Of Dirt, Basements & Things Left Unsaid
Joe Liebgott/David Webster, PG-13
Webster was just so damn clean. Joe tells himself that he hasn’t spent hours thinking this over. Running it through he mind again and again. He certainly hadn’t spent all night thinking of ways to make him dirty. Joe doesn’t think like that.
He wanted to sleep tonight. Didn’t sleep at all last night between cover fire and worrying about Webster (again not what he’d say.) But he isn’t sleeping. He’s lying awake and finally decides he might as well go smoke and goes down to the basement to do it.
Joe spends a few minutes in alone in the darkened basement, cigarette between his fingers. He hears footsteps cautiously coming down the steps, the door swings open; he can hear it from his spot on the bench. Joe turns, attempting to get a better view of the newcomer. When the door opens to reveal Webster, Joe lets out a whispered, “Fuck.”
“Hey, Joe.” Webster walks into the room, leaving the door open and a long rectangle of light behind him.
“Web.” Joe doesn’t want to talk, especially not to Webster. He doesn’t move away when Web sits next to him and starts to smoke, but he doesn’t say anything to encourage it.
Webster says something though. “What is everyone’s problem with me?”
Joe laughs, he can’t help himself. The absurdity of the statement speaks for itself. He doesn’t know the answer (not that there is one.) He says the first thing that comes to mind, “You’re just so damn clean.”
Webster looks like he doesn’t know whether to believe him or not. And says, “No fucking way.”
Joe knew it would sound stupid. He also knew it was true. “Fine don’t believe me. But look at yourself in the mirror and then look at somebody else in this company.”
“I can’t believe you’re mad at me for being clean.” It’s that sardonic tone Webster adopts when he talks about something he doesn’t understand. Joe has heard it a lot. Always referring to something you can’t learn from a book. Sometimes he wonders whether Webster did anything at all in Harvard except study.
Very quietly, and without looking at Webster, staring at the floor really, Joe says, “I’m not mad.”
“What was that?” Webster leans in closer to Joe, attempting to close a gap that neither of them can cross.
“I’m not mad okay?” Joe is trying to keep his distance. He doesn’t actually care what happens with Web. Except right now the space between them is nonexistent. When Joe turns his head to answer, he realizes that their lips are only an inch or so apart. Without giving himself time to think, Joe closes the distance and kisses Webster.
Webster breaks off the kiss, staring warily at Joe. Joe stares back at Web, unwilling to flinch. Even though now he’s regretting kissing Web in the first place. Making decisions on no sleep isn’t something he’s likely to do again. But there probably won’t be a next time. Joe is almost ready to just get up and walk away when Web kisses him.
It is not an elegant kiss. It’s grabbing and pushing with neither of them willing to give up whatever little bit of control they have in this kiss. Joe isn’t sure why they are still kissing. Not that he’s going to complain (again another thing he would never say) but Web was supposed to slug him, maybe walk out of the room. He wasn’t supposed to kiss him back. If Web had left they could laugh this off. Just another way to determine who has the power.
Only now they aren’t kissing once or twice. It’s turned into a long continuous string of kisses. Joe doesn’t think he’s romantic, he’s anti-romance in general, but somehow Web is changing that somehow. He has this Webster shaped blind spot and everything he normally thinks changes. It’s maybe the thing hates the most about Webster.
Joe’s cigarette falls to the floor, half still un-smoked. He can feel Web’s hands in his hair, and maybe all of this really has gone too far. He can’t help but think of those months in Bastogne. He shouldn’t (or rather he doesn’t want to) but it’s unavoidable. It’s separating Joe and Web even though now there’s nothing actually between them. Web can’t possibly realize what it was like in those woods. And so he can never really know what all of Easy Company felt. It’s simplistic, but Joe can’t think of Bastogne any other way. And he’s still cold.
The remains of Second Platoon talked about it, afterward. It had been a last moment of memory for something none of them could forget. In typical fashion they hadn’t actually send anything. No one had wanted to bring up any body who had died, which when talking about Second Platoon wasn’t the easiest thing. Names would come up in conversation and then the awkward silence would fall as everyone tried not to think about who wasn’t there. They had nothing to say, it was hard to focus on the living when so many friends were dead.
Their brief abortive conversation, in which they attempted to deal with everything, had stopped before it really began. Joe couldn’t help flashing back to that now, thinking about absent people. He could probably talk to Web about it, he wouldn’t have the same reactions to things. But would it help at all.
Joe breaks off the kiss. He can’t deal with this. Or maybe he is trying to take back some of the control. He has to get rid of that Webster shaped hole in his common sense. “What are we doing?”
“I don’t know. I sort of thought that was your department.”
“Web, you have no idea about anything. You just can’t possibly realize what’s gone on while you weren’t here. And that’s the problem.” Joe keeps trying to move away from Webster. He’s standing by the time he finishes the statement. A few feet from the bench, he stands with his arms crossed, determined to get back the high ground. He doesn’t know why he kissed Web but he’s not going to figure it out now.
“I’m not exactly understanding where any of this is coming from.”
“Maybe you are going to have to get used to it. Because I’m not going to explain.” Joe walks out of the room, leaving Webster sitting on the bench.