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things out, that is, until you saw him<br />
walk. His walk was a duck-footed shuffle,<br />
his steps just six inches apart. People<br />
easily recognized the trail he left in<br />
the snow during the Wisconsin winter. He<br />
moved sort of like Charlie Chaplin in his<br />
old silent movies. VD walked everywhere,<br />
he could not drive, could not even<br />
balance on a bicycle. Vic’s brother had<br />
told me that VD had broken both ankles<br />
sliding out the door of his Huey chopper<br />
ambulance twenty feet before it was about<br />
to touch down. VD’s ankles had not healed<br />
quite right.<br />
Victor’s facial tic was accompanied<br />
by a quiet verbal nonsense sing-song<br />
of “Jabber, jabber”. He sang this,<br />
involuntarily, every time he jerked<br />
his head to the left, about every five<br />
minutes. “ Jabber jabber.” It looked and<br />
<strong>Glendale</strong> <strong>Community</strong> <strong>College</strong><br />
Payson Pants<br />
by David Mukai<br />
White Pencil on<br />
Black Paper<br />
Honorable Mention<br />
sounded like Tourette’s Syndrome, but<br />
with no swearing, name calling, or racial<br />
epithets. Everyone thought it was a damn<br />
shame, such a nice guy yet so profoundly<br />
afflicted.No one spoke through the first<br />
pitcher of beer. It was the end of the<br />
day, and they were safe and warm. Victor<br />
D. Schwartz began hiccupping, punctuated<br />
by his low-pitched “Jabber, jabber.” Herb<br />
Stoner had a tired but haunted look about<br />
him. Herb’s eyes twinkled back against<br />
the dozen candle flames still sputtering<br />
on the table. He leaned forward, giggling<br />
with the beer, and said “Vic, remember<br />
the Free Fire Zones at night? The Mad<br />
Minute?” Vic just nodded and did his<br />
jabber thing.<br />
I knew that a Free Fire Zone was the<br />
area around a base camp out to a thousand<br />
yards from the fortified perimeter. After<br />
13
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