Sweetckaes to Soldier
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Posted:Apr 12, 2007 1:50 am
Last Updated:Aug 21, 2008 12:06 pm
5103 Views
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This story contains no sex, I know that this is a sex site and it should. I wrote this story for several reasons, Women’s equality, mans sensitivity, as a tribute to my Father (USMC retired) also to honor my Mother for putting up with it all. Last and certinaly not least its to pay some small tribute to the men and women in our Armed services making the daily sacrifices to ensure the rest of us have the freedom to do as we desire. Please lets not forget them or our Veterans who have given so much.
Beth
Sweetcakes to Soldier
By MelodyBeth
"Hey Sarge, man, I gotta go," the sweet young PFC said with some urgency.
Looking over at her from my station in the passenger seat of the deuce and a half, I asked politely as not to break any regulations, "Well sweet cheeks, do you need me to hold your hand? If you gotta go then I'd advise you stop the truck and go,"
"But... but there isn't any privacy, where am I supposed to go?" she asked holding her crotch.
She couldn't be fucking serious could she? "Look baby cakes, we're in a combat zone, where the hell are you going to find a powder room out here? If you have to tinkle, stop the fucking truck and drop 'em,"
Her eyes were pleading with me now, and she was almost in tears. Me? Well, I was questioning the sanity of women in active combat roles. This shit never came up in Nam, fuck I was getting way too old for this crap. "Alright pull it over," I ordered. The truck ground to a halt as I dug behind the seat for an old tarp. Walking to the front of the truck, I screamed out to the grunts peering out of the back.
"BE ADVISED, THE FIRST HEAD I SEE POPPING AROUND THE SIDE OF THE TRUCK WILL GET A BULLET BETWEEN THE EYES. The PFC here has to pee and she would like some privacy, ANY QUESTIONS GENTLEMEN?" I barked.
I held the worn canvass up and watched as she ran to the other side. I heard the splatter of a heavy stream hit the soft dirt, within seconds I was standing in a puddle of mud. When she'd finished, I folded the tarp in half and threw it to her. I pointed at the ground with a scowl on my face, "Next time point that thing somewhere else," I growled. "Now that you're fresh as a daisy, could we please MOVE OUT?" I ordered.
We mounted the transport vehicle to cheers and chuckles from the troops in the rear. I thought about my twenty plus years in the service, man, things had changed. I wasn't that fresh-faced boot that did two tours in the Nam, now I was a gristly old relic that hadn't known when to quit.
Hell, I couldn't quit, I tried once after Nam and after ten years of dysfunction I found I couldn't stay away. Civilian life just didn't agree with me, my marriage went to shit and I couldn't keep focused on a career. So I did the only thing I could do to keep my sanity, I came back to the fold. The idea that I belonged to the only outfit in U S history that had lost a war compelled me to re-up.
It wasn't easy to get back into fighting trim after my vacation. I worked my ass off to stay up with all those . Physically, any one of them could run circles around me at first, but I had a mental toughness that you can't buy. War is the only place to learn that, and either you learn, or die. Those boys hadn't faced the terror yet, but I had for seven hundred and thirty eight days.
The dust filtered in to the cab as the miles clicked away, the only similarity to this war and my war, the war in the jungle, was the heat. Why the fuck can't somebody start a war were its seventy degrees. Back in sixty-nine, it was the rain and humidity; today it's the dust and the sand. Then we threw bodies at the enemy, now its smart bombs and aerial ordinance.
Patrolling this long dirt road, I'm starting to feel more like an armored highway trooper than a soldier. The monotony of the miles and the same stretch of road, were grueling. What the fuck are we doing here? The same as back in my war I suppose, not winning, maybe some things don't really change. We aren't trying to win, we're just here. We're on the ground getting shot at, and barely holding our own.
I know, I know, there are political considerations, civilians to worry about, but tell that shit to the poor mommy that just found out her was killed for a political consideration. Here I am thinking again, that's the trouble with this goddamned place, too much time to think. Enough about what I think, I don't make the rules; I get paid to follow orders. I made my choice, this is my chosen career.
***
As we arrived back at the FOB, forward operations base, my work could now begin. There was the never ending paperwork, reports to be made, check the troops. Make sure the babies had clean diapers on, get them fed and burped. Remind each and every one of them how important a clean weapon was, hold their hand and tell them a bedtime story. Then to top it all off, I had to fill in the Lieutenant on our days activities. Tell the twerp how many speeding tickets we wrote and ask permission to go out and do it again tomorrow. He would give me tomorrows orders and the rah, rah speech. Maybe some fucking day, he would give me something different.
No shit, the LT cut the platoon a break, all but me of course. They would get to sit around this beautiful resort, while I took a leisurely drive through the country side in my graciously appointed Humvee. Minimal danger the LT had said, minimal my ass, in a country where you can't distinguish a housewife from a combat hardened soldier, nothing is minimal.
"Alright cut the shit and listen up, the LT has given you slackers the day off tomorrow. I will need one volunteer, I need a driver," I waited for a reply, and I waited some more, "Well come on, don't all of you raise your hands at once." A hand appeared in the back, and I waited to see who it was attached to. PFC Kent, sweet cheeks, forty trained killers and my volunteer was an ex cheerleader, swell, just fucking swell.
Kent and I headed out early, zero five thirty, we were to meet the package and deliver our payload to a remote destination eighty klicks to the north. The LT said aerial delivery was too noisy, too noticeable, we were sent in a single vehicle to quickly get in and get out. What were we carrying? I didn't ask, and I didn't care. You learn not to ask questions that you aren't going to get answers for.
As she drove and I sipped coffee, Kent kept looking over like she wanted to ask me the secrets of the universe. I'd had all that I could take and finally asked, "WHAT?" At least she quit looking at me, for a while that is.
She must have driven another twenty miles before she said, "Sergeant, you don't like women do you?"
"I like them just fine, especially with their thighs locked around my fat head," I replied with a smirk.
"You know that's not what I mean, you don't think women should be here in the middle of all this, do you?"
"Kent, what I think doesn't mean squat. You're here and there's nothing that I say or do that will change that fact. I'm an old man Kent, you get comfortable with the way things are, it's not easy to accept change," I said stoically.
She nodded and continued to drive. We made good time. We were on station at zero six forty-five. We didn't have long to wait, the operator arrived and the exchanges were made. From what I gathered, he was American, probably CIA. Not much was said but we weren't here for chit chat. I stowed the cylinder he gave me into the Humvee, maps were my guess.
Knowing that he'd probably been here for quite some time without proper supply, I handed him my flask of bourbon. He took a long swig and smiled. That was the last thing he ever did. The side of his head exploded, and then the report of a rifle came. By the sound delay, a sniper had obviously taken him out. I grabbed the stunned PFC and hit the dirt, she was covered in blood and brains. The sudden shock had rendered her motionless.
I took a chance and recovered my old friend from the front seat of the vehicle, I felt a lot better with my M16 firmly clasped in my hands. There was no doubt in my mind that whoever had killed the agent was still trying to get us in his sights. I had played this game before in Nam, but on the other end of the barrel. I put myself in the snipers shoes, and considered the angle of fire. I took another second to replay the kill shot in my head, the shot couldn't have come from more than three or four hundred meters away.
I couldn't chance trying to locate Kent's weapon, so I jammed my sidearm into her trembling hands.
"Can you use that?" I asked, nodding to the 9 MM in her hand.
All I got back was a blank stare, "Goddamn it Kent, get in the fucking game here. Can you fire the weapon?" I asked a second time, my hands directing her face to mine to guarantee eye contact.
She still couldn't speak but nodded her head rapidly. I had been where she was now, a long time ago in a rice paddy. The first time I saw a man deconstructed by a land mine, I shit my pants and didn't sleep for a week. I had to get her attention right now if we were going to get out of here in one piece.
"Kent, get your shit together, are you with me?" she nodded again, but this time with some recognition, "Ok, I want you to stay right here and keep your head down," good, her eyes were trained on mine now, she was listening. I wiped some of the brain matter from her face, "I'm going over to that rock," I said, pointing to the large boulder twenty meters to our left.
She grabbed the lapel of my coat, "No, please don't leave me here," she begged.
"I won't leave you, I promise. I'm going over to get an angle on the shooter, I need you here to draw his attention. When I take off, I want you to fire two rounds, I don't care where, just fire away from me, ok?" I could tell she wasn't happy but she nodded.
I was about to start the ball rolling when a burst of automatic weapon rounds rattled around the interior of the Hummer. Fuck! Either the sniper had changed rifles or we had another shooter. I fell back to where Kent was, the AK fire continued the pound our vehicle. I had to give Kent credit, she was scared but she didn't freak out.
The bullets kept dogging us, and I loved this shit. No, I'm not totally crazy, I had enough time now to figure out his pattern. He was shooting at us in three timed bursts, then a pause to reload. I didn't have any idea if he was accurate, but he was consistent. I explained to Kent, and after a couple of clips she caught on too.
I got up on my toes and was set to run. I gave her the thumbs up, she even managed half of a smile back. The third burst came and went for it, those twenty meters seemed like a damn marathon. I half expected to be cut down, but I made the outcrop. Now to find out if the bad guy, or guys, knows where I am.
The next burst answered the question, the AK 47 rounds plinked off of the hood of the Humvee. I brought my weapon up to my shoulder, as his finger squeezed, I gave him a copper-jacketed heart attack. The siege seemed to be over, but I still had a feeling that our day was about to get more interesting. I looked over to see if Kent was ok, she was.
It was usual for snipers to work in pairs, a spotter and a shooter. My gut told me that I tapped the spotter. I needed a way to draw him out to get a bead on him, all that was in my arsenal was Kent. I wasn't about to put her pretty little ass on the line, not to save my wrinkled butt at any rate.
If the shooter were smart, he would be relocating. That's what I would have done, and if I move now I might just catch him on the run. Like a fool, I dropped my body armor to lighten the load. I needed speed and not the battle rattle as we sometimes called it. There was no time to even consider whether this was a bad idea, if he had time to set up again we were dead meat.
I charged like Custer toward the dune, I would circle around to the left. There was a better than even chance that I wouldn't cover half the distance, and it was fifty-fifty if I would run into him head on or catch him from the rear. I was nearly to the dune and still no shot, as I rounded the hill my luck ran out.
I got off the first few rounds, but at a dead run, I was hardly on target. The shooter didn't have time to swing his rifle around, but he was quick enough with his pistol. He fired twice, the second bullet slammed into my right shoulder sending my weapon flying. My momentum wasn't affected though, as I continued at full speed directly at him.
I put on my best war face and hit him hard with every thing I had. I tried to hold on as we rolled down the side of the dune. If he got a chance to aim his pistol at me again, the show would be over. As we came to a rest at the bottom of the hill, I got in a hard elbow to his chin sending teeth flying. I jumped to my feet trying to assess the situation at the same time, my KA-Bar knife filled my hand and I didn't see his pistol. The shooter spat a mouthful of blood in my direction as he unsheathed his dagger.
We were at least on even terms now, it would be a hand to hand dance to the death. He circled to my right, trying to exploit the bloody wound in my shoulder, unfortunately for him, I fight left-handed. He struck, I slashed, his thrust, my parry, his blade glinted in the morning sun. Like a cobra and mongoose, the tango continued. The shooter's cheek bled from the razor sharp edge of my steel.
My body began to betray me, my age was becoming a factor for the first time in my life, a life that may be over soon. I saw an opening, and dove in close. We struggled face to face, I was spent, the struggle would be over soon. With all I had left, I plunged my knife deep into his stomach. He returned my gift when his blade pierced deep into my thigh just below my balls.
I fell backwards to the sand, unbelievably he was still on his feet. I struggled to defend myself from the coming deathblow. Three pops from a pistol, and the sniper slumped to his knees. Two more well placed rounds to the back of his head made gaping holes where his face used to be. Kent had gotten into the game, and just in the nick of time.
She ran to where I lay bleeding in the sand, "Sarge, you ok?" she blurted with concern.
The shoulder wound was ugly, but not life threatening. The frog sticker in my crotch was another matter. I was bleeding out, so I sent Kent to get the aid kit from the Humvee. I concentrated on controlling my breathing, hoping to slow the blood flow. I was running the LT's words through my head, "minimal danger", tell that to the CIA guy.
Kent double-timed it through the soft sand to the Hummer and back, she stripped her armor and BDU jacket so she could work. She cut away the bloody material around the knife with scissors, she looked unsure what to do.
"Come on sugar britches, you can do this, remember your training," I reassured her.
" Sarge, there's too much blood I can't see," she sniffed.
"You can do it Kent, see if you can get your belt around it above the wound," I suggested.
She worked as quickly as she could, and in a minute or two had the blood slowed a little. Kent wrapped my leg as best she was able leaving the knife in place, she realized now that we had to get out of there as soon as we could. Grabbing my shirt she pulled for all she was worth, and between both of us, I was on my feet. Kent draped my arm around her neck, we started the painful walk through the loose sand back to the Humvee. The blade imbedded in my leg made it difficult to move, with every step I took, the pain grew worse.
The short trip seemed to take hours, Kent was doing most of the work. Finally back at the shot-up vehicle, she tried to help me get in but I had something to take care of first. It would be a chore to load the dead man by myself but there was no way that I would leave him behind. Kent realized there was no point in arguing with me, she stepped up again and with all the strength we had left, he was laid in the rear of the Humvee. Kent wheeled us around and headed for the FOB. In my weakened condition, I closed my eyes and tried to forget the pain I was in.
I felt the cooling sensation of rain on my face, the pain was gone now. Sand and dust were replaced by the thick grass and trees. The cool sweet smell of springtime filled my nostrils, my lovely Veronica laid back on a blanket, her thick red hair splayed like a halo around her head. With her arms outstretched, she motioned to me to come to her.
We made love by the river for the first time that day, it was the first time and the last time. I shipped out for war the next day, I returned to her but we never really made love again. We fucked, we fulfilled our animal needs, but we never made love again. It was not working well for us and it was worse when I left her alone for another year in the jungle. We married soon after my first tour, but something inside made me restless. I had to go back to try and shake the uneasiness that was inside of me.
I was more at home squatting in the bush waiting for Charlie. My time at home was filled with inner strife, something was missing. I willed myself to make it up to Veronica when I got back to the States. It never worked, I was different, and she was too. We couldn't communicate on the same frequency, too much distance, too much pain. She finally got fed up and went back home. I tried to talk to her a few times, but I think it was more out of guilt than anything else. She was never bitter towards me and that made it hurt all the more.
The unnerving throb in my leg was back, the rain was gone. The Humvee sped down the road that was really no more than a camel trail. The pool of blood I was sitting in was now a thick quagmire of red mud. My shoulder ached, as I tried again to remain conscious. The bumps in the road sent jolts of pain from the knife wound, I felt the slice of the blade deep inside, worse than the initial thrust.
I was drifting in and out now like I was on a three day bender, barely able to remember where I was or what I was doing there. The pain was nothing now, I knew pain and this wasn't it. Pain was the tears in Veronica's eyes as she packed to leave me. Pain was the fear that I would never she her again. The only real pain I'd ever known was attached to Veronica, and for the way I had hurt her.
***
The sun was burning high in the sky now, it had to be near midday. The dogs were probably back at the pound sitting in the shade and licking their nuts, while the cheerleader at the wheel was slaving her ass away trying to save my miserable life. The lazy fucking bastards, they let a girl volunteer to do a soldiers job.
This was no ordinary girl though, she had stepped up where no man would. Kent had done alright, better than alright, I'd be dead now if not for her. She took out that sniper like a trained assassin, her shots were true. That was a soldier on the field today, we were not alive in spite of her, we both lived because of her. A woman soldier, I never thought I'd live to see the day.
There have been a lot of things I thought I'd never live to see, my twentieth birthday for example. The jungle can be a cold hard place at night, waiting, watching, death was always on your mind. What was out there watching you, will it strike tonight? Will I live one more day, one more hour? The fear so thick you can feel it in every thing you touch, each smell, sight and sound coated with the black sticky dread. Don't move, don't breathe, for God's sake, don't touch it. Maybe. Just maybe, it will overlook you one more time.
There was no fear in my heart now, fear happens before battle, it's the unknown, the unspeakable. Now I was able to see my own death, whether it comes today or twenty years from now. I know that it will come and I have embraced that fact. I couldn't see it back then when my wife left me, I didn't see it yesterday. The man laying on the floor in the back of the Humvee, his death has come. His war is over, there is no fear, only peace.
My thoughts were like the little steel orb in a pinball game, slamming into one wall and flying to the next. I suppose this was my version of my life flashing before my eyes, not much of a life really, who would be left to care when I'm gone...
"I would goddamn you, don't be such a selfish prick," Kent screamed over the roar of the vehicle, "Keep talking, you have to stay awake. We're almost there."
I turned my head to look at her, I wanted to tell her it didn't matter, but the words were stuck in my throat.
"It matters to me," she croaked.
My blurry eyes stared in fascination, how could she know what I was thinking, was I dreaming?
From that moment on, it was a confused commotion of tearing clothes, needles and darkness. My war was over, my body had signed a cease fire agreement with my brain.
***
I could feel the rain again, sparse droplets falling to my cheek and pooling along my nose. I opened my eyes expecting to see myself back down by the river. But I saw her, PFC Kent, standing watch over me with tears falling slowly.
"I don't know which is worse, the tears falling on my face or when you pissed on my boots," I groaned.
A smile quickly spread over her face, "You old fart, you ought to be thankful it was only your boots that got pissed on," she sassed.
"Yes ma'am,"
"You think you're going to live?" she asked trying to wipe the tears away.
"Seems like I don't have your permission to die, I guess I'll have to pull through."
She blushed at my comment, "You scared the shit out of me out there,"
"That's my job, scaring all the young recruits, I reckon I'll make a man out of you yet," I rasped.
"Oh, here we go again, here comes that girls don't belong here routine..."
"No, you'll never hear that from me again. You're a soldier Kent, and I can't think of anyone that I'd rather have for a backup. I was wrong, and if you tell that to a soul, I'll have you scrubbing latrines for the rest of your tour, you got that private?"
She leaned over and kissed me on the forehead, "You don't scare me anymore."
"Knock that shit off, I got a reputation to uphold. The next thing you know the Lieutenant will be in here trying to get a hand job."
Then out of the blue she asked, "Are you ever going to see her again and explain?"
"See who, explain what?"
"Veronica, your wife."
I looked at her like a deer in headlights, I was stunned. Where had she come up with that? There wasn't another living soul besides Veronica that knew that story, that was something I kept locked away in a secret box in my brain. I had no answer for her, all I could do is stare.
"You did a lot of talking after you were hurt, I didn't understand some of it but..."
I didn't let her finish, "Just forget you ever heard any of that, that's none of your business. All that happened a long time ago..."
"Sarge, you need to clear the table, just talk to her."
The doc came in and broke up the party at that point. Kent said goodbye and I sulked over being found out. I ratted myself out, all those feelings that had been locked inside were stirred up to the top of the pot again.
I was recovering and would be on the next transport out to Ramstein. I'd be checked out in the hospital there and back in the states soon. I was patched up but still had some trouble walking, I had scars now instead of open wounds. I'd been home for about a month but I was still going to the hospital for physical therapy, the wounds don't heal as fast on us "old" folks. The docs had me doing a lot of stretching and bending, I spent a couple of hours in the pool each week to help the sore muscles heal.
When I wasn't at the hospital, there was a lot of time for me to remember. I had no way of forgetting what Kent had said. Maybe it was time to try and talk to Veronica and try to remove this lump that had been stuck in my throat for the last thirty years.
I sucked it up and limped down to the pay phone. It took a while and more than a few tries to information, but I had a phone number in my hand. I was sure that my fingers wouldn't do what my brain was telling them, I expected a wrong number.
"Hello," it was her, her voice was familiar to me even now.
"Veronica?" I waited for the click at the other end, the signal that she had hung up on me. It didn't come.
"So, this is a surprise, it's been a long time, how are you?"
"As screwed up as ever, maybe worse."
"That's not possible, how could you be?" she quipped.
"I guess its time for me to stop being a caveman, do you think I might evolve? Can you picture me as an actual human being?"
"Not a chance you old fart, it's too late for that."
"Is it too late to say how sorry I am? How about a little understanding for a rusty old soldier?"
"You still can't see it, can you? You're asking the wrong person, I'm not the one that can forgive you, that's not my job, it's yours."
I heard the phone click as she hung up the receiver. I had expected for things to go a little differently, but I wasn't completely shocked. I listened to her words, but did I really understand what she meant? Not completely, maybe I never would. It seems that everyone but me knew exactly what I needed to do, all but me of course.
My whole life at that point revolved around the hospital, I seemed to be doing everything there but sleeping. I got to know quite a few of the nurses, as I was always around. I sat in waiting areas for hours, but I was used to it after so many years in the military. There isn't much to do, so after reading all of the magazines a couple of times, I would offer to sort papers for the staff.
One such boring morning, something caught my eye, a soldier I knew was here in the hospital. I didn't understand the doctorese, but I knew the name and thought I would wonder by and visit. It would be good to see somebody from the old outfit, at least I thought it would.
PFC Kent, had been driving her deuce and a half when she hit a mine planted in the road. The fact that she was alive was good news, but you would have never known that after seeing her. She looked haggard and was unresponsive, she wouldn't even look at me. We'd been through a lot together on that day in the desert, she'd saved my ass.
Kent had lost her left leg below the knee, and was not having an easy time accepting it. I stopped to see here every chance I could, but her attitude never wavered. The Doc encouraged me, he thought the presence of someone familiar might jump start her healing. It wasn't happening, she slid deeper and deeper into depression.
My therapy was slacking off a little by then, but I seemed to be spending more and more time at the hospital. I was with Kent more each day, hell, I would even fall asleep sitting in the chair next to her bed. I'd been with her every day for weeks and she'd barely said a word.
One night, sitting quietly together, I looked into her face and recognized a younger version of myself. I know that sounds idiotic, but she had that blank look about her that I had felt deep inside. I still felt that way some days, it's as if your will to go on were taken violently away from you. Your need to breathe sits off in a corner alone watching while you are powerless to react. Your pain and pleasure converse as if you weren't even there with them, you're left out of picture like an empty hull.
In war, there is a phenomenon known as friendly fire, where soldiers are attacked by there own side. It is impossible to confront an unknown, unseen, and totally unexpected enemy. You can't fire back, you can't run, you're stuck in the middle. You sit with your head down and watch as your buddies die and fall in bloody heaps. Kent, like me before her, was attacking herself, a bloody firefight from within.
I made the decision at that point not to keep my head down any longer, it was time for me to stop looking away. This was what Veronica meant, I had to do this to forgive myself. I had to stop being selfish and get on with life, it was time to look beyond my own fears for once. Kent needed me now, just like Veronica once had. I ran like a coward so many years ago, leaving my wife to deal with what I couldn't. Kent's legs wouldn't carry her now, so she was trying to avoid life by the only route she could.
War is hell, but nothing like trying to reason with a pissed off uncooperative woman, it's a brain fuck from the first step. Each day, Kent's eyes tried to bore holes into me. Every act was met with angst or resistance, she fought my help like a samurai.
I had finally gotten her to speak to me, I was now known to her as Sergeant Motherfucker, the prick, wormy cocksucker and a few other choice endearments. In my opinion, it was a step closer for her, she at least acknowledged my presence. Her battles with me meant she was alive, she was consciously choosing to reject my help.
I started her on a routine, each day I would arrive at her bed with a wheel chair. It was the same every day, I, the cocksucker, would load a struggling and flailing Kent into the chair and limp along the gardens of the hospital. I was getting more exercise than I wanted and went home each night with aching, tired bones.
During those walks, I tried my best to connect with her. I couldn't see any progress, but I wasn't going to quit. The strolls through the garden went on like clockwork with no outward change from her. I was by her side like a faithful dog, just hoping for a morsel to be thrown my way. Kent was a cruel master, not one single bone for this old hound.
Normally, I would be at the hospital by zero eight hundred, but that day, the day things changed, I had an appointment I couldn't miss. It was sixteen hundred when I stepped off the elevator, the duty nurse hailed me as soon as she saw me.
"Where the hell have you been?" she scolded.
"Why, did you miss me?" I flirted.
"Not me," she said as she pointed to Kent's room.
"You're kidding," I said, and quick timed it to her room.
She was sitting in her wheelchair, well goddamn, I couldn't believe it, she was saddled up and ready to go on our daily pilgrimage. So our walk started late that day, I was beat from a long damn day, but there was no way I was going to disappoint her.
Kent was still taking the loss of her limb badly, she wouldn't use her crutches, and absolutely refused to look at the prosthetic leg. The wheelchair and I were becoming as much a part of her as her good leg. I discussed her release from the hospital with the Doc. He agreed it would probably do her a lot of good to get the hell out of there, but needed to be assured that she would be cared for.
Cohabitation ain't all shits and giggles, there were times that I wanted to kick my own ass for thinking of it. Kent was redefining the term bitch, but I held my tongue, no need to upset the apple cart over minor inconveniences.
I was fulfilling most of her basic needs, I cooked, I cleaned, I did her laundry, shit, I did it all but wipe her ass, and that's not to say I didn't help her onto the toilet. I wondered some times if she had me help so much just to piss me off. Her first bath was like two monkeys fucking a football, modesty had gone completely out the window by then, by the time I finally lifted her from the tub my clothes were wetter than she was.
I knew she was capable of much, much more than she let on, but she continued refusing to admit it. I watched her strength build each week at her therapy sessions at the hospital. She was ready, but clung to the security of her wheelchair.
The showdown came one night while she was in the bathtub, I pushed that goddamn wheelchair out the door and started cooking dinner.
"Hey Sarge, I'm ready to get out of the tub," she yelled.
"I'm busy."
"Come on, I'm getting cold," she whined.
"Not right now, I'm stirring the gravy." I shouted.
"Stop fooling around and get me out of here," she commanded.
"It ain't happenin' sweet cheeks, I told you, I'm busy."
"GODDAMN YOU, GET IN HERE AND HELP ME," she screamed at the top of her lungs.
I continued stirring my country gravy, I love that shit on hot biscuits.
A couple of minutes later, Kent was standing in the doorway. She was dripping wet from head to toe, naked as the day she was born, and very noticeably steaming mad. It wasn't her nude body I noticed first, or the fact she was standing, it was that she had donned the prosthetic for the first time.
"You rotten bastard, somebody ought to kick your ass," she hissed.
"You got anyone in mind, or maybe you want to give it a whirl on your own?" I asked dryly, continuing to stir.
I took the skillet off the burner and walked by her shivering body. I brought back a towel and wrapped it around her shoulders. Pulling her close, I held her tight while she cried for the first time since she stood over me back at the FOB. She let it out, tears, sobs, runny nose, and the whole smear. I couldn't help it, I was misting up too.
The gravy was like glue by the time we got our shit together. Ah well, bad gravy beats an MRE any fuckin' day, and baby girl Kent was sitting at the table with me in a real chair, one without wheels.
My bane, that damn wheelchair, was now obsolete. I never had to push it again. Kent and I walked to the hospital, it was never easy, but it did become less cumbersome with each passing day. Kent was emerging, and growing less tentative, she no longer worried about the way others perceived her and became comfortable with who she was. My role in her life was relegated from provider to roommate, I saw my self being sidelined. She didn't need me anymore, and I was happy and yet sad at the same time.
The night Kent came home from her first date, I was packing my things in my old duffel bag. I'd decided earlier, when I saw the joy of life in her face, as she readied for her escort. It was time to bow out gracefully, I'd given her what I could, now it was up to her.
"What are you doing, are we going some place?" she asked with trepidation.
"Not we baby girl, just me," I answered as I continued to pack.
"Why," she asked with tears welling up, "I need you, you can't... please don't do this."
"I have to sweetie, you don't need an old man holding you back," I said as I slung the old duffel over my shoulder.
I gave her a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek, I had to get the hell out of there before I started to cry too.
I walked away, it hurt, but I walked. Head up, chest out, shoulders back, one foot in front of the other. I marched off to war, my war. Maybe I'm wrong, it wasn't war. It was simply life, my life, it had been life all along and I was too thick to grasp it. So I walked toward life, and what ever it would bring
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