Oscar sat in his trash can, the only home he had ever known, but his mind was far from Sesame Street. It was back in the jungles of Vietnam, back at Khe Sanh, where the air was thick with smoke and the cries of the wounded never stopped echoing in his head.
He had enlisted young, believing he was fighting for something bigger than himself. But what he saw in the war changed him. He had lost friends. He had lost parts of himself. And when he returned, Veterans Affairs had nothing left to give him but miracle drugs. They were called miracle drugs because it’s a miracle if you survive.
The nightmares never stopped. The ground in front of Hooper’s Store would turn into a battlefield at night. The garbage truck rumbling down Sesame Street sounded just like a helicopter, the rotor blades slicing through the air as they rushed a wounded soldier to safety—only some never made it.
Big Bird tried to cheer him up, but how could he explain war to someone so innocent? Bert and Ernie, Cookie Monster, even Elmo—they all meant well, but they could never understand. How could they?
So he stayed in his trash can. It was safer there. It kept the world out. The only problem was, it kept the war in.
One day, a new face appeared on Sesame Street. A young vet, barely in his thirties, fresh from another war, another place, another time. He recognized that haunted look in Oscar’s eyes.
“You served?” the man asked.
Oscar didn’t answer right away. He just grumbled, like he always did. But then, for the first time in years, he muttered, “Yeah.”
The man nodded. “I get it.”
And for the first time in a long time, Oscar didn’t feel so alone.
Sgt. Barnes leans over Oscar’s trash can, his scarred face twisted in that familiar, menacing smirk. The dim light of Sesame Street’s lamppost casts long shadows as he glares at the green, grumpy Muppet.
“You live in that can to escape reality, don’t you?” Barnes growls, tapping the lid with his finger. “You think this place is some kinda safe little world?”
Oscar peers up, his furry unibrow furrowing. “Yeah, and what’s it to ya? I like my trashy little world just fine.”
Barnes sneers. “I am reality.” His voice is low, gravelly, carrying the weight of jungles and war, of mud and blood. “And in reality, there ain’t no safe places.”
Oscar blinks, then shrugs. “Geez, pal, sounds like you need a trash can more than I do.”
Barnes narrows his eyes. “You wouldn’t last a day in my world, Grouch.”
Oscar smirks. “And you wouldn’t last a minute in mine, tough guy.” With that, he slams the lid shut.
Sgt. Barnes grips the bottle of Jack Daniel’s tight, his knuckles white, as he glares down at Oscar’s trash can. The whiskey sloshes inside, half-empty, just like him.
“Barnes,” a voice cuts through the humid night air of Sesame Street.
Private Taylor steps forward, his face set but wary. “Put the bottle down, man. Leave the Grouch in peace.”
Barnes turns, eyes burning. “You don’t get it, do you, Taylor?” He gestures wildly with the bottle. “This ain’t about some damn Muppet in a trash can. This is about reality. You think the world is all sunshine and ABCs? That Big Bird’s gonna hold your hand and sing you a lullaby?” He laughs, dark and bitter. “The jungle don’t work that way.”
Taylor squares his jaw. “This ain’t the jungle, Barnes. You don’t have to be at war with everything. Not here.”
Oscar peeks out. “Yeah, what he said! Now scram before I call Bert and Ernie to rough you up.”
Barnes exhales, shaking his head. The whiskey burns his throat as he takes one last swig, then lets the bottle drop. It rolls across the pavement, settling at Taylor’s feet.
“That’s the problem with you, Taylor,” Barnes mutters. “You still believe in happy endings.”
He turns and walks off into the darkness, past Hooper’s Store, past the streetlights, disappearing like a ghost of a war that never really ended.
[Vietnam, deep in the jungle. The platoon is dug in after an ambush. Smoke rises, gunfire echoes in the distance. The soldiers are tense. Suddenly, Oscar the Grouch, in his dented metal trash can, is smack in the middle of it all.]
SGT. BARNES: [gritted teeth] We’re in the shit now, Taylor. The enemy’s closing in. We dig in, we fight.
PRIVATE TAYLOR: I don’t know, man… I feel like this war ain’t what we signed up for.
OSCAR THE GROUCH: [pops out of trash can, covered in mud, scowling] Oh, puh-lease! Will you two just shut up already?! I’m trying to enjoy my filth here!
SGT. BARNES: [narrows eyes] What the hell are you? Some kinda enemy agent?
OSCAR THE GROUCH: [sarcastic] Yeah, sure, I’m a double agent for Team Miserable! Now SCRAM! Both of ya!
PRIVATE TAYLOR: [confused] Wait, what?
OSCAR THE GROUCH: You heard me! I didn’t sign up for no whiny war movie! I like things filthy, but this? This is too much! Bombs, bullets, and not a single decent trash heap to roll around in! So beat it!
SGT. BARNES: [snarls] Listen here, you little—
BIG BIRD: [flies in, flapping wildly] Oh boy, guys! I just did a recon flight! The enemy is all around us! Also, I saw a really big worm!
COOKIE MONSTER: [emerging from the mess tent, mouth full] Me eat all rations! Me stress eat in war zone!
PRIVATE TAYLOR: [clutching his helmet] This has gotta be some kinda fever dream…
OSCAR THE GROUCH: [grumbles] Ugh, I’m surrounded by idiots. I give up. Time to burrow deep and wait this one out.
[Oscar slams the lid of his trash can shut as mortars explode in the background.]