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Fiction: First Chill |
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[Editor's Note: The Seminal is doing a little experiment, publishing some fiction this Sunday. We hope you enjoy! --Jason Rosenbaum]
George shifted the weight of the heavy pack to his hip so he could sit down and pull his boots off. His shoulders ached, and he was not used to carrying the gun. He was almost used to seeing its blackness, but he was not accustomed to knowing he was carrying a weapon. With a grunt, George stretched his fingers forward and bent them to his heels. The boots came off with a sweaty squeak. Sand fell out.
He was more than used to seeing sand. The sun was very bright, and now that he was inside, his uniform, made of beige and gray sections that looked like machine-cut puzzle pieces, looked dark. George traced the patterns in his memory. He knew some of them by heart now. The spot on his back where the beige pieces looked like fingers, and the gray island halfway between his left elbow and shoulder. There was a large L, if you looked at it right and concentrated, near his heart. His daughter’s names were written on the inside of his helmet.
It had been hard to explain things to Laura. It hurt him. He did not know where to begin. She thought he was losing his mind, and she cried. He cried also, wandering from room to room with his hands folded behind his back, rocking from side to side as the men in sunglasses and black suits watched him in confusion.
At first he was sure no one would believe him. But he turned on the charm and the conviction - it was not so easy as before, in so many of his speeches, because this time he meant what he was saying - and they came around. They understood.
Donny took it well, he seemed almost relieved. He’d served before. Dick cursed God and cursed him, said George would get him killed for no good reason, or out of guilt. But George wouldn’t change his mind, and he didn’t feel too bad about upsetting Dick. At long last he won Condi’s respect, and Colin actually volunteered to go. He didn’t want Colin to go, but he couldn’t say no either. Both options seemed unfair.
He prayed and prayed for days, at every free moment. He wasn’t sure what to do or what to ask for, he just prayed and slowly a conclusion grew in his mind and he knew what he needed to do. That was when he told them. He prayed even more after that, until his shins ached and he couldn’t concentrate on his business.
One day, after all the weeks, he was sure it was going to happen. He had one last day to reconsider, and if he prayed again tomorrow it would all happen and be done. He wandered the long hallways all day, not because he was undecided, but because he wanted to appreciate the life he was leaving. It had become a burden. Now that he was preparing to leave it forever, he remembered what a blessing it had seemed on the first day, in the rain, when he took the oath from the shivering judge with the paper-white hands.
Panels of bulletproof glass screened him from strangers that day. They would not protect him anymore. He got up and prayed in the morning, his knees sinking into the red carpet. Laura was asleep now. Then at once, he did not feel the carpet anymore and he knew he was kneeling on concrete. He concluded his prayer and looked around, his pupils contracting in the bright light. They were all there.
They had proved so brave. Dick kept cursing him for a few days, but he was brave too. George had always known they had it in them. He was so proud. There were many meetings where they fought over nothing, bickered and shot nasty glances and barked at each other while leaning forward from soft chairs and straining their tailored suits. This, now, was right.
His mind was always busy with positions and charts and strategies, ideas and orders and dictates stumbling over each other like a pack of dogs. When he had a spare moment, he wondered who was President now, and Vice President and so on. It didn’t seem important.
Especially now. Everyone else was dead, and he had suspected he would be the last to die. Donny was the first to go. He was guarding a line full of new police recruits, and a man drove a pickup truck full of C4 into the line. It was a chilly Wednesday morning when that happened, and the rest of the group stood around George as he placed Donny’s charred helmet on a pike, because there was nothing else to left use for a memorial.
He didn’t know for sure what had happened to Condi and Colin. They were killed within days of each other in Fallujah. He wished he had been there.
But George was there when Dick died. He’d been shot twice in the back on a dusty side road a few miles outside the Green Zone. He fell hard on his side and the blood rushed out. George ran to him. He shouldn’t have done that, he knew, but he was sure God wanted him to live so he could learn something. The sniper disappeared and didn’t fire again.
George pulled Dick into his arms and looked down at him. Suddenly he looked very young, as if the years were being washed from his face. George cried. Dick was in pain and the field medics knew it was hopeless from the start. But this new Dick, with the years stripped off him like brittle bark from a tree, looked up at George. He tried to smile, and then he said “Thank you” and reached for George’s face before he died. His arm wilted and George knew he was the last one.
That was two days ago, or maybe three. It was hard to tell and didn’t make much difference. He was going to die today. George had very little opinion on the subject. The truth of his death was omnipresent and therefore he could ignore it. He was dead now, changing his socks. He would be dead later, doing something else, and then he would die for good and not see Laura anymore. Not that he was going to see her anyway. He knew he was going to die before he said his last prayer that fateful day.
He thought of her as she must be today, going about her business, and about how she was as a young woman. He rolled the ‘L’ fabric between his fingers, adjusted his helmet and stood up again, preparing to go back on patrol and soon die. Eternity yawned in front of him.
Marley Jay is a New York-based writer working on a novel, “Welcome to the World of Tomorrow,” in addition to fiction and short stories. His passions include the works of Shakespeare, Howlin’ Wolf and the Marx Brothers, along with the mystery of elephants.
A great read, thanks!