by Faith Potts
“I’m sorry,” she sighs, genuinely meaning it. “It’s probably just me.”
“I doubt that.”
“Do you mind if we stop here for a minute?” she asks, stopping my chair at a planter that holds a small shade tree and some kind of perennials.
“That’s fine.” As if I really have much choice here.
After setting the brake, she comes around and sits on the cement edge of the planter, so she’s facing perpendicular to me.
“Aside from my frustrating encounter with my mother, I… Well, I just didn’t like what you said a few minutes ago.”
Any other time my mind would already be completely unfamiliar with what I just said, but no. This time it’s not that way. I know exactly what she’s talking about—my reference to the end of my life. I look down, fingering the edge of my shirt.
“God knows exactly when each of us will draw our last breath, James.”
“You mean He wasn’t even nervous that His count was off last night?” I shoot off my mouth and give a harsh comeback before I even have time to really soak up her words.
She looks me in the eyes then, her gaze hard, then melting in the slightest when I don’t flinch or back down. “Not a bit.”
That same feeling that I had last night wells up inside of me. Somewhere deep inside, hidden under all the darkness and pain, I know that suicide would be the wrong choice. But as I sink deeper in this pit into which I’ve fallen, I desperately search for something to cling to. Something real, something solid, something that won’t give way. Something that I can hold to. Something that will hold me.
These siblings…maybe they have the answer.
I lift my eyes to find Alex watching me, her eyes tender and caring. Swallowing, I drop my focus to my lap. There are so many things I want to know, yet I can’t find the words nor the courage to speak.
And my pride won’t let me ask such a pretty young woman for help.
|| ~* || ~* || ~* ||
Following a very thorough wander around the hospital grounds—a half-hour slot of the day which was ruined by my sickening attitude—Alex escorts me to the prosthetist’s office. She then proceeds to take the seat across from my parked chair and waits with me. I don’t need a babysitter, but I don’t particularly mind her company either.
Silence controls the small room we were led to as we wait for the prosthetist. My eyes roam down to my stump. They tend to go there often. I swallow against the feeling in my gut, trying to imagine a fake leg there in place of the empty space.
I glance over at my stub arm, the disgust only increasing. I already decided I’m not interested in being fitted for an arm right away, if ever. In that area, I get along well enough—well enough for a cripple. A leg, on the other hand, will give me some mobility while I finish my commitment to Dr. Lorance. That being, I’ll give life a try for a few weeks.
Right now, my battered mind can’t think beyond that.
As it always does, summarizing my injuries brings memories of the night of the explosion. The fateful seconds, the noise, the heat, the pain. But, worst of all, the screams. Coming from myself and the rest of the men in my division. I can’t imagine ever being free of the voices of terror.
I grip the armrest until my knuckles turn white and ache. I rub it until I’ve created enough friction to burn the whole darn building to the ground. I would pace the room, but that’s not exactly practical given my injuries. I’ve got to do something to get my mind off of this before I give myself a heart attack from the panic I’m creating.
Groaning under my breath, I sling my head back to stare up at the ceiling. The back of my head comes in contact with the wall. “Ow!”
Alex looks my way from where she sits in the only chair, phone in hand. I’d nearly forgotten she was still here. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, fine.”
Her hair falls into her face and she pushes it aside, still watching me. “Really?”
“Really.” Okay, now she’s being annoying. Should I suggest she leave? Drop hints? Remind her that I’m capable of sitting here alone, or point out that there’s nothing in here I can stab myself with?
The door swings open and a middle-aged man with wire-rimmed glasses steps in. The prosthetist. I swallow back the returning swirlings of panic. Surely I can handle this.
|| ~* || ~* || ~* ||
|| Alex
I leave James in the very capable hands of the prosthetist and, with a twinge of reluctance, head off down the hall. It’s weird the protective feelings I have toward this guy, having known him less than twenty-four hours. Some people are just like that, though, I decide as I walk. They need to be looked after.
“Oh, gracious, Lex. You need therapy,” I mumble under my breath. But the haunted look in his eyes, the tremors in his hand, won’t leave my mind.
Pushing through the double glass doors between the therapy/prostheses wing and the hallway leading to the main building, I’m struck by a sudden thought.
I may feel like I’m doing James some good, and I can certainly help him physically, but he needs someone who has been where he’s been. Has seen what he’s seen.
He needs a fellow military man. A Christian one, preferably. And I happen to know a wonderful guy who fits the bill.
Phone stuck to my ear, I aimlessly wander out into the parking lot and take a seat on the curb.
I get an answer as soon as I’m seated on the sun-baked cement. “Hey, honey.”
“Morning, Uncle Joe.”
He yawns, apparently under the impression this is a chit-chat call. “How’s your day off?”
“Oh, it’s fine. I’m actually calling about a possible guy for you. A project, Mom would say.”
“She never did like me.” I can almost see him rolling his eyes.
“That makes two of us,” I mutter, scuffing my toe against the cement.
“Not true, Lexie,” my uncle says, his voice softening. “She loves you and your brother a lot.”
If she does love us, she certainly has an odd way of expressing it—but I don’t need to have this conversation with Uncle Joe again right now.
“So. This guy.” I jump back to the real reason for this call. “His name is James Greene and—”
“Whoa, whoa.” Uncle Joe cuts me off. “Let me guess the rest, all right?”
Snickering, I relent to my mid-sixties teenager uncle. “Sure.”
“He’s…oh…I’ve almost got it…hang in there… Oh, oh, there it is. He’s an amputee. Oh, wait, there’s more…just a second… He’s suicidal, maybe.”
I wait, expecting the questioning clause. Or the catch. How does he know this stuff? Wait a minute…
“So when exactly did Kellon call you?”
Uncle Joe bursts into laughter, his great, big, happy laugh that will lift me up from the depths of whatever I’ve fallen into without exception. No matter what, he’s there for me. I owe him and Aunt Gloria so much, for stepping into the place of parents who’ve always been more concerned with their own lives than those of their children.
“I didn’t have you fooled for a second, did I?”
I grin, cocking my head back to soak up the winter sun rays. “A second, maybe. But not long.”
“But seriously,” he says, and the solemness returns. “When can I meet this young man? Marine, I think your brother said?”
“Yup. And…I guess you can meet him whenever you’re free. I think talking with you would do him a lot of good. He’s going to be staying here at the hospital, at least for now.”
“I’ll do whatever I can. I believe we both know Who he really needs to meet, though.”
I smile, nodding even though he can’t see me. This is why I love my Uncle Joe so much. He knows where the true power lies. “Yes, sir. We sure do.”
Chapter Four || Alex
The next morning, I enter the hospital half an hour before I’m due at work, Uncle Joe at my side. He thought it might be best if I introduced him to James, as opposed to a “strange, old dude
showing up at his door.” His words, mind you.
We take the elevator to the third floor, wander down a hall and around a corner, and soon reach James’s room. I knock, rapping my knuckles against the heavy door.
“Who is it?” the call returns.
“It’s me—Alex. I have my uncle with me—the one I told you about the other day? He’d like to meet you.”
A moment’s pause, and then, “Come on in.”
Shrugging, I press the door handle down and enter first. James is sitting in the recliner by the bed when we come in—dressed, shaven, and looking alive.
“Good morning.” I offer a smile as I walk further around the bed to make room for Uncle Joe in the tight space next to me.
“Good morning.” James addresses me first, then grabs his crutch from where it sits beside him and stands to greet Uncle Joe.
“James, this is my uncle, Joe Creighton. Uncle Joe, Corporal James Greene.”
James nods, his face solemn and eyes blank. “Nice to meet you, sir. I’d shake your hand if I could and still stay aright.”
“Ah.” Uncle Joe waves his hand. “Don’t worry about it, son.”
James silently reclaims his seat, and Uncle Joe sits on the side of the bed. They both offer me the other chair in the small room, but I decline—reminding them I have to be at work soon.
I submit very little to the conversation as Uncle Joe asks conversational questions about James’s time in the military, his education, and his plans. Then he moves on to why he’s here.
“Since your very lovely therapist is also my very lovely niece, I was made aware of your situation.”
James looks up, eyes meeting mine and widening up into his eyebrows. “You’re my therapist?”
I laugh, amused by the healthy fear in his eyes. “Is that such a bad thing?”
“I don’t know…” The half smile from yesterday returns again, hardly visible. “You tell me.”
Uncle Joe laughs. “No, she’s good. You have nothing to fear, son. Trust me.”
James gives me what I’m pretty sure was a genuine smile before he turns back to Joe. “As you were saying, sir. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“Yes, as I was saying. You’re more than welcome to move into one of the apartment rooms at the ministry when you get out of here. It’s not the Ritz Carlton, but it’s a nice place. There’s plenty of opportunities around where you could get a job if you wanted. You know, just hang around this nice area until you get back on your feet and decide what happens next.”
“Actually…” James stares down at the floor, shoulders rising and settling in uneven rhythm. “I have no idea what happens next, sir. Two days ago, I didn’t even plan to be breathing air right now.”
Uncle Joe glances my way, eyes revealing the depth at which he cares, and then back to James. “Want to tell me about it?”
I do believe that’s my cue to leave. Pretending to check the time, I glance over at the guys. “Well, um, I’d better get to work before Brenda fires me. I’ll see y’all later.”
Before they even have time to notice my departure, I scurry out of the room and beeline for the stairs. No time to wait around for the elevator—the late-to-work line was pretty much true.
Maybe James and Joe can talk more in depth without me there to overhear every single word. God, help Uncle Joe get through to him.
|| ~* || ~* || ~* ||
|| James
As soon as Alex slips out of the room, Joe faces me and lowers his voice. “If there’s anything you want to talk about, don’t hesitate, son. I spent three years in the military, until I was discharged on account of a banged up leg. Eleven months of that, I was in Vietnam, during the Tet Offensive. Saigon, Khe Sanh, Hue.” His eyes lock on mine in a way that makes me feel as if he can see clear through my scarred mind. Maybe he can. “I get it. In some ways, I’ve been where you are. There isn’t much you could tell me that I won’t have heard before.”
I break out of his gaze, staring down at the tiled floor again. My heart pounds at the thought of putting the imagery in my mind into words, even if it would be understood instead of avoided. Even if he would listen, instead of considering me crazy and war-warped.
But I don’t. I avoid it for a few minutes longer by responding with a question. “What branch did you serve in?”
“The best, of course.”
A fellow Marine. I manage a partial smile in response. “Semper Fi.”
“Always,” he replies with a smile, then checks his watch and stands. “Well, I have a dentist appointment this morning, so I should get going.”
I stand with him, wobbling until I get steadied on my feet. “Thank you for coming by, sir. And…thank you for the offer. I haven’t told anyone about that deployment since I got back. I’m not sure when I’ll be able to, but…” I hesitate a second longer before glancing up and finding his understanding eyes studying me. “I’d like to talk to you about it sometime.”
Joe nods, solemn. “I’d like to come by a few mornings a week, if that’s okay with you. We can talk here, or go out for coffee or breakfast. Whatever you want.”
“Yeah.” Surprised by his genuine care for a guy he doesn’t know, I don’t know quite how to answer. “I’d appreciate that.”
|| ~* || ~* || ~* ||
Staring up at the hospital room ceiling has become a nightly occurrence during the week that I’ve been here at the hospital in Capeton, South Carolina. Particularly on the nights when sleep evades me—which happens more often than not.
As seconds tick by, my thought pattern chooses to recount today’s events. Joe came by this afternoon, as he’s been doing nearly every day since our first meeting. This time, he picked me up and showed me around town before we went over to his place. We made several stops to get things I need. Like a cell phone. Clothes. Hygiene products.
Joe says to look at what you got left, not what you lost. What I had left at the end of today was the knowledge that I am capable of going out in public without totally losing it. But what I lost was that tiny remaining shred of hope that maybe there are people out there, besides this man and his niece and nephew, that would care about a disabled returning soldier.
Today, with the stares and strange looks, ogling and side glances, my fears were confirmed.
I squeeze my eyes shut at the thought. “I’m okay,” I whisper into the dark room. “I’m okay.”
You’re not okay… you’re not okay… my heartbeat seems to echo back. You’ll never be enough… And I’m inclined to believe it.
I squeeze my eyes shut and drift off into a land of dark dreams. A place where I can just give up and no one even cares.
Chapter Five || Alex
The soles of my work shoes smack the pavement as I cross the parking lot, heading back into the building after my lunch break. I tilt my face back and soak up the rays of sunshine breaking through the cloud covering. Spring is still a long way off, but the cheerful sunshine peeks out to reassure the world that warmer days will return.
A week ago when I was shivering atop the hospital roof, I wasn’t sure if it would ever penetrate the winter’s chill again. Though, come to think of it, that could have had more to do with the desperate gnawing in my gut than the nip in the wind.
Gazing up at the windows to the many patient rooms, my thoughts drift to James as they often do. I’ve seen him in therapy several days this week, and maybe it’s just wishful thinking, but I believe I’m seeing a change in him. An ever-so-slight turn in the way he sees himself, his injuries, and the world around him. A viewpoint that’s not as dark as that which he had when he arrived. I pray it’s real.
A voice calls out from somewhere behind me. “Wait up, Lexie Lou!”
There’s only one person on God’s green earth that calls me that—and gets away with referencing my awful middle name. I grin as I turn around. “Hey, Uncle Joe.”
Hardly panting after hustling across the parking lot to catch me, he loops his arm around my shoulders. “How’s my favor
ite girl today?”
“Just fine. But Aunt Gloria might not appreciate that greeting.” I smile at the thought of my aunt, a darling lady and the true love of my uncle’s life. “I don’t want to get either of us on her bad side.”
He chuckles, matching my stride as we step up onto the curb. “All right, how’s my favorite young girl today?”
“Uncle Joe!” I laugh, elbowing him in the side. “She certainly wouldn’t appreciate you insinuating that she’s aging.”
“Hey!” He releases my shoulders and seeks to defend himself. “I didn’t say she was aging—just that she isn’t young anymore. Whether she likes it or not, we’re not exactly spring chickens.”
“Aww, don’t talk like that. We need y’all around for a good long time to come.”
He just smiles and steps ahead to get the door for me.
“By the way, how have your visits with our young Marine been going?” It’s my heart’s prayer that my uncle’s frequent visits have been doing James some good.
“You mean our handsome young Marine?”
“I didn’t say that.”
Uncle Joe lets the door fall closed without either of us entering the building. Hands in his pockets, he motions me off to the side. “No, but you thought it.”
I pull a most-likely-suspicious straight face and follow him to a bench on the side of the building, wondering if I’m really that readable. Because honestly, I have been thinking that. Often. And it’s not helping matters.
“Well? Are you going to tell me or not?”
He chuckles, shaking his greying head. “Impatient, aren’t you?”
“Maybe.” I don’t know why I’m being so cantankerous, other than I don’t want to even consider placing James in that category. He’s a friend. That’s all.
“Honestly, there isn’t much to tell,” Uncle Joe speaks up. Maybe he gave up on weaseling information out of me. “He seems to be coming around at times, but he won’t read the Bible other than when we’re together. I feel like he would soak it up more if he would read when it’s quiet and he’s alone. The worst is…Lexie, I don’t think he believes his life is worth saving.”
