by Dan Walsh
The only moment of excitement came when a golfer’s drive bounced two feet in front of Chris on the tenth hole. Chris was wearing a sound-muffling headset, so he didn’t hear the man yell, “Fore!” Unfortunately, at the speed he was going he wasn’t able to react fast enough and ran right over the man’s ball. The mower tore it to pieces.
When the elderly golfer arrived on the scene, Chris was very apologetic but the man wasn’t angry. Mostly embarrassed the ball wound up so far from where he was aiming.
Chris headed back to the maintenance building. It was lunch time. Since he only got thirty minutes, he’d packed a sandwich and a baggy full of chips. The sandwich was in a cooler in his car.
After parking the mower where Jed had shown him, Chris fetched his cooler and found a picnic bench under a tree behind the building. He was disappointed to find Jed was already there eating his lunch. He was tempted to head back to his car, but Jed had already seen him.
He set his cooler on the picnic table and opened it up.
“What hole were you on?” Jed said. “How far did you get?”
“The twelfth hole,” Chris said.
“Not bad for your first day. Forgot to tell you, if you know you’re going to be far away from this place when lunchtime hits, you could just bring your cooler with you on the mower, so you don’t have to head all the way back here. There’s a metal basket behind the seat. Pretty sure that cooler would fit in it. If not, you could strap it down with a bungee.”
“Thanks. I’ll do that tomorrow.”
They didn’t talk for a minute. Jed kept eating. Chris started unwrapping his food.
Jed broke the silence. “How’s the leg holding up? With the shifting, I mean. Giving you any trouble?”
It was giving Chris some. In fact his left knee was pretty sore. “Not much. I’m sure I’ll get used to it.”
“How often you go in for physical therapy?”
“Down to twice a week,” Chris said, “unless something goes wrong.”
“I’m actually seeing somebody again. A shrink at the VA. I quit going for a while, but Tom thought it might do me some good to go back.”
Chris could tell Jed had more he wanted to say. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear it. But the counselors he’d talked to all agreed…talking helped, especially with someone who understood. “Things starting to bother you again? I mean, since you stopped going for a while and now you’re going back.”
“You could say that.”
“Anything in particular?”
Jed seemed to think about it. “Guess it started back when the president pulled everybody out of Iraq. Before a year was up, look what happened. The whole thing reverted back to the way it was, even worse than it was once ISIS took over.”
“But that’s Iraq,” Chris said. “I thought you fought in Afghanistan.”
“I did. But it reminded me of what happened after we left Korengal. Same difference. You ever see that movie, Restrepo?”
“Heard about it, but didn’t see it.” Chris knew it was a documentary filmed in the Korengal Valley, the mountainous area where Jed was stationed. “Were you in that flick?”
Jed shook his head no. “But we weren’t that far away. We went through the very same things. I knew some of the guys in the movie. Even while we were there, you got the feeling we were just wasting our time.” He stopped a moment, rested his elbows on the table. “We were scared out of our minds every day, getting shot at, getting mortared. Guys were getting wounded, some getting killed. Some were good friends. And for what? We were just guarding a bunch of dirt huts on some nowhere mountain for people who still want to live in the Stone Age. And they don’t even want you there in the first place.”
Chris knew exactly what he was talking about.
Jed straightened up. “In the pep talks they gave us, they kept telling us we had to be there to protect these people from the Taliban. Seemed to us, most of the time they resented us being there more than the Taliban. Most of their sons were off fighting for them. And you know what happened as soon as we pulled out of that area?”
“Everything went back to the way it was?”
“Exactly,” Jed said. “Just the way it was before we ever got there. Probably the way it was a hundred years ago, the way it’ll be a hundred years from now. And when the president pulls all our guys out of Afghanistan, I wouldn’t be a bit surprised to see the whole country go back to the way it was. Like we were never there. Like all those lives we lost never mattered. All those friends we lost. Guys losing their arms and legs, and for what?”
Jed suddenly realized what he’d said. “Hey look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that. I wasn’t thinking straight. I was just blabbing away—”
“Don’t worry about it,” Chris said. “You aren’t saying anything I’ve haven’t said or thought about a hundred times. You joked about it this morning, about us guarding the poppy fields. We all knew what was going on. They harvest poppy to make opium and heroin. It’s their biggest cash crop. We were told we were there to win hearts and minds and, like you said, to protect the Afghan people from the Taliban. All the guys I fought with felt the same way you do. Most of those people didn’t want protection from the Taliban. They wanted us out of there, the sooner the better. They wanted things back the way they were, the way they’d always been.”
Both men sat in silence a few moments. Chris spoke up first. “I didn’t put my life on the line every day for the Afghan people. And I didn’t lose this leg or get half my body all shot up with shrapnel for them, either. I was there to protect my friends. We figured, the government stuck us here. We thought it was for one thing, turned out to be for another. Then you realize, the big picture reasons don’t really matter. What matters are the guys I trained with, the guys I’m fighting with. They’re what matter.”
“And that’s why they were there, too,” Jed said.
“And when all is said and done,” Chris said, “that’s the only thing that matters, the only thing that’s gonna matter fifty years from now. The rest of it’s all pointless. In the overall scheme of things, it doesn’t count for a hill-a-beans.”
Jed stood up. “And that my friend, is why I’m seeing a shrink.”
24
Chris was finally back in his apartment, safe and sound. He closed the door behind him, hating the way he felt. He knew he was no longer in any danger. At least on one level. He could tell that to himself a dozen times, a hundred times. But at some point, this overwhelming feeling of anxiety would come over him.
It didn’t happen all the time, but it seemed to be happening more, not less, as time went on. When it did, he seemed powerless to stop it. He knew it was PTSD. He’d already been diagnosed with it. In fact, he was in the middle of being re-evaluated to see if his rating percentage should increase. He’d get more money if it did.
But Chris didn’t want his percentage increased. He wanted it to stop. He wanted to be normal again.
So far, his efforts had been entirely unsuccessful. When he was first released from the hospital, he’d started drinking, heavily. But after a month or two, and one seriously close call with a head-on collision, he knew that had to stop. He quit going to bars and stopped bringing booze home from the store. Even beer.
But he needed something. The meds he took helped some. But he hated the way they made him feel.
Carrying the bags of groceries, he stepped away from the front door and brought them out to the kitchen. It didn’t take long to put them away. He had planned to stay at the store longer and really stock up on things, but barely a third of the way down his list, the panic attack hit.
Fortunately, he was able to grab a pre-made dish of lasagna first. He read the directions, set the oven to the right temperature, set the timer and shoved it in. He walked over to the living area and plopped down on the sofa.
He thought this recent bout with PTSD may have been triggered by his talk with Jed during lunch. The chat seemed to do Jed some good; Chris wondered if it hadn’t co
me at his expense. For the rest of the afternoon as he mowed, different things they’d discussed played over and over in his head.
Just before the lunch break, Jed mentioned some documentary he’d watched about some aging World War II vets. The interviewer had asked them if they struggled with any PTSD-like symptoms after the war. The men said yes. Some of the men still struggled seventy years later.
That was a depressing thought all by itself. For Jed, and for Chris.
One of the men in his early 90s said he thought the soldiers today had it much worse than they did back in World War II. For one thing, all the bad guys they fought wore uniforms. It was easy to know when you were in danger, and when you weren’t. Today’s soldiers were in danger from everyone: men, women, kids, even old men. Walking around was dangerous, all by itself.
And the worst part, the old man said, was that they could at least balance out their suffering with the knowledge that they had to fight the Nazis and Japanese. Everyone back home fully supported the soldiers and the cause. And the war ended with complete victory; the enemy surrendered unconditionally. Today, returning vets from Iraq and Afghanistan had to sit and watch all the gains won in battle completely erased. All the places they had liberated at such great cost were, one by one, reverting back into the hands of the same enemy. Making it all seemed like it had been for nothing.
Chris certainly didn’t need to be reminded of that.
He sat up on the couch and reached for the remote, hoping to find something on TV to reset his mind. The phone rang. He leaned over and picked it up off the end table. It was Kyle, his best friend from Afghanistan.
“Hey Kyle, how are you doing? So good to hear your voice.”
After too long a pause, Kyle said, “Hey, Chris.”
“You don’t sound too good. You’re back home now, right?” After the tour Kyle and Chris had shared together, Kyle had signed up for another.
“Yeah, about two months now. This time I’m back for good.”
“What happened? You get hurt?”
“I was in a Humvee that overturned a few months back. Got banged up some. But nothing serious.”
“Just needed to get away from it all?”
“Something like that,” Kyle said. “I wanted to stay in, but you know what’s going on. They’re wrapping everything up. Besides that, guess I’ve seen too much and been shot at one too many times.”
“Why, what are they saying?” Although Chris thought he knew. He could hear it in Kyle’s voice. He was not in a good place. And he sounded drunk.
“Guess I started doing and saying things that were getting me into trouble. So they had me evaluated. Next thing I know, I’m not just going home, I’m being pushed out of the service altogether. Accepting the PTSD diagnosis was the only way for me to avoid being dishonorably discharged.”
Chris knew a bit about how this worked. Kyle probably had PTSD for a while and didn’t know it. “Are you getting any help? Now that you’re home, I mean? Are you seeing anyone?”
“You mean a girl?” Kyle said.
“No, I mean like a shrink. A counselor. I’m supposed to be. Haven’t done it yet. But speaking of girls, you seeing anyone?”
“Nope. I don’t think I’m sending off the right kind of vibes these days.”
Chris laughed.
“How about you?”
“My vibes are probably worse than yours,” Chris said. “No girl in her right mind would want anything I’m selling.” He heard Kyle sigh on the other end. “What kind of things are you dealing with?”
“I don’t know,” Kyle said. “Just stuff.”
“How are you sleeping?”
“Not good. Too many nightmares. Sometimes I feel like I’m just napping off and on all night long. One nightmare I keep having involves you.”
“Me?”
“Yeah,” Kyle said. “I keep reliving that day in the poppy field. I keep hearing that click, then you scream, then the explosion. I look and see you flying through the air, then you fall and disappear in the flowers. I scream out your name, but no sound comes out. I run over to you and look down and then—”
He stopped talking. Chris could hear him starting to choke up. Now, it sounded like he was crying. “It was so…”
“Kyle,” Chris said softly. “It’s okay, bro. It’s alright.”
Kyle started getting control of himself. “But it’s not okay, man. You’re not okay. I saw what happened to you. And I keep seeing what happened to you, over and over again. I can’t do anything about it. Not then, and I can’t do anything now.”
“But I’m better, Kyle. Okay, I lost my leg. But I got off easy in some ways. You should’ve seen the guys around me in the hospital. Some lost both legs. Some lost arms, too. And I’ve been through all kinds of therapy to learn how to walk again. You should see me…with long pants on, you might not even know the leg is gone. I’m close to not even having a limp.”
“So…so you’re doing okay?”
What should Chris say? He couldn’t lie to his friend.
“Sometimes I am. I’ve got good days and bad days.” Chris couldn’t recall too many good days lately. “But it’s hard. I’m not gonna kid you. I’m going through probably some of the same things you are, and some extra things because of the leg. I can’t stand being in crowds. I feel like I’m always on guard, like I’m back in the war zone. My mind refuses to accept I’m safe now. Some days, I don’t feel like I belong anywhere. Like I’m pretending all the time. You know what normal is, so you try to act normal when other people are around. But the whole time, you know that’s not how you feel inside. You don’t feel normal. You feel off, on edge. It’s exhausting.”
Kyle didn’t answer right away. Then he said, “You’re describing my life to a T. I got all that going on.”
“There’s a lot of us who’ve got all that going on,” Chris said. “I don’t know what the percentage is, but it’s not small. Read somewhere that twenty-two vets commit suicide every day.” He thought a moment. “You ever thought about doing that, Kyle?”
Kyle didn’t answer. Wait a minute. “Kyle, is that why you called? Have you been thinking about that now? About killing yourself?”
Another long pause.
“Kyle? Tell me you’re not. Tell me you’re not sitting there with a gun in your hand.”
“Not a gun,” Kyle said.
“Then what?”
“I’m not gonna do it. That’s why I called. See, you talked me out of it.” He laughed. “Hearing how messed up you are somehow made me feel better.”
Chris laughed. But he knew this wasn’t funny. “Now listen Kyle. You did the right thing to call me. But you need to do more than call me. You need to go get some help. Promise me you’ll do that.”
“I will.”
“I mean it.”
“I know. Okay, I will.”
“You will what?”
“I’ll go get help.”
“You do it first thing tomorrow,” Chris said. “And Kyle, you can’t do that to me. You can’t leave me down here on my own. You call me anytime you start feeling bad. I got a job now, so leave a voicemail if I don’t pick up right away. I see it’s you, I’ll call you back the first chance I get.”
“Alright.”
“You promise?”
“Yeah. Good talking with you, Chris.”
25
Amy led Finley around the grass area in the yard. Before she’d left, Kim had suggested it might be a good idea considering Finley’s car ride followed by all this excitement. After a few minutes of sniffing, Kim’s hunch proved right. Fortunately, it wasn’t the kind that needed cleaning up.
One thing Amy did notice, though, was all the attention Finley was getting from the other inmates in the yard. He was definitely turning some heads. To her, except for possibly that German Shepherd mix, he was the best looking dog of the lot.
It’s not like she had anything to do with it. Her team wound up getting the last set of dogs and she got the last dog avail
able on her team. “And look what I got,” she said aloud to Finley. He looked up at her and wagged his tail. She gave him a treat, which he all but inhaled. She rubbed his head. “You ready to go inside? See your new room and new bed?”
She walked him across the yard and stepped inside the main meeting room, the same room where they’d eaten lunch after the graduation ceremony. Rita said this is also where they’d do the bulk of the training, at least the indoor parts.
As she crossed the floor, she had to sidestep around one of the girls holding the leash to a black-and-white pit. Her name was Rafferty. Noticing Finley, she said, “How do you rate getting a dog like that?”
“I don’t,” Amy said. “I was prepared to take anything. Finley just happened to be the last dog of the day.” She looked down at her pit. “But your dog’s cute.”
Rafferty looked at her dog, who was looking up at her adoringly. “In his own way, I suppose.” She bent down and scratched his neck. “But you’re not going to win any contests with this face, are you boy? Maybe crack a mirror or two. But that’s all. Aren’t ya?” She said all this like a mother cooing a baby. Her dog wagged his little rope of a tail, hard enough his whole rear-end shook.
Finley watched the scene with interest until her dog took an interest in him. Then he turned his body sideways and looked away. “Guess he’s a little shy,” Amy said.
“No,” Rafferty said, “that’s not being shy for a dog. He’s basically telling my dog, hey, I’m cool. I don’t want any trouble. Watch, my dog will sniff his butt now.”
“I hate it when dogs do that,” Amy said. “It’s so gross.”
“You better get used to it. Dogs do it all the time. It’d be pretty sick if we did that when we greeted each other. But it’s not like that for dogs. A dog figures out half the world with its nose. It’s, like, a hundred times more powerful than ours. When they sniff each other, it’s like you and I small-talking for ten minutes. Supposedly, they find out all kinds of things about each other through a few good sniffs. Andy here, for example, has probably just figured out what kind of napp Finley’s been on lately. How his health is doing and even what kind of mood he’s in.”
