In the Garden

            As I sat in the rehab garden and looked about the place seemed to fade. It made so much more sense out there. It was warm, like summer, and we liked that, we were just kids. We would goof around all the time, pretending that we would never face the cold bloody Hell of battle. Jimmy, my bunkmate, and I would play cards and exchange stories about the girls we had waiting for us when we got home. On the days that weren’t so bad we went into town and grabbed us a few drinks. Jimmy always got the same thing, beer, tall glass, chilled. He loved that beer, the colder the better, he said. It seemed to balance out the horrible Vietnamese heat, and remind him of his home in Vermont.

            “Man, when I get out of here. I’m really gonna raise some Hell, and those deserters can kiss my ass. Damn Commies,” Jimmy told me, after a few too many.

“I think you’ve had enough,” I said, pulling the glass out from under his chin.

“I’ll tell you when I’ve had enough.” He looked at me with a  stern face for all of two seconds, and before I knew it we were cracking up.

“Let’s get back.” We walked back from the bar that night in a loud drunken stupor, pretending we were back home again. Just as we were about to reach base, we heard fire. Suddenly, our drunken haze was over and we took action. We ran to out commander, who told us to get down and shoot like our lives depended on it. Jimmy and I lay side by side as we shot ‘em down. One, two, so many dead bodies, and then out of nowhere one of ‘em came at me. I saw his face, and it looked like mine. Never before had I been so scared to kill.

His face took me back to my old home in Georgia. It took me back to the mornings when my sister and I would fight over who got the bathroom. I felt warm and safe, but then I realized that I wasn’t in Georgia, I was in a foreign country, where they spoke a different language and had completely different values.

After a short moment of freezing my surroundings came back and I knew that it was him or me, I chose him. I shot him twice, once in the leg and once in the chest. He came down like a bag of bricks. Then I heard a cry, a terrible cry so close, I didn’t want to believe it, I looked to my side, it was Jimmy.

“Jim! Jim! Jimmy!”

“Th-th-th-ey g-g-g-g-got m-m-me. T-take th-this back to Ver-m-mont,” he handed me a diamond ring, “g-g-give it t-t-too S-Susan Macdo-do-donald, t-tell her I l-l-love h-her,” and with that Jimmy took one last gasp and died. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I took the ring and stashed it in my pocket, nice and secure, then I took his weaponry and moved into the field. Out there a man dies and he is forgotten instantly. It made sense but at the same time it showed us all the barbarian in us all that only comes out on the field.

In an instant the black night fades to green. The hot, humid Vietnamese air changed to the familiar warmth of a Georgia day. The gun in my hand dissolved and Jimmy’s ring was no longer in my breast pocket. A nurse stood at my side, her hand on my shoulder. My ears, that had been filled with the sounds of war were now being greeted by a soft voice.

“Your mother is here to see you,” said the nurse. My mother stepped forward, pale, thin, clearly distressed.

“You look terrible,” my mother said, “You look like you haven’t slept. They tell me that you stopped eating, you’ve complained of nightmares,  that you have spells of being there and you spend all of your time here, by the lilies.”

“Good to see you too ma.”

“I’m serious, your father and I sent you here to be well. This is killing me, your father and Molly. How do you think she feels about all this?”

“Mom, I’m having a tough time and your not being supportive isn’t helping me.”

“My son, the baby killer.” At that moment I blacked out. I was brought back to the day I came home. All the people in the air port ere screaming.

“Murderer! You’re all invaders! Animals! Baby killers!” Then one man stepped forward and launched a tomato at my chest. The crowd behind him cheered and chanted.

“This is the thanks we get.” Whispered Hank who was clearly trying to contain his anger.

“Relax Hank. Don’t let ‘em get too ya. Attention is how they win.”

“We’re just kids, man.  We’ve seen things these guys couldn’t imagine,”

“Relax, relax. We’ll be home soon.” The scene around me faded and I was back in the garden. My mother was hovering over me, crying.

“What happened ma?”

“You were running, screaming like a barbarian and then you passed out.”

“I need help.”

“You need to be locked away.” She turned her back to me and stormed off.