You're home. It's amazing you're home. It's also amazing that you don't feel safe. It certainly is funny, that feeling of not being quite safe. You felt safer when everybody around you had rifles, pistols, grenades, and mounted .50 caliber machine guns. You felt safe, because everyone thought the same way, and could react quickly if there was an attack. And there were places to dive into if a round fell close. Things were so fucking absolutely fucking fucking crazy, it all started to make fucking sense. And then, one day, you were home. Sitting quietly on the edge of the bed. Hello, new ugly me.
When you go out, you feel better with that small pistol in your right hand pocket. It is a stupid little pistol, not much for defense, but it takes the edge off -- you don't feel absolutely naked. You have a handy dandy knife too, hidden, but ready to rock. But you're home, and nobody thinks to bother you much. You know you bother yourself. Your mother will never know you almost killed her the other morning, when she was doing the laundry, and accidentally bumped the door. It wasn't you mother then, it was the last roadside ambush you were in, but you caught yourself. You closed your eyes, ready for that first huge motherfucking "THUNK" when the roadside bomb was triggered. Rather than putting a knife into mommy, you silently butcher half of your mattress. Not that bad, the fucking thing is old & you flip it over and nobody knows about the big ragged holes you made.
You go see Alice, she still looks like a cheerleader for all those years back, when you were kids. Alice makes iced tea in the afternoon and talks about things and you listen, and for some reason her words are very soothing. Alice knows what to talk about, and what not to ask you about. She understands, she's traced the star shaped scars on your upper arm, chest, and neck. When Alice did that, you braced yourself, you wanted to cry, but you didn't turn away and you didn't stop her. You and Alice go down to the park, look at the water, see a kiddie flick with all the mommys and babies excited to be in the dark watching a big glowing screen full of sounds and colors. Alice lightly holds your hand, her fingers caressing the pads of your fingers. You find yourself feeling normal, thinking only about how Alice looks in the sun. Tall, blond, beautiful.
In the movie, despite everything, you realize it all might turn out okay in the end.
2 comments:
I'm NOT a military veteran. As a life long pacifist, I never once considered signing up for the armed forces and, thankfully, the draft was over and done with by the time I became of age.
Still, despite my lack of direct experience, this sounds so real, like what might go through a returning veteran's head.
I know many veterans, personally, who have talked about things like this. I neither glamorize war, nor glamorize the trauma resulting from it. Some suffer more than others. More heartbreak, either way. Justified, in mind, or not.
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