The music blared on the cd player, with Nirvana head-banging to Smells like Teen Spirit as Eric Stein drove home from work. Fitting music, at that moment, Eric wouldn’t have minded pulling a Kurt Cobain and shooting himself in the head. But thinking such useless thoughts did little good. So he was in a sour mood, these things come and go. Now he merely had to remember where his house was.

He pulled his Mustang up to a stop light and waited for the light to turn green so he could continue on his present moody course. A yellow Chevy Prizm pulled up beside him, and out of the corner of his eye Eric counted three girls all looking at him and talking to themselves. Risking a quick glance, he also took note (as they were making kissing gestures at him) that they were all likely fifteen to seventeen and still in high school. Jail bait, what more could a guy ask for? This damn car gave him more attention then he wanted. Of course, he couldn’t just go home and tell his wife ‘we’re getting rid of the Mustang for an old clunker that doesn’t draw attention to me in ‘that’ way’ and then she would be hurt and ask him why he didn’t like her Christmas present. Or she would just think he had finally lost it. He sighed and decided it was better to just suck it up and continue to drive the damn car.

The girls revved their engine a little, Eric waited impatiently for the light to turn green so he could just continue on his un-merry way.

“Hey buddy, that’s a nice set of wheels you have there,” the girl in the back shouted at him.

“Isn’t it though?” he remarked back sarcastically.

“I wouldn’t mind if you showed me a little more of your ride,” she continued. “What’s your number, baby?”

“1-800 I’m married,” he returned, cranking Nirvana a little louder to give them a hint.

“Hey, I won’t tell if you don’t,” she replied, and then flashed her breasts at him. Eric couldn’t help but find himself a bit stunned by this display of public exposure from a group as young as these girls were. He immediately looked forward and refused to even glance in the general direction of the three highschoolers, who were now all shrieking with laughter. He wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised if her friends had dared her to do that. Stupid punk-ass teenagers. He never understood that age.

The light turned green and they squealed away, burning rubber in their wake. Eric started slowly, continuing forward at a slothful speed, despite the fact that his Mustang would smoke their Prizm any day of the week.

Though as he drove, he couldn’t get it out of his head that a young girl of about fifteen just flashed him her set, and they were rather large as well, especially for a girl that young. He couldn’t help but have that image stuck in his brain, that’s all he needed.

“Just face the facts, Eric, you would like to get laid by somebody other then your wife,” he said out loud, and immediately brushed the thought out of his head. Never mind the fact that earlier that day he felt that all he needed to make this horrible day better was for some chick to show him her goods.

He drove a few more blocks, seeing things that were slightly familiar, then saw his street and made the turn. There was his house, a four bedroom rancher with a fenced in backyard and plenty of grass in which he would undoubtedly be finding himself mowing. And there, in the driveway, was a brand new Mazda Miata?

Eric didn’t even bother to ask himself why. It was probably just as likely for the same reason he was now driving a midnight blue Ford Mustang. But at least his car actually had passenger room. Though just barely. Now they had claim to two cars that served no practical use. Especially considering the fact that it snowed in this town they had decided to call home.

Eric had long ago stopped asking questions. He came here to sleep at night and then he would be back to work bright and early the next day. If he was lucky, he would be gone for six months at a time. Though with his latest assignment this wasn’t going to happen, and already he had gotten off to a rough start. Figured. The same thing happened the last time as well. He came to predict it, though that was probably part of the problem.

He waited in the car for a short time hesitating for a while before deciding to head in and undoubtedly be reminded that they had just moved here with the boxes piled all the way to the ceiling. He gritted his teeth and decided to just face the music, turning the ignition off and with it Nirvana asking to be raped over and over again. He kicked the door shut and trudged up the steps, opening the door to find Alex and Jack both glued to the television screen playing the latest Game Station or X-cube game or whatever the hell they were into this week. And of course, boxes piled to the ceiling as predicted. He heaved great sigh of annoyance and decided it was just best to ignore it like everyone else was doing, plopping himself on the couch and kicking his feet up on the coffee table. At least one part of the house was ready to be lived in.

Next to the arm of the couch lay about a weeks worth of unwrapped newspapers. Apparently the last tenant had forgotten to unsubscribe to the local newspaper, something Eric decided he would take advantage of in the meantime. Grabbing the first newspaper off of the bundle, he rolled the rubber band off of the paper and placed it on his wrist, unfurling it and checking out the latest headlines. Some politician up to his neck in scandals, the local college sports team was having a great season, yadda yadda yadda. Was there something here that he didn’t know?

Throwing the paper next to him in the start of a used pile, Eric took the rubber band off of his wrist and aimed it directly at the back of Alex’s head, hitting him right on the base of the neck. The six year old turned sharply to him and glared angrily in warning before returning his attention back to slaughtering his older brother in what appeared to be the latest smash ‘em up and knock ‘em dead game of hand to hand combat. It looked like there was a lot of blood in this one, Eric arched his eyebrow at this. Seeing the casing on the coffee table, he picked it up and glanced at the contents. A mature rating, wonderful Marin. Jack and Alex were only six and ten, like they needed this smut damaging their fragile brains at their young precocious age.

But then again, there was a lot of things that Marin let the boys do that Eric didn’t approve of. But he found that he had lost a lot of say a long time ago when he was never at home and Marin was left to take care of the kids. And he knew that Marin had never been much of the nurturing type to begin with.

Of course, he hadn’t thought about that when he married her.

Eric let out a heavy sigh and grabbed the next newspaper, finding much of the same, most of which he had already heard. Taking the rubber band, he flung it once again at Alex, hitting him square on the neck exactly where he hit before. Alex turned sharply to him and gave him a dirtier look then before. “Stop it!” he growled, turning back to his video game.

Eric didn’t even read the next paper, he merely took the rubber band off of it, this time, flinging it at Jack. It hit square in the back of the neck, in the same location where it had pegged Alex. Jack turned sharply toward him and gave him his own icy glare. “What’ja do that for?” he growled.

“Time for you to pry your little eyeballs off the video game and finish unpacking your rooms,” he told them. “Or I’ll keep flinging rubber bands at you until you do.”

They both uniformly gave him the death look for that remark, groaning in defiance before he gave them a look of his own. They knew not to mess with him, so they reluctantly did as was asked, turning off the game and stomping off to their rooms. Eric picked up the newspapers and followed them, looking to see what they had gotten done so far.

The furniture in each room was all set up, of course, that was his doing. They all continued to bare box after box of unpacked items. He had been gone for three days, and in that time they hadn’t done a damn thing. And they were resenting him for it because their mom didn’t make them. Why did he always have to be the bad guy?

The blue recycling bin was in the corner of the kitchen, right by the back door, and Eric tossed the remnants of yesterday’s news into it, turning to the fridge and grasping a carton of orange juice. Shaking it, he noticed that it was practically gone and chugged it right out of the carton.

“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” Marin grumbled.

“What’s the big deal, it’s empty anyway,” he returned, crumbling the carton down and throwing it into a black garbage sack, as apparently the garbage wasn’t set up yet. “Why waste a perfectly good cup, besides, it doesn’t look like they’ve been unpacked yet.”

Marin didn’t comment, instead she sat at the table, her head in her hands sulking over something. Eric decided that it might be wise to pry a little, she was probably waiting for him to be the sensitive type and ask what was wrong.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

“No, nothing,” she said, though it was obvious there was something on her mind.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“How was your day?” she said quickly, turning to him with a smile on her face as if there was not a care in the world. Eric knew better.

“Same old shit,” he returned. “How about you?”

Marin rolled her eyes, basically saying ‘please be a little less vague’ without words. “It was your first day, how did it go?”

“The same exact thing happened as the last time I reported to a new duty station. I survived with my dignity hanging on by a thread,” he grumbled, slumping into a chair beside her.

“In other words, they mistook you for being a prospective high school student looking for a way to pay for college,” she said, reading his thoughts.

“I only assumed as much would happen. I guess I’ve come to expect it.”

“Well it’s always nice when we go out and everyone asks if I robbed the cradle,” she muttered sourly. His appearance was a sticky subject. Although he was approaching 33, Eric could easily pass for nineteen. This fact didn’t help matters in day to day life either, especially in his chosen career field. He was a Sergeant First Class promotable in the Special Forces frequently mistaken for a private. Marin didn’t look her age either, she was 35, but then, she didn’t look 19.

The conversation about his day was going in the wrong direction. He decided to change the subject to hers, bringing up a matter that was needed to be brought up anyway.. “Did you go car shopping to replace the Lexus today?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, a slight hesitation in her voice. “What do you think?”

“I think a two seater car in a family of four is completely impractical. Plus if you were to get into a wreck it would be a death trap.”

“Well, I thought. . .” she started, only to get abruptly cut off by him.

“If you are asking to trade cars, no. Hell no. There’s no way I’m driving around town in a Miata.” End of discussion.

“You don’t like it, do you,” she said, giving him that ‘pouty’ lower lip.

“I think we need to get you something that says, I don’t know, ‘leg room’,” he continued. “Something where you can take the kids to school all at once instead of carpooling them one at a time. Did you think even think about that? And something that won’t rake our insurance up through the roof higher then it already is.”

“I know, your right, but I’ve always wanted a Miata. I always thought they were cute.”

Eric sighed. “I know, but you have to think about whether we can afford it?”

“We have fifty thousand in the bank, it will be alright!”

“The insurance for the Lexus will pay for the car, however can we afford this car and another one?” Eric asked. With how you spend money, I’m surprised we have that much left, he added silently.

Marin sighed deeply. “Ok, your right, I’ll take it back and get a more practical car,” she said. Though it was obvious she was brooding.

“I noticed you left the top down,” he returned. “With our luck, some bird is going to shi-“

“Don’t say it,” she said harshly. “Don’t even think it, Eric.”

Eric sighed and rubbed his temples. “Give me the keys, I’ll go put it up.”

She dug around in her purse and pulled out the keys, tossing them to him. He deftly caught them in one hand and turned to do as he said he would. As he headed toward the door, Eric noticed that the top of one of the boxes was off, and some items were laying about it as if they had been looked through. He sorted through these himself, noticing that it contained memorabilia, pictures of him and the kids, Marin and him on their wedding day, old newspaper clippings, an assortment of movie tickets and odds and ends, stuff of their past, when life was still good. He brushed past a picture of his senior year, his hair was longer then, a brownish blonde in color, but otherwise he couldn’t help but wonder how little he had changed in appearance, despite the fact that the picture was taken well over fifteen years before. A scrap book lay among the mess and he casually opened it, finding much the same in here, except for it had been more organized, as if telling their story. It was a work in progress for Marin, one of her many tasks she had set up for herself. In it was pictures of both of them in their childhood and as they grew up in their respective families, their school photos (many of these he wished he could just burn), a letter he had written to his family when he was in Taiwan about the country (he noted casually it was one where he wasn’t stating his experience with the purpose of why he was there) along with a few pictures of him in a black suit and tie standing taller and fairer then everyone else in the picture, Marin’s college pictures (he could have sworn she was drunk in this photograph), pictures of their wedding day, Marin looking beautiful as always with her dark brown hair pulled up on her head, her skin bronzed to perfection. He always thought she would be very successful as a model, and in fact when he first met her she was in the business. And there he was standing next to her in dress blues with a big goofy grin on his face, his five eleven frame stood level with hers, only because she was wearing heels. He could still remember what he was thinking at the time. “SCORE!” Never in a million years did he think he would ever hook up with Marin Cabitari, in high school, he was way out of her league. But strangely enough, things happened and now they had been married for eleven years. And their marriage had been on the rocks for the last seven. He gathered the only reason they were still together was to save face.

The pictures continued, he noticed she put a few of his early military days in there, a fact between them she had never really liked. It never helped much that he had to keep silent about most of it in regards to where he went, and basically exactly what he did for a living. There were a few pictures about Jack’s birth and some pictures of him growing up. And of course, he casually noted, which happened to be the last page in the scrap book, a newspaper clipping from roughly seven years back.

“Wife of Medal of Honor Recipient wins big in State Lottery.”

“And what do we have to show for it?” he casually murmured. He decided not to go there, instead he put the scrapbook and the rest of it away where she had left it, going out to the car like he had originally planned.

As he opened the door to slide in and adjust the top of the tiny Miata (he could drop kick this thing across the neighborhood if he felt like it, pansy ass little car) he stopped, noticing the pile of bird crap sitting on the drivers seat, just as he had predicted.