By Jennifer Harris
“My child you are chosen whether wrong, whether right,
To find your way, you
must aim for the light”.
Introduction
If
you believe that war saves the innocent, then you should not read this story. But
if you do, perhaps you can help someone to find their light. This tale
separates my life into four seasons – winter, spring, summer and fall.
A
lot of people suffer with PTSD; did you know that? I didn’t. It doesn’t even
have to be caused by any one particular incident either. Stress can be buried
like a worm in your consciousness as you lie helplessly connected to the womb
of your mother, your first Earth.
This
is where it all began for me.
In
a place that was cold and frigid like a winter season, I was nourished for nine
tumultuous months. From streams made dark, bitter and lifeless by a mother who poured
her contempt for her failures of life into me; I drank daily. Helplessly I suckled until I was born loveless
and nameless like the family around me. I grew up without any real knowledge of
self, or self-esteem or even a sense of self-identity. I took to wandering from
city to city like an orphan. My only possessions were, ‘my boots’ (power), ‘my
jacket’ (substance) and ‘my hat’ (knowledge).
Then
one day, an unexpected event occurred. I joined the Army.
It
was like the beginning of spring for me. For the first time ever, I got a real
job. I pushed the buttons on the plane that dropped the bombs on the ground. So,
they gave me my first real name ‘Bombs’. I even met my first real friend ‘Bullets’.
He fired the machine gun on the plane that killed the people on the ground. We
had some good times together. We would be clapping and laughing when we hit the
right targets. It turned into the summer season of my life. For the first time ever,
I had a family.
But
then, like all seasons, change must come. And when it did, it came with an
unexpected bang that was so severe that my life stopped its rush to freedom.
Now,
I am right back where I started. In a place as dark and unfriendly as my
mother’s womb.
Will
I ever find the light again?
This
is my fall season where my story shall begin.
******************************************************************************
Special Trauma Housing Units
I
knew it was him the way my doorbell rang. Three shrill clanging sounds when it
should just be one flat buzzing. I parted the curtains, looked out and saw him standing
there waiting and I wasn’t surprised. He wore his dress blues uniform, a broad smile
on his face and his eyes looked bright as ever with mischief. I snatched the
door open grinning from ear to ear. Then I froze. He had vanished, just like
that, gone. I looked all over the neighborhood for him. I had no idea where he
took off to, but I knew he would come back. And he did.
Chapter 1: PTSD
It’s
funny how you can get to know someone so well that you know exactly what
they’re always going to do. They were that predictable. Take my buddy. His
nickname is Bullets and my own is Bombs. We did a few stations together with an
M16. The man was so good with a gun, he just couldn’t miss anything. We pulled
each other out from some real holes in the last few years. Some of them could
have been six feet deep, but we made it together.
It’s
just that my time is up and I want to go. In a few more days, I can be a full civilian
again and I need that in my life. No more bombs, no more bullets, no more
blood, just find a beach and lay back. I’ve been trying to explain to him that
we can get out together but the man just doesn’t want to talk. He would show up
at my front door every night, ring the bell and vanish when I answer it. I’m on
my way to talk to my doctor, maybe I’ll get some help for Bullets.
Chapter 2: Doctor
Hardy
He
was 6 feet 4 inches tall. He wore a khaki uniform and had Captain Bars centered
neatly on his shoulders. His office had a wall decorated with plaques of
achievements and a window that overlooked the ball park. He could see anyone below
him at any time day or night. He was deep in the heart of Base Command and head
of the Psych department. It was Monday, 8:00am and he sat behind his big wooden
desk ready for work. He opened his window before preparing to look at the
manila folder in his hands. Briefly, he looked at the people on the ground
before turning to read. For quite some time, he made only sipping sounds from his
steaming cup of hot coffee. Then he reached for his phone. It rang once and a
woman answered,
“Yes
Doctor?”
“Is
the poem his?”
“Yes
Doctor?”
“His
life story in a poem?”
“Yes
Doctor”.
He
put the phone down and pushed the intercom to the CCTV in the waiting room.
“Come
in Sergeant”.
Chapter 3: My poem
I
opened the brass door and walked in with my cap in my hand. The Captain
actually stood up, came around the desk and greeted me. He grasped my shoulders
with strong hands.
“Good
of you to come by Sergeant. How are you?”
“Fine
Sir”.
“How
was your treatment?”
“Excellent
Sir”.
“Good.
Sit down Sergeant, sit down”. He released me and turned away.
I
sat in one of the leather chairs facing him and looking out the window. Captain
Hardy sat behind his desk for a moment. He picked up a pen as if to write then
put it down and said,
“Sergeant,
good soldiers are hard to find and even harder to let go of”.
He
opened the manila folder and flipped through a couple pages. He pulled out
three and laid them in front of him.
From
where I sat I could see he had my poem. My life story. In a flash, I remembered
clearly what I wrote and my head bowed slowly. The Captain saw the movement and
said firmly,
“You
are very talented Sergeant. Before I sign off on your discharge papers, I was
hoping you would read your poem for me. I understand that it’s from the time of
your birth up until now”. He handed the three pages to me and sat back to
listen.
“Of
course Sir”.
Chapter 4: So I did.
I felt it really like a tightening, a tension,
It was hard to explain even hard to
mention,
Of course I was still too young to
understand,
I was in her womb, unformed and unplanned.
I was spoiling things for her; her
life, her dream,
Her hatred nourished me like a stream,
With no sense of time I just lingered
on,
Then in a moment I was born.
She pushed me, pushed me out from her,
I screamed from pain, then, she was a
blur,
She relaxed in relief while I started
crying,
From then until sixteen I felt like
dying.
She spent her time always on her other
children,
There was nothing for me; no family,
no friend,
I went to her one day as they were
talking,
My mind was made up while I was out
walking.
"I'm leaving!” I said. I was done
being a fool,
My hanging around would just be cruel,
"I'm going into town while the
place is still bright".
"You'll find your way," she
said, "just aim for the light".
So I did.
I took my boots, I took my jacket and
I took my hat,
I headed off to where the city was at,
It was twenty miles by foot away from
here,
Nonetheless, I had no doubt that I
would get there,
I sheltered by some trees when it
started to get dark,
Next day I kept on walking through the
park,
After a while I finally entered the
town,
When I did I got a job with a man
called Brown.
He had a food store so I got something
to eat,
I stayed at his house, I didn't live
on the street,
He did things for me and I did things
for him,
When I turned eighteen I left on a
whim,
I took my boots, took my jacket, took
my hat and was gone,
I told Mr. Brown that I had to move on.
I followed the street; I had no load
to carry,
I didn't look back even when I joined
the Army.
Sergeant Stone said, "Go on touch
that bomb."
My hand tingled before it went numb.
I felt it really like a tightening, a
tension,
It was hard to explain, even hard to
mention,
He said, "You'll know when the
target is right,"
"Just push the button as you aim
for the light."
So I did.
Now they call me ‘Bombs!’ I'm the best
they've got,
I've got a friend called 'Bullets'
cause his hand is real hot,
He could line ten men up against the
tallest wall
And shoot their heads off. We clap
when they fall.
When I turned twenty-one my Sergeant
pulled me to the side,
They were going on a mission, I was
chosen for the ride,
He said, "Your target's a
hideout." I hit a school instead,
At the end of the count thirty
children were dead,
He said, "We take orders then we
follow through,
We shoot bullets, drop bombs there's
nothing else we can do."
It happened more than once no one took
the blame,
The longer I stayed 'Bombs' became my
only name.
'Bullets' was okay he just seemed to
settle in,
As the years went by he did everything
with a grin.
He said it was, "…his job"
to pull the trigger,
I didn't expect he'd
kill himself. So, go
figure.
He stuck his gun in his mouth and
smiled goodbye,
It took years but now I don't even ask
why.
They shipped me to a hospital 'cause I
couldn't go to sleep,
When they let me out I bought a car
that was cheap,
I took my boots, took my jacket, took
my hat and took flight,
All I wanted to do was to aim for the
light.
Chapter 5: My buddy ‘Bullets’
The
room went silent at the last line but the words hung in the air. Captain Hardy sat
back as I leaned forward and laid the pages gently on his desk. He picked them
up and glanced quickly through the poem then, he raised his head and repeated
quietly at me,
“Good
soldiers are hard to find and even harder to let go of”.
“Yes
Sir”.
“Bullets
was a good soldier”.
“Yes
Sir”.
“But
now we’ve got to let him go correct?”
“Yes
Sir”.
“You’re
a good soldier also Sergeant. I believe that you can let this one go and move
on”.
“Yes
Sir”.
“Very
well Sergeant. Your discharge papers are at the front desk, you’re dismissed”.
“Thank
you Sir”.
Chapter 6: Discharge
The
administrative clerk smiled broadly at me as I signed off for my package. It
was almost her quitting time so I asked,
“Going
anywhere after work?”
“Nope”.
“Take
a ride in my car”.
“Sure.
Where are we going?”
“Well,
we could pick up my buddy Bullets and just aim for the light?”
“Yeah.
That’s a plan”.
“Great”.
I
walked to the car and sat down to wait for her. I started thinking that I hope
Bullets doesn’t mind the extra company for tonight. And I just started laughing
because they all think he’s dead but only I know differently.
The End
