Stage Names

You called yourself Cherry or Candy, something with a ‘C.’ You avoided giving me your real name when I ask.

My callsign in the Air Force was “Vader” and my copilot’s was “Bowler.” After eight hours of sitting in a leather seat at Creech Air Force Base, fondling and jerking plastic joysticks as I watched a child executed by the enemy, I changed out of my flight suit and came to see you.

The dimly lit venue danced with flickers of multicolored lights and cast inviting shadows on the walls that couldn’t quite hide the sweat-faded makeup on every face. The chairs were occupied by birthdays, funerals, and poisoned survivors. Cigarette smoke intertwined with sultry perfume. The sound of conversations, the clinking of glasses, and the soft rustle of money being exchanged created a cacophony of distractions. Amidst all the chaos, you who came to me. You who were visited by Jupiter.

You called yourself Cherry or Candy, something with a ‘C.’ You avoided giving me your real name when I ask.

I wasn’t into strip clubs, but Bowler had been going every day for a week. My chief killed himself a week ago, but I don’t think that’s why I went. Maybe that was Bowler’s reason, but he keeps things professional, or so he tells me. He showed up, found his favorite, Elektra, and took money out of the ATM for the VIP room. I supposed I was no different. I paid you to sit next to me in front of the main stage, then on top of me. To touch something other than my joystick , something warm. Someone. Your fatigued spine sat on my lap,your famished clothing draped fragile on your marble flesh. The ends of your yellow hair tickled my face just right.

You mentioned nothing about yourself other than your daughter, how much you love her, and the time the FBI found you bound inside a shed. I don’t know why you told me those two things but not your name.

You promised me, with the copper in your eyes, everything would be okay. I believed you, but then a white collar with a cigar and more to offer took you away. I still believe you.

“Relax, Vader,” Bowler leaned into me. “It’s her job to make you feel a certain way.”

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Writer and graduate student at Columbia University School of the Arts, Sam Nahins served in the US Air Force from 2011 to 2017 as an Unmanned Sensor Operator, having flown 3,000 combat hours in the MQ-1 Predator and MQ-9 Reaper. Other works by Nahins include ‘A Choir of Crickets’, and ‘We are Karamazov.’