missed his friends. He missed his childhood. The marines forced him to grow up prematurely.
He was nineteen years old with no goddamn connection to his childhood, which was something that shouldn't have been taken away from him so soon. His vision was blurry and he didn't have the heart to swat away the mosquitoes that were starting to swarm. Something about the town seemed so different from his fondest memories. It seemed so pure, so innocent. It hadn't seen war like he had.
He got up and dusted the gray, parched dirt off his clothes. He took one last look around. It was far more dilapidated than how he remembered it and the treehouse was torn down. Somebody probably moved into the Timmons's old home. He exhaled sharply and curtly walked off to Tom's Bar. Sure he was only nineteen, but maybe they'd let it slide since he was in service.
He was too distracted to take in all the neighborhood changes. Alan walked through the glass door and the small bell chirped. He took a seat at the counter and said to the mixologist, "A beer please."
Neither he nor the mixologist bothered to look at each other. "Coming right up," she told him.
She handed him his beer and they made eye contact. At first he didn't recognize her, but as soon as she spoke he knew who she was.
"Yeah-Yeah?" her soft voice managed to choke out.
He froze. His lips parted slightly and his very blue eyes widened in shock. "(Y/n)?"
She instantly became cold with him. "You're not old enough to drink, give that back."
"I'm in service!" he defended. "Give me a break!"
Her father, Tom, came by her side. He was a burly man, just starting to gray. "Let him have it, (Y/N). He deserves it," his deep, raspy voice spoke.
She gave Alan a hard look and slapped a washcloth on the counter. "Fine," she said through gritted teeth. She stormed off to who knows where.
"What's wrong with her?" Alan asked Tom as he took a swig of his beer.
Tom shrugged. "I don't know, son. Say, what part of the military are you serving in?"
He hesitated. "Marines," he mumbled.
Tom grunted and walked off. "You have a goodnight," he said brusquely and walked off to the back.
Alan groaned and buried his face in his hands. A bastard, that's what he was. He grew up to be a marine; a jerk. A disappointment.
"It's closing time," (Y/N) spoke. His head snapped up and a half smile crept to his lips.
"How are you, (Your/Nick/Name)?," he asked, liquid courage flowing through his system.
She glared at him. "Get out, McClennan," she spat.
"You know," he started, looking down at the countertop and lighting a cigarette and bringing it to his plump lips. "You know what I think is cool?" he said, to which she did not respond. She merely stared at him and crossed her arms. He continued by quietly and almost too sincerely saying, "I think it's cool that the same God who created the mountains and oceans and stars and trees looked at you and thought the world needed one of you, too."
Her eyes were glassed over by warm tears. "Fuck you. You never wrote me, Alan," her voice was shaky.
He motioned for her to sit in the seat next to him, but she stayed put. He pressed the cigarette to his lips once again and exhaled the smoke through his nose. He sighed. "I've missed you like crazy," he whispered, the uncertainty of what he expected as a response evident in his tone.
She scoffed and looked out the big window at the front of the bar. "It's been a long while. I wish you would have told me that sooner," she told him sternly.
"Yeah, yeah," an old habit he though he'd demolished came back, "it's been a good while." He didn't quite know how to act around her in this moment, so he said what came to mind. He let out a deep breath and said, "I can't stop thinking of you." He inched his hand towards hers and brushed his fingers against hers.
She moved her hand away from his. "You can't do this. I'm sorry. Not right now. I've," she trailed off.
"You've what?" he asked with a nervous anticipation.
"Have you dated anyone since?" she asked abruptly, her big eyes prepared to be hurt.
"No," he shook his head and furrowed his eyebrows. He put his cigarette out in the ash tray set on the counter. "No, of course not."
"What about all the gorgeous nurses?" (Y/N) questioned.
"What about them?" he shot back rather brusquely as he stared at the ashes.
He felt her gaze set upon him almost menacingly, though that was not her intent. "Why haven't you dated anyone since?"
Alan's eyes met hers and all the memories he so desperately tried to suppress came flooding back yet once again. Just like every other night. He remembered the time he discovered stray hair ties and clips on his bedroom floor the morning after the only time they got intimate. He remembered how she could ramble on and on about how horrible the weather was.
He turned away and looked at the neon sign on the wall. "Wouldn't feel the same." After a moment of silence he asked, "You?"
Reluctantly she said, "There was a football guy named Dennis."
He inhaled sharply, hurt evident in his blue eyes. He exhaled the words, "How'd that turn out for you?"
She shrugged. It had meant nothing to her. "We broke up a couple of weeks ago. He said it wasn't my fault. He wasn't worthy of my time, apparently," she laughed bitterly. "Bullshit." He raised his eyebrows — she was never one to curse. "He probably got bored of me. I wouldn't go all the way with him."
"Sounds like a prick," he muttered, jealousy stinging his words. She nodded in agreement.
"(Y/N/N), please just give me another chance," he whispered, his eyes big and his voice had a begging tone.
"No, no I can't," she rambled. "You're leaving tomorrow. And I've got an important boy in my life." His heart stopped.
"Yeah, yeah. I know," he said despondently. "Well," he scratched the back of his head, "he better not be an idiot like me and Dennis are. I hope he knows he's got something real special."
"You really think so?" He nodded, a sad half smile painted on his lips. "You know, if you had written me–"
"I know," he said. "I know"
She sighed. "Come on," she told him as she motioned for him to follow him up the stairs, which he sheepishly did. She pressed her index finger to her lips, signaling for him to be quiet. They tip toed down a wooden hallway with yellowing walls. (Y/N) opened an old wooden door slowly, hoping it wouldn't creak. She revealed a worn out queen bed with a lump of blankets on the right side.
She sat on the edge of the bed and motioned for him to sit next to her. He obliged. He watched as she peeled the blankets back to reveal a little boy. "He's five," she whispered.
"What's his name?" Yeah-Yeah asked softly.
"Alan," (Y/N) looked at him with teary eyes. He looked at her in disbelief, but she nodded to confirm his suspicions. "He's your spitting image."
He buried his face in his hands. "I can't believe I had a goddamn family. I can't believe it. I should've stayed," he sniffled and his voice cracked when he asked, "Why didn't you tell me (Y/N)?"
"I didn't want to ruin your life," she told him quietly. "You had dreams, we were just freshmen."
"You should have told me, I would have stayed," he argued, his voice all choked up and his eyes watery. "I don't want my kid to be known as a bastard like me."
"Yeah-Yeah," she said, making his stomach knot just by calling him by his childhood nickname. "He would have been known as that anyway. We're not married."
He looked at her with a frail gaze, a tear streaming down his cheek. She ran her hand through the front of his hair, remembering how it used to drive him crazy. (Y/N) leaned in slowly, just barely grazing his lips with her own.
"Do you regret it?" she asked him lowly.
"What?"
"I don't know." Her voice shook. "Everything."
He was quiet for a long moment, thinking about it. Heat flooded to her cheeks. She opened her mouth to tell him to forget she ever asked, but finally he said, "Just because I went into service doesn't mean you weren't the greatest thing that ever happened to me. Because you were. You still are."
"Yeah," she said as she wiped away his tears, her own eyes glistening. "You too."
She ghosted her lips against his softly for a few seconds, her hands gently cupping his jaw. "I think it's best you go," she said quietly, removing all contact.
"I'm coming back in six months and I'll mail you every week," he told (Y/n).
She smiled sadly as she watched him disappear down the hall.
—
Should I turn this into a book?