The sun hung heavy in the sky and the sweat stung his eyes. This was one fucked day. He had felt an uneasiness as he awoke in the morning and now he was sure that today was fucked.
They had entered the village as usual and nodded to the elder just as they had every other time they walked into this village. The elder nodded back and then the crack of the AK-47 sounded. Bullets whizzed by and there was shouting, Murphy was dead, Hughes was injured and he fired wildly in the direction of the bullets.
When things calmed down they took a survey of the area to make sure it was safe. It was then that he saw her. She lay there in a bed of flowers under the window where her mother threw the water from the dirty dishes. They had planted flowers in this godforsaken hellhole. Her eyes were wide open and he could have pictured her jumping up to play, expect for the bullet hole between her eyes.
He reached down and closed her eyes, then plucked a flower and placed it in his helmet. "This will never happen again," he thought as the tears washed away the grime from the firefight.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Wind
It was one of those wonderful Southern California days. The Santa Ana winds were blowing and the offshore breeze made the waves glassy as the spray blew off the tops of cresting waves. It was a perfect day to be in the surf enjoying life.
As we drove up PCH toward Huntington Harbor I thought of the beauty of the ocean and the countless days we had convinced mom to drive us there before driver's licenses had been obtained. I thought of the change in my father since they moved to the beach from inland. How he liked to play now. How he had a bag of beach toys in the garage and could hardly wait for the arrival of kids and grand kids to walk the block and a half to the water.
I also remembered the visit to our house in Illinois when mom knew something was wrong but the doctors had not confirmed it yet. She drank White Russians to dull the pain, added pain pills she had borrowed from my grandmother. And then the call that it was indeed bad. Cancer had assaulted her body. I remember the next five years as the doctors waged war with my mother on this monster growing in her body. The skirmishes of surgery, chemicals to kill the enemy and hopefully not kill her. The eventual sacrifice of her tongue and jaw in an attempt to win the battle. Experimental gene therapy. A box that talked for her so she could tell her children and grandchildren "I love you." A valiant war had been waged but she was not the victor. In the end it had been a losing battle. The war was lost.
So we drove to the harbor and boarded a boat. It was a beautiful sixty foot Chris-Craft with mahogany decks, a galley full of food and beverages. We ate a little and drank a little until we made it out into the open waters and headed off the beach where we had spent so many hours. The captain pointed to bow out to sea and cut the engine. It was strangely quiet as we all gathered in the stern on the boat. I led the service which I had found in one of my books. Prayers were said and mom's ashes we spread (but mostly dumped) into the ocean. The wind blew a little of those ashes around and I remember the gritty feel of it in my hands and blowing on my face.
When the ceremony was over we went on a small cruise around the harbor and talked about stories from our past, happier days. I remember stepping back on land, leaving my sea legs and mom's ashes behind me.
As we walked up the ramp to the parking lot my son turned to my brother and said, "Uncle Bri, when the wind blew I got some Nana in my eye."
He replied, "You'll always have some Nana in your eye."
As we drove up PCH toward Huntington Harbor I thought of the beauty of the ocean and the countless days we had convinced mom to drive us there before driver's licenses had been obtained. I thought of the change in my father since they moved to the beach from inland. How he liked to play now. How he had a bag of beach toys in the garage and could hardly wait for the arrival of kids and grand kids to walk the block and a half to the water.
I also remembered the visit to our house in Illinois when mom knew something was wrong but the doctors had not confirmed it yet. She drank White Russians to dull the pain, added pain pills she had borrowed from my grandmother. And then the call that it was indeed bad. Cancer had assaulted her body. I remember the next five years as the doctors waged war with my mother on this monster growing in her body. The skirmishes of surgery, chemicals to kill the enemy and hopefully not kill her. The eventual sacrifice of her tongue and jaw in an attempt to win the battle. Experimental gene therapy. A box that talked for her so she could tell her children and grandchildren "I love you." A valiant war had been waged but she was not the victor. In the end it had been a losing battle. The war was lost.
So we drove to the harbor and boarded a boat. It was a beautiful sixty foot Chris-Craft with mahogany decks, a galley full of food and beverages. We ate a little and drank a little until we made it out into the open waters and headed off the beach where we had spent so many hours. The captain pointed to bow out to sea and cut the engine. It was strangely quiet as we all gathered in the stern on the boat. I led the service which I had found in one of my books. Prayers were said and mom's ashes we spread (but mostly dumped) into the ocean. The wind blew a little of those ashes around and I remember the gritty feel of it in my hands and blowing on my face.
When the ceremony was over we went on a small cruise around the harbor and talked about stories from our past, happier days. I remember stepping back on land, leaving my sea legs and mom's ashes behind me.
As we walked up the ramp to the parking lot my son turned to my brother and said, "Uncle Bri, when the wind blew I got some Nana in my eye."
He replied, "You'll always have some Nana in your eye."
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