by Nate Allen
Chapter 5
Another loose end had been tied, two actually. Grant knew Hannah would cry the news to her mom almost immediately after she knew of it. It was one less thing occupying his mind.
After staring with wet eyes for a few moments more, Hannah ran upstairs. Grant tried to force steps, but his feet wouldn't move. Suddenly in a moment of fate tying the knot, Grant's phone vibrated. With a sigh, he dug it out of his pocket, and looked at the screen: Bobby calling (the words swayed back and forth).
"Hello." answered Grant softly.
"What's up, man?" Bobby answered groggily.
"Nothing, you?"
"Nothing, just waking up," a long awkward pause ran on for ten seconds, finally being broken by the same word clashing.
"I am-" both Grant and Bobby said at the same time.
"What?" asked Grant.
"You go." said Bobby.
"I don't know how to put this, Bobby, but I'm leaving Friday."
"Me too." his voice seemed to nod with understanding.
"Where are you going?"
"To get a haircut," Bobby laughed nervously. "And a gun,"
"What?"
"I've been drafted." Bobby said.
"Me too." whispered Grant. "I le-leave-" he cleared his throat, "I leave Friday at 8:00 am."
"You know, man, as soon as I received my papers all I could think about was the promise we made to one another on that day. That we would-"
"-kill those rat bastards." Grant finished the sentence.
"Yeah,"
"Where do you train?" Grant asked.
"Someplace called Highland, Arizona." his voice lowered.
"Bobby, you and I are going to be training together."
"It's a small world after all." Bobby sang with a lisp.
"Yeah," Grant rolled his eyes while smiling.
"Man, I'm hungry. Let's go eat at The Family Restaurant. I'm really in need of a Reuben."
"Alright, should I pick you up, or are you driving?"
"I'll just meet you there in like five minutes."
"Alright." said Grant. "I'll see ya then."
Instead of running up the stairs, showering, and dressing in something clean, Grant threw on an old brown cap, and ran out to his forest green Mercury. He opened the door, started the car, and drove six blocks straight from his driveway. As suspected, Bobby's car wasn't sitting in the parking lot. He had always been one to run late. The five minutes he had said turned into twenty.
Finally, his red neon pulled into The Family Restaurant parking lot. Bobby parked his car next to Grant's, and then came in.
In those twenty minutes, Grant had resigned with full explanation. The owner Leon understood fully, thanked him for his service, and said the meal was on him.
When Bobby arrived in the restaurant, he found Grant sitting at their booth, sipping on a straw.
"Hey." said Bobby as he took his seat. "What's up, man?"
"I got some news, Bobby." Grant grinned.
"What?"
"I'm engaged." he now smiled.
"Wow. She said yes, huh?"
"Yeah, she cried it actually."
"Exactly as I said she would right?"
"Yeah, you can read girls pretty well." said Grant. "You just can't get any."
"Shut up." Bobby smiled while shaking his head. "Dick."
"Sorry." Grant paused. "I got down on one knee and said words I now don't remember."
"Does she know about the draft?"
"Yeah. After asking her to marry me, she told me that I'm gonna be a father."
"God, that sucks. It's kind of like with my dad."
"How's he doing?"
"Um," a tear lump grew in Bobby's throat, only to be swallowed. "Yesterday he was going to the bathroom, and collapsed. Mom took him to Mayo Clinic today. They don't know about me being drafted. I really don't want to tell them."
"You'll have to."
"I know!" he answered sharply. "I know."
After another fifteen minutes, food was brought on plates, and beverages in glasses. Two famished friends ate, drank, and then left...
Friday morning came. It brought an emotional fianc?e, a confused sister, and a sad mother. It was a small gathering. Grant laid on the couch alongside Chelsea for only another moment. It was just minutes before six. The bus to Minneapolis Airport would be pulling in front of The Family Restaurant in just minutes. It meant Grant only had minutes to say goodbye, possibly forever.
Another minute passed and Grant got up from the couch. He hugged Chelsea and made a promise: "I'll come back."
Without saying a word, she nodded her head, sniffled tears, and let go of his neck. Grant walked over to Hannah, knelt down, lifted her chin with his finger, and smiled.
"It'll be okay." he said. "I love you, Hannah."
"I lo-love you too, Grant." she hugged him longingly. It was something she didn't want to let go of. But, the truth was hitting everyone, especially Grant: he might die. After hugging Hannah a moment longer, he let go of her, and walked over to his mother. She stood strong, her eyes were green orbs sitting on top of a bright red base, her light brown hair was draping her forehead, and her motion spoke volumes. Even though she was smiling, her eyes said something different. Grant saw that her strong faith was dwindling. She was walking down his road. What would her outcome be?
"Bye, mom." said Grant, smiling.
"Come back to me, baby." her lip quivered. "I need you."
"I will, mom." Grant's lip stayed taut and calm. He had cried his tears the night before. Today, his ducts were dry, and his mind sat in a place somewhere between dream and reality.
After another moment, he walked away from the three women in his life. "I love you all." It was something for Chelsea, Hannah, and his mom to ponder as he left the house on Twelve Twenty Two Main. He didn't speak another word. Grant opened the door, and left. It was official: Grant was no longer free.
Like clockwork, the bus pulled up to the bus stop at 6:15 am. Grant had arrived a few minutes before, as had Bobby. They stood shoulder to shoulder, waiting for the doors to open and engulf them. And like always, the doors slid open; Grant and Bobby entered, took a seat, and remained quiet. Grant pressed his flat forehead against the window, and sighed. Bobby rested his head against the seat, and closed his eyes. Though they were sitting next to one another, Grant and Bobby were worlds apart.
At that moment they were two strangers. Neither acknowledged the other. It was a time of reflection, fear, and acceptance. Maybe they were grieving their lost childhood. Maybe they were searching for the truth lingering in the clouds. Maybe it was everything rolled into one sloppy, emotional package. Whatever it was, Grant and Bobby had been called.
When the war had started twelve years before, things seemed effortless. The plan: go in, kill terrorists, come home (and maybe take some oil in the process). It was a plan that seemed conceivable, even logical. But, something wasn't expected: They were smart! They were prepared! America had guns, twelve grades worth of education, and white flesh. It was grounds of superiority... so they thought.
Unexpectedly, and much to their surprise, years passed. Every year brought a glimpse into a future promising brightness, but only turning bleaker. A war that had started as a goal became a trap. And Bobby and Grant now found themselves being brought to the feeding cages with only a gun and white skin: superiority!
As they sat shoulder to shoulder in that one seat on that one bus, neither knew of their future. They expected death, lost limbs, and impaired functions from shrapnel. They expected the war to be the way it was when it started. What they didn't expect is what they got.
An hour on the bus soon turned into an hour on the plane. They were no longer in the small, sheltered world of Miles. Grant and Bobby were now nearing a monster's land. They would soon see what lay behind that thin sheet of skin.
"It just seems to go faster when it's something you don't want to do." said Bobby, following a sigh.
"Yeah." agreed Grant.
<
br /> "How are you doing?"
"I don't know, Bobby. I'm scared."
"Me too, man." Bobby shook his head, and ran his hands through his dark blonde hair. "But, who knows. Maybe this is good."
"How?" asked Grant as he turned away from the window.
"I don't know."
"Where is the good in this, Bobby?"
"What do you want me to say, Grant?"
"I want you to say where the good is in this terrible situation."
"I won't have to see my dad die." Bobby became quiet. "They found three tumors in his brain. They can't do anything about it. They sent him home. So Grant, I'm sorry that you have to leave your happy life. But, you don't give a damn about my situation. You lost your dad over twelve years ago. I've been losing mine for three. I've had to watch it happen. I've had to watch it every day! Why do you think we aren't close like we used to be?"
"Because of your dad,"
"No! It's because you've proven time and time again that my situation is nothing compared to yours. You're still drowning?! You're still broken?! Every day I break a little bit more, and that God in the clouds doesn't do a fuckin' thing about it. He just watches as I become pieces. My mom feeds me this crap about how everything happens for a purpose. She doesn't believe it."
Grant's reply was quiet.
"The good in this situation is what I want it to be. And right now leaving that withered man is better than watching him take his last breath. I really don't care about if there is good in it for you. It's not always about you!" Heads had started to turn. The fight had escalated to interruption. People glanced with annoyed yet curious eyes. A flight attendant had turned her head as well. But, the fight was over.
It ended with an awkward silence and time to ponder words unsaid that had finally been said. Grant stared out the plane window, perching his chin on his palm, and breathing deep. A weight had been lifted, a fight had ended, and now silence lingered. It had come out like vomit, bile and all. Though the words stung like an injection, Grant knew what Bobby said was true. And that in itself hurt. He knew how lost he was. He had all the happiness allowed, only to have it taken away by the Draft.
The plane ride was bleak, quiet? lonely.
Bobby still sat in a thought. He imagined his father running free and remembered the good old days. But, now Grant and Bobby were two people trudging through reality. Maybe the tunnel they walked in was lit, but all they were getting now were promises of light. It was nothing substantial. God was nothing but a tape recorder voice in the darkness: a repetitive voice claiming truth, but offering nothing.
The plane ride lasted two more hours. In that time, more silence lingered, sighs ensued, and glances were given. Grant and Bobby were not fighting, they were in thought. The words had been said, pondered, and forgotten.
The plane landed with a screech, scattered clapping, and a few jumping from their seats. It landed, only to verify their future. It was no longer just words on a piece of paper labeled URGENT. All of the scenarios passing through their heads were now put into place. It all started with two rusty school buses painted forest green waiting at the entrance of the Phoenix, Arizona airport. Somewhere near the end of the airport, a man stood and held a sign: ?DRAFT. Bobby and Grant followed it, treading through the jungle that is airway transportation.
Soon, they found themselves outside, staring at the two buses. Black smoke puffed out the exhaust pipes in thick rolls. The air was filled with the sound of planes taking flight. Two men stood outside of each bus. From strict presence alone, these men were not mere trainees. They had the marking of experience carved into their faces. Two men were white, two were black. They stood in equal measure. Yet, somehow each face resembled the other, as if in a hall of statues of the same man. When their faces changed, they looked military made. The movements were stiff.
"Draft," asked a white man who stood on the right side of the door, with a voice that was crisp and commanding.
"Yeah," Grant and Bobby replied, pulling out their letters.
"Get on the bus. Take any seat available." he glanced at their letters.
"Alright,"
"You say Sir here, kiddos." the black man still resembled a statue.
"Sorry, Sir." Grant and Bobby got on the bus, and took the fourth seat on the left. They sat and listened to the talkative men around them, and then sighed once more. For five minutes they sat in a bus that smelled of aftershave masking body odor before the men from outside stepped up and in. They stood tall in the aisle. Between the two of them height differed by less than two inches. The black man was the tallest, but not by much. And then he sat down, leaving only one standing.
"I am the talkative one," with this little ice breaker, life came from a man Grant had expected to be statue like. Everything about him was military made, from his haircut, to the tough tan skin that had once been a pale white. But, he had the personality of someone different than the military made. "I am Patrol Sergeant Ricks. I am one of four Patrol Sergeants who will be training you for what's to come. The other three are Patrol Sergeant Hetel," the black man nodded his head. "Patrol Sergeant Liese and Patrol Sergeant Scott are on the other bus. You will meet them when we arrive. I like to talk. It gets all the shit out in the open. Sergeant Hetel is a man that talks when he has something to say."
Patrol Sergeant Hetel nodded his head with eyes of stone, and then glanced up at Patrol Sergeant Ricks.
"I know most of you are scared." the talkative one continued. "I'm not going to fill this speech with words meant to taste good. They will taste bitter. They will cut. But, they may keep you alive. I have served three tours stationed in Baghdad. There are things I never bring home with me, things my wife and kids know nothing about. They are my nightmares that they shouldn't share. It was in my second term that I realized just what kind of things these men are capable of. I saw it first hand on a day that I will never forget. I always remember the sun being the first thing I saw. It's been a few years now, and I'm sure false details have leaked in, but I always remember the sun. It flickered, as if I put a kaleidoscope up to my face for that one moment." the man paused, "It's strange that all of my nightmares begin with the sun. They all begin with light. This is the most frequent of them though. It plays over and over in my head, as if on a loop. There was this man we were working with. His name escapes me, but his face never will. He knew things about dangerous men. He wanted to help us take them down. He was an Iraqi man, as kind as the word itself. He was a father to a small boy and a smaller girl. His wife wore the garments where only her eyes could be seen. But, that was all you needed to see to know she was beautiful. Her eyes were filled with life." he paused again, this time swallowing a large lump. "And then one day they weren't. With the man's help we caught a small section of a much bigger operation. The men that escaped visited his family, removed their heads and dangled them from hooks in his front yard. And then the man's kindness became screams that lingered long after he took his own life. When I close my eyes I only see their heads. They just sway. "Patrol Sergeant Ricks cleared his throat, and when he spoke again, his eyes were flat and hard. "War brings out the beast in men. What will it bring out in you?"
Grant sat wide eyed. This Patrol Sergeant spoke of things that mirrored his deepest fears, finally bringing them to the surface. He looked at Bobby, took a deep breath, and said a silent prayer: "Let me return."
Patrol Sergeant Ricks continued. "This is not the army that it was when the Iraq war started. The truth that we didn't want to admit to is we thought it would be simple. We thought it would be short. We were wrong. A new system is among us. I will explain the best I can. There are eighty four men that will be training in Highland, Arizona. Forty two are on this bus, forty two are on the other. Each Patrol Sergeant will take his pick of twenty one men that will become his trainees to see over. We get three months to prepare you for what's to come. I began by talking to you about the brutality of these men, because it's growing. And the only way to prepare you for what's to come
is to prepare you for what you'll see." he paused as if to clear his train of thought, and when he begin to speak again the subject was back on track. "It is Plan B. Twelve years in and we finally make a change."
Patrol Sergeant Hetel suddenly grunted. It was a message that none of the trainees understood. But, Ricks understood it immediately. It was a grunt meant to keep him in line. He played the role, but it was clear to see that the mask was slipping. And a man damaged by the terrible things he had seen was beginning to show through.
Patrol Sergeant Ricks continued, with Hetel's eyes now focused sharply on him. "I'm sorry, men. We all have monsters that haunt us." he paused. "Patrol Sergeant Hetel can finish explaining," and with that he sat down.
Hetel stood up. "Sit and think. We will be there shortly." he took his seat, and the bus began to drive away from the airport. Grant looked out the window Bobby was sitting by, and watched the airport fade into an Arizona mirage.
As it had been for the whole trip, Grant and Bobby sat next to each other. And as it had been, both were deep in thought. Neither was thinking about the fight earlier. It was irrelevant.
Something about Patrol Sergeant Ricks' speech awoke a dormant fight in Grant. Mr. Hart had told him not to let the war change him. It was now a challenge, instead of a statement. The promise he made to Chelsea had been sincere. He meant to return the way he had left.
But, Bobby wasn't so fortunate. He sat in the seat, contemplating suicide. Returning from the war would only bring a funeral, tears, grief, and more pain. Did he want more pain?
Grant put his hands in his pocket, finding a small notepad, and a note attached:
Hey Grant,
I know you aren't one to write, but sometimes just putting my thoughts on a piece of paper helps. So, I bought you a small notepad. Think of it as your unofficial journal.
Love always,
Chelsea
Grant smiled, and opened up the first page. Wrapped in the spun wire spine sat a pen. He grabbed it, clicked the tip into being, and began to write:
I am Grant Smith,
Day 1:
I am told that writing my feelings helps. I guess I'll listen. Chelsea is the smartest person I know.
So, what to say... Um, feelings... What the hell am I feeling?
I can only feel the tingle in my fingers and toes spreading toward the center of me. I don't know if it's fear. I can't explain it.
Patrol Sergeant Ricks is a man I don't want to become. I don't want to share his nightmares. I am already haunted.
I will not die. I promised Chelsea that I will return. I will not be like dad. I will not leave her by herself to raise our baby. She will not be alone.
I had happiness in a town that I used to hate. I had things worth living for. I still do. The town of Miles was something constricting, but now I am sure it is the only place for me. I think I am destined to be a small Minnesota town man. I don't need anything more. As long as I have Chelsea, that's fine.
Grant shut the notepad, tucked it back into his pocket, and then glanced right. He saw Bobby resting his soft pale chin against the palm of his left hand.
"Hey about earlier on the plane-"
"I said things I didn't want to say. It was my fear talking. It was the bottled up things coming out all at you. I'm sorry, Grant." Bobby said.
"No. You were right. I am selfish. I've just been trying to keep my head above water for so long, that I haven't considered your situation. But, I'm sorry."
"I want to tell you something."
"What?"
"I am not the fun person I used to be. Something has changed. Sure I'm happy at times, but today isn't that kind of day. And I only have today. What if we don't come back? Or what if I don't? Or you?"
"I don't want to think like that, Bobby. I have to believe that maybe God does care. I have to believe He'll let me return."
"You've never believed in God, Grant. Why start now?" Bobby situated his thick frames.
"I've come to realize that belief in something provides hope. I know I am not an example for when it comes to hope, but maybe it's time to start. He didn't save my dad, but maybe He'll save me. I can't die. I can't leave Chelsea and my baby by themselves. If asking God is what it takes, then I'll ask Him."
"Remember when I was younger? I had those stupid blonde spikes, and ridiculous round frames. Remember how I preached about God? I was so passionate, so sure of what was right. I would feed you God as much as I could."
"Yeah,"
"I wish I could feel that way again. But, life is a lot harder now. I'm just so sad. Every day I walk down the stairs and see him lying on that couch. He's always wearing those ugly blue sweatpants that bunch up at the ankles. The TV is always on with either some stupid preacher, or the Beverly Hillbillies. You don't know how sick I am of the Beverly Hillbillies." Bobby smiled briefly, and then continued. "For a while he was better. For a while we were father and son again. And for a while I thought the God I had served without question would save him. I found myself praying at night again, reading the bible again? trusting Him again. As soon as I found myself with hope again, he collapsed. He went to Mayo and came back with a death sentence. How can I believe anymore?" Bobby swallowed a large tear lump and cleared his throat.
"I don't know, Bobby. I wish I could tell you the answers you want to hear. But, I can't. This newly found faith is me grasping at straws-it's me desperate."
"You're not the only desperate person, Grant. When I said that you were the problem, it's not true. I am my own problem. I just wear masks everywhere I go, even for my dad. He wears them too. He never shows all of the pain. But, I can see it sitting in his eyes behind a forced smile. I can't let anyone see the pain."
"Why?"
"'Cause they'll turn away. Pain changes you. And I've been changed."
"We've known each other for twelve years, Bobby. It's time we tell each other the truth."
"And what is that?"
"I have a monster that was born from my pain. It has horns, flailing tongues, jagged blood tinged teeth, and a father sitting on top of it all."
"You know of your darkness. You can even describe it. I can't. All I can say is that somewhere deep down something is waiting to get out. It's poisoning me."
"We are more alike than you think. We are two men with monsters, but that's not to say we are dangerous. As Patrol Sergeant Ricks said, we all have monsters."
"I guess so," Bobby looked out the window and closed his eyes.
"We all have monsters." Grant said it quietly enough that only he could hear it. It was a truth he didn't want to acknowledge. It was a truth that was beginning to become his reality.
