MOUSE’S JACKET

by ChicagoTunnelKid

Another blustery November day. It was definitely harboring winter. The man pulled his prized possession, his flight jacket, around him.  He hunkered down closer to a building to help block the wind. 

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Go off to war, return a hero. Except he was no hero, and many people spat at him for participating in what they considered an immoral war. The shrapnel wound started his path to addiction. Early, he took morphine for pain of the physical kind. Now, he took heroin for the mental pain, to escape.  

He sat waiting for the latest hit to take effect. Unbeknownst to him, it was straight heroin, not the cut kind he normally got. He was dead by morning, slumped over where he sat.

The young scavenger looked at the body and decided he needed the jacket more than the stiff. With some difficulty, given rigor mortis, he got the jacket off the man.

“Winslow, watcha got there?” Pascal admired the jacket Winslow was wearing as he entered the tunnels. “Where did you get that?”

“Some dude who didn’t need it no more.” Winslow stated the obvious. “It will suit me just fine!”

Winslow wore the jacket for several years, until his chest and barrel-like arms outgrew it. Still, he kept it. He loved that jacket, and as he got older, and understood what it was, he held it in reverence for the man who had earned it.  But it was time to give it to Mary, as tears and worn patches had shown up. He hoped whatever she made of it, she kept that patch. That was the unit the man had flown for back in Viet Nam. 

“He needs something warmer, Mary. Might you have something here?” Vincent had brought his latest project with him, the feral child he called Mouse. 

“Let me see what I have.” She rummaged through some old chests and found a couple of candidates. She no sooner had them out than the Mouse child grabbed what remained of the old flight jacket. He fondly stroked the brightly-colored patch and the remnants of leather and lambs wool.

“Mine!”

Vincent looked at Mary. 

“I guess he found his jacket. Thank you, Mary”