The Last Long Night

Bill folded the old flag and tucked it under his arm
It was growing dark now, the evening was cool, quiet and calm
He stood for a moment sadly looking around at the growing shadows
And with a deep sigh turned towards the house and walked slowly to the front door
Stepping into the dark lonely home he closed the door behind him for the last time

The house smelled of stale cigarettes and beer
Mingled with that musty odor of the unwashed and of old food
He laid the flag on a dust covered table and moved into the darkened room
Sitting in his padded rocking chair he turned on a floor lamp and picked up an old picture album
As he rocked gently in the corner of the shadowy room he slowly began to turn the pages of his life

Bill was fifty-five years old today, alone now these past two years
His wife of thirty years had finally left him and for good this time
Three times in the past she had moved out but always she had returned,
To give it one more chance, now those chances were gone, six months ago he had just given up,
This time he had let himself go, started drinking again, forgot about taking care of himself

His hair was shoulder length and matted, a ragged beard grew off his chin
He wore the same clothes for days on end, changing them now only on occasion
And sometime in the not so distant past he remembers taking a shower
Bill just didn’t think about such things anymore, and there was no one around to complain or care
And he drank, a few beers during the day and bourbon whiskey when it became night

Sickly and frail, suffering from the aging wounds he had received in Vietnam
With a rash that popped up on his skin from deep inside that had started in his late thirties
Small red dots that itched so badly that he scratched till they bled then he scratched some more
Bill knew in his heart the rash was from the Agent Orange he had swallowed in Nam
The old VA doctor told him he was allergic to strawberries, it didn’t matter that he never ate them

And of course there were the wounds
Two tours in Vietnam, two wounds to end those tours
The first, a bullet through his left shoulder, the older he got the stiffer the shoulder grew
But the second had been the worst, damn near killed him at twenty-one years of age
A rocket burst had ripped open his right side, broken his leg, he still carried small junks of steel

But these physical ailments were not the worst of it, he could live with pain
He had for most of his life, it was the mental anguish he could no longer endure
Flashbacks came in the middle of the day, nightmares and cold sweats throughout the long nights
Only to awake screaming, shaking, trembling, crying, and too afraid to go back to sleep
So he would sit and numb the pain with the drink until he lost consciousness and dreamt no more

Bill had not always been in such a sad state
He had grown up in a loving Mid-Western family, he the oldest with two sisters and a brother
Their mother a beautiful, loving, religious soul, who had doted over her children
His father was troubled, but hard working and kind, and had loved them all dearly
It had been for Bill a good and happy childhood of hard work, sunny summers and school activities

He had been a handsome, athletic young man, outgoing and popular in school
Lettering in high school sports, he grew up to be lean and strong
It was in high school were he had met his wife, Jessica, dark haired, energetic and petite
She captured his heart at his first sight of her and they had been together ever since
The one true love of his life had stayed with him for all those years and now she was gone

After high school Bill had enlisted in the Marine Corps with the hope of making it a career
Just before he was to leave for his first tour in Vietnam, Bill and Jessie were married
He now looked sadly at their wedding picture, remembering, longing for that happier time
Jessie, beautiful, radiant as her dark auburn hair and violet eyes contrasted with her white gown
Bill, so young, tanned and handsome, standing tall and looking sharp in his Marine dress blues

That was probably the last time in his life when he was completely happy
For even though he knew on their wedding day that he was to leave for Vietnam
In his innocence he had no idea of what was really in store for him
Or of the price he was to ultimately pay for the duty to his Country, and after his final return
He forever look at this picture and wonder whatever had happened to that smiling young man?

The second of his wounds had broken his leg in two places,
Forever ending his chance at a career in the Corps
It took him a year to recover from his wounds and by then he and Jessie’s first child was born
June would be the first of two girls for the proud couple as Jennifer was born a year later
Now healthy and with a family Bill went to work and tried to forget about the war

And for a while he seemed to forget, or at least to put it out of his mind
But as the years went by there were troubling signs that all was not well
His depression was almost constant and no matter how hard he tried he just could not shake it
He seemed to be unable to be happy, to feel joy or show any signs of exhilaration
Most people just figured he was a low-key individual or at worst an ‘old grouch’

He had few close friends mainly just people he met at work
And he never associated or did things with them, although most people thought highly of him
He and Jessie rarely went to parties or other people’s home nor did they entertain
Bill kept to himself and always felt better when he got home at night
And as the years passed this solitude increased and he became even more withdrawn

He had a constant feeling of impending doom and everything he did was overshadowed with it
Always waiting for that other shoe to drop, he became reluctant to venture out except to work
For years Jessie planned family outings and vacations, only to end up taking the girls by herself
Approaching Bill with her plans for the trips in four months hence, Bill would always agree to go
And he would actually look forward to the time away with his family

But as the time to leave grew nearer he would become apprehensive, irritable
Until finally he would tell her he had to work, or was not feeling well
Anything to stop from going out into the unknown, and then he would worry until they returned
In the entire time they had been married there had been only one vacation as a family
And that was long ago when the girls were just four and three years old

Also it seemed that the harder he worked the farther he got behind
That no matter what he did he was not doing enough, and what he was doing was not good enough
At work he would check and recheck his finished work, doubling the time the job should take
That did not go unnoticed and he soon began to lose jobs, which increased his frustration
In the last two years he worked he lost six different jobs and it was getting harder to find work

But the most troubling sign was his anger, a fast rising rage that surprised, shocked even him
Small inconsequential matters would make him explode in a burst of anger laced with profanities
Mostly the anger would disappear as quickly as it had come, but by then the damage was done
This anger coupled with his growing use of alcohol created the wedge between him and his girls
For although he never harmed them or their mother, this show of anger was terrifying in itself

Some mornings Bill would awaken and be mad at the world, not really knowing why
He would brood over this or that, nothing of importance, just mad at everything and nothing
Loud sudden noises made him jump and the anger would flash in his head like a hot iron
Yelling at the girls if it had been their fault, or swear blindly at whatever made the disturbance
Then he would be sorry to have frightened them, be ashamed, depressed by his sudden outbursts

Underneath all these feelings of anger, depression, frustration and fear was a deep disturbing guilt
That he had survived while his friends had not, that un-Marine-like he had left them behind
He always felt, knew, that he should have died in Vietnam
He tried desperately but unsuccessfully to bury that guilt
It ate at his heart like a cancer and there seemed to be no cure

He started experiencing flashbacks and the nightmares became all too frequent
Driving on a rainy day coming over a hill seeing the rain soaked farmland spread out before him
Standing in his brother’s dark hay field at night, the tree lines silhouetted by a thousand stars
Hearing a chopper's ‘thump, thump’ as it passed overhead, the smell of diesel fuel or heavy rains
It wasn’t that these things just brought back a memory, they took him back, he was again in Nam

Bill did not remember when he had his first thoughts of suicide
But those thoughts slowly began to flourish and take form
He planned in detail how and when he could accomplish this forbidden act
Eventually it became a fantasy for him, a daydream of unfolding release
He even set a few conditions that must be met before he could finally perform his undoing

First his mother would have had to have passed away, his father had died years before
Second the girls must be grown and out of school
Next Jessie had to be provided for and there would be no suicide note
And finally it had to be clean, no messy, shocking scene for someone to discover or clean up
Like another one of his jobs, even this death by his own hand had to be perfect

That’s how his life evolved; in his late twenties he was busy forgetting the unforgettable
By his early thirties he imagined he, Jessie and the girls had a chance at some kind of happiness
In his forties the stress of always finding a new job or hoping to hold on to the one he had
Was wearing him down, the nightmares began in earnest and the flashbacks increased
By the time he was fifty he was drinking heavily just to forget and could not sleep at all

He was out of work, again, and at a very low point when his brother-in-law told him about the VA
Applying for benefits he slowly, frustratingly made it through their process
At the ripe old age of fifty-two he received total and permanent disability from the VA
For his wounds and something called Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, better known as ‘PTSD’
And for a while as he learned more of what was wrong, he had some hope

But of course it was not the answer he had hoped it would be, for he was looking for a miracle
And he soon learned that even though the VA was there to help it was still just a bureaucracy
Understaffed, forever under funded, with an always-growing influx of new Veterans needing help
He started out seeing a psychiatrist once every two weeks, a medical doctor once every six months
By the end of all the initial appointments and exams he had seventeen different prescriptions

Every time he walked out of the clinic he had two or three new meds to take
From the Doctor he had two different medicines for high blood pressure, a cream for the rash
An asthma spray, a nasal spray, two types of pills for allergies he didn’t even know he had,
Two types of pills to cut through congestion, pills to help his upset stomach, two pain relievers
And a pill to either increase or decrease, he never knew which, something called enzymes

From the psychiatrist he got sleeping pills that knocked him for a loop
And was started on one then another mood changing drug, both with no marked improvement
So he was then prescribed the ‘Big P’, Prozac
After six months of experimenting with all these drugs and becoming ill from all the side effects
Bill dropped most of them, including the Prozac

After all the nightmares were still there and so too was his suicide plan
Yet the lack of improvement with the drug use was not what bothered him most
It was the people he had contact with in the VA, on his third appointment with his psychiatrist
He received a rude awakening and learned how harassed these people were with their work load
And how truly unimportant he was in this vast, jumbled scheme of things called VA Health Care

As he entered the psychiatrist’s office the Doc was just hanging up the phone, and smiling
He gave Bill an apology for being kept waiting over an hour past his appointment time
But he had just gotten some good news, “And what was that?” Bill had asked
“I just found out that one of my patients didn’t commit suicide so I didn’t lose him after all.”
“Well that is good news.” said Bill. “Yeah,” continued the smiling shrink, “He was murdered.”

“Murdered? He’s still dead, so I guess you did lose him after all.” Bill said feeling his anger rise
“Yes but he didn’t commit suicide.” Uttered the smiling shrink
Bill got the picture, it’s just like a baseball player hitting a sacrifice fly, he’s still out
But it didn’t hurt his average, that’s what this all boiled down to, a game, what’s the final score
Not too many suicides on the shrink’s batting average, so he must be doing a good job

Any doctor/patient trust that might have been flew out the window with that exchange
Bill only saw the shrink a couple more times as he was shuttled off to one of the assistants
The time spent with this new therapist was nothing more than one-sided bullshit sessions
With Bill sitting quietly, listening to old ‘war’ stories that couldn’t possibly have been true
Always with this ‘dogface’ medic coming out on top by out smarting or beating up the other guy

If the shrink had given Bill the ‘picture’ of how things really were
Then his assistant framed that picture and hung it on the wall for him
Bill inquired about a rehabilitation program he heard was available
With a chance to take some classes and maybe work towards a new vocation
Or if nothing else to help him bide his time in this disability ‘retirement’

The assistant said that he knew of this program and would call the woman in charge
Bill was anxious to get into such a program, after all he was still a relatively young man
And he felt he still could be of some use to somebody doing something
At their next meeting Bill asked what the therapist had found out
The big man leaned back in his chair and smiled at Bill

Interlocking his fingers he laid his hands on his chest and said,
“Yep, I called her and told her about you and your interest in entering the rehab program.
But she told me you can’t get in it.” “Why not?” Bill asked
“Because of your disability.” “But I thought that was why I could get in.” said Bill
“Look man, you’re 100%, you’re unemployable, and like she said you’re un-rehabilitatable.”

“Un-rehabilitatable?”, Bill wasn’t even sure if that was a real word, but he knew what it meant
If they felt that way, why were they even seeing him?
But it was suggested that Bill join a group of Vets that met once a week, he agreed to try it
The group was to work on anger management, discuss each other’s problems, to talk things out
Bill had had little contact with other Vets through the years and had never discussed Vietnam

In Bill’s mind’s eye he had always held the image of the men he served with when he had left them
And although he knew that he had aged, when he walked into that first Veteran’s group meeting
He wondered what all these old men were doing here? It was a strange, eerie feeling
He attended only two of the meetings, mainly because he did not like leaving his home
But also because he started to incorporate some of the other men’s nightmares with his

In Nam he had once been called upon to act as a ‘tunnel rat’, and once was all he could take
A tunnel rat crawls into a VC tunnel with a .45 and a flashlight to see what is stored underground
Lying flat on his stomach, his arms extended forward over his head,
One holding the .45, the other searching the darkness ahead with the beam of the flashlight
The light reaches out a few feet only to disappear into a solid black void as if it had hit a wall

Inching away from the safety of the dimming light of his entrance
His adrenalin pumping, his heart racing, his breathing labored as if he were running
It is an exhausting and terrifying ordeal using only his legs and elbows to push him along
Watching carefully for any signs of booby traps, snakes, rats, spiders or centipedes
Or worse an enemy soldier somewhere ahead, the sweat pours down burning his eyes 

Laying in this tomblike confinement minutes can seem like hours
As Bill was crawling past a small, overhead air vent something like a piece of rope fell on his back
Trapped in the damp, dark, hot, stinking tunnel, the rope slithered over his butt and down his leg
Every muscle in his body tighten as he tried to lay perfectly still, yet his every impulse was to run
His mind was screaming in horror but he uttered not a sound

The snake ran off his leg and down the tunnel, Bill doesn’t remember how he got out
Now as he sat listening to the others, a Marine was telling of time during a heavy monsoon rain
As his Marines found themselves on a flooded plain with the only dry spot on a small hill
Making their way to the muddy hill, only to realize that every snake for miles was doing the same
A small band of Marines swinging at dozens of snakes with their rifles, shovels and boots in the rain

On his second tour, on one of the many ambushes Bill had endured, an ambush that did not go well
Bill had done something that he still cannot understand, that he has never told anyone
A single dreamlike moment’s action that he has asked God for His Forgiveness a thousand times
On a night when he lost a good friend and maybe, he believes, his soul
An incident that he believes not even these Veterans would understand, until the soldier spoke

The soldier had been with the Air Cav when Charlie had over run their position one night
He had been badly wounded and med-i-vaced out to an aid station in the rear
Early in that dark morning he awoke in pain and with IV’s stuck in his arm
Around him in the ward were others from his unit who had been wounded
But in the bed next to his was none other then a VC who had also been wounded in the fight

This soldier’s last conscience thoughts had been in the heat of a fierce man to man battle
Seeing many of his friends killed and wounded, fighting for his very life
In his drugged, confused state this death match still raged, struggling to get up,
Inadvertently pulling the IV’s from his arm the soldier stumbled towards his enemy
Crashing down upon the VC, his fingers wrapped around the wounded mans throat

The VC fought back clawing and hitting the soldier in the face and chest but to no avail
With all his strength the delirious soldier squeezed the VC’s throat crushing his windpipe
Shaking the VC like a rag doll under him until the hated enemy moved no more
Releasing his deadly grip the soldier straightened, staggered backwards and collapsed to the floor
When he awoke he was back in his bed, the IV’s reattached, and the VC’s bed was empty

The Air Cav soldier broke down and sobbed as he finished the telling of this real life nightmare
In a few minutes he collected himself to tell the group that he had never spoken of that morning
That no one at the aid station had even mentioned finding the dead VC and the soldier lying so near
He told how he thought maybe it had all been a dream, or hallucination, that he didn’t really do it
Until later a soldier in the bed across from him told him that he would have done the same thing

Bill’s head dropped to his chest to hide his eyes under the bill of his cap as the soldier told his story
This is your chance to unload your own horror he thought to himself
If these men can’t understand then no one ever will
He started to speak, just as another man began his tale, so Bill again fell silent
He did not try to speak again about that night nor would he return to the group

What he had decided to take to his grave was much like what the soldier had done
Only Bill had not used his hands, he had used his rifle
A week or so before he was wounded that second time, Bill had taken part in an ambush
In an old Vietnamese cemetery, lying in the wet grass among the graves
The Marines had set up an ambush covering a narrow trail that the VC used

They had set up their claymores, picked out their positions and waited through the damp night
It had rained hard twice on the Marines but it had stopped again when they saw movement
Slowly Charlie moved up the trail across from the Marines
The VC carried their rifles at port and all had heavy packs on their backs
All walked carefully spaced from the man in front and behind, alert

One, two, three, now six, then ten had come abreast when the first claymore was set off
Followed immediately by two others and the automatic fire of the 60 and M-16’s
It should have been a turkey shoot as they hardly had time to return fire
Call it bad luck, call it fate, but a couple of quick burst from the fleeing Charlies had found flesh
One badly wounded Marine, one dead and one pissed off Sergeant

The Sergeant was mad because he felt the ambush had been triggered too soon
The Marine who had set off the first claymore was a Lance Corporal everyone called ‘Mud’
But Mud was beyond caring if the Sergeant was PO’d, he was the dead Marine, and he was Bill’s friend
Mud had just thrown a grenade as three rounds zipped across his chest
He was dead when he hit the ground

Mud was a good Marine but he was also sort of like the class clown of the squad
A small cheerful young man who had smiled a lot and gotten along with everybody
Hardly anybody remembered his real name as everyone, including the Lieutenant called him Mud
But he had come by his nickname honestly and hilariously
It happened at the end of a long, uneventful but exhausting daytime patrol about six months prior

The squad had humped out that morning in a driving rain, which had continued most of the day
As they came to where their base camp was located they had to come up and over a small rise
Now this small hump in the ground was usually not a problem for the Marines to navigate
But the rains had caused it to become a slimy, slippery mass of brown sludge
As the Marines started down this slippery slope some slid or slipped but had little real trouble

Until Mud came to the apex of the slope and started down
With his second downward step he slipped, flipping up in the air and landing on his back
Sliding feet first he slid downward scooping up the mud as he passed
As the slope was not steep he did not move very fast yet he was helpless in this slime to stop
His futile efforts to abort this decent he only made things worse as he kept changing positions
 
Sliding down feet first on his back, then sideways, then moving to head first on his back
Until finally somehow flipping himself over onto his stomach and sliding down head first
The whole squad had by now had noticed his sorry predicament and where all standing still
Watching this free form mud surfing and, as boys will be boys, howling with good natured laughter
All the while Mud was getting absolutely saturated with………..well…….mud

By now the Marines guarding the camp perimeter had also noticed Mud’s unorthodox return home
And had joined the squad in their laughter and delightful diversion
By the time Mud stopped moving at the bottom of the slope he looked like a ball of goo
Bill and Cpl. Heinz helped Mud to his feet only to again break into uncontrollable laughter
For here was this little guy coated from head to toe with an inch of mud, like it had been sprayed on

There was but one spot on him that showed cleanly
Only the whites of his eyes as even his teeth were covered as he spit mud from his mouth
It matted in his hair, all over his face and shoulders, stuck to his chest, back and down his legs
Mud had filled every pocket in his flak jacket and trousers, covered his boots and web belt and M-16
It was down his shirt, between his flak and shirt and filled his jungle cover swinging from its strap

If Mud had only weighed 145 pounds when he first stepped off he now was at least 180
The entire squad gathered around still chuckling and patting him on his back or head
And with every slap on the back or pat on his head mud would fly off him and stick to the others
It was all in fun and Mud took it as such in his good-natured way and laughed along with the guys
It was just what this tired group of young men had needed and they all knew it

That’s when Sgt. Gatlin walked up, the Sergeant was not known for his sense of humor
He was a large black man from Mississippi, a Marine through and though, all business all the time
But even the Sergeant was grinning from ear to ear as he spoke in his booming voice,
“Out-f*^king-standing Mud Marine, you slid through all that shit and never dropped your weapon!”
He took out his canteen and poured it over Mud’s head, soon to be copied gleefully by the squad

From that day on he was known as Mud and he became a favorite in the squad
He was a good Marine, did his job and then some,
There was nothing he wouldn’t do for his fellow Marines or they for him
And now he was dead at age nineteen years, three months and forever holding
When the word spread though out the squad the Sergeant wasn’t the only one now in a rage

Bill reloaded and with four other Marines went out to check the dead and wounded VC
Doc Baker was frantically working on L/Cpl. Brent who had taken two rounds in the stomach
And Brent in his agony didn’t care who or what heard him as he screamed out with his pain
But there were others crying out in their anguish as the Marines could hear three or four VC
The Marines with their flashlights, separated and carefully closed in on the noises 

Bill had come upon two gooks, ripped open by the claymores, shined his light on them, moved on
Time and again these Marines had seen how their friends had gotten shot, stepped on a booby trap
To get killed or wounded and then the battle would be over or there had been no battle at all
Watching their buddies die or cry out in their pain as they lie wounded and broken
The enemy gone and left with no one to fight, nowhere to get revenge or release their anger

But tonight Mud was dead, Brent was crying out in agony and there were still some gooks out there
Bill and his squad wanted those gooks, wanted them to be alive, wanted to at last release this fury
They wanted some payback, and payback was a scarce commodity in Vietnam
A few yards down the trail a Marine’s light danced through the darkness and came to rest on the ground
With three muzzle flashes, the quick report of the shots and all was quiet except for Brent

Bill moved on, his light hitting the foot of a VC, he moved closer tracing the light up the VC’s body
Until it came to the man’s face, he was alive, young, scared and in pain, his eyes wide and pleading
Neither of the men made a sound as Bill hovered over the wounded VC
He seemed to be standing over the man for a long time but in reality it was only a few seconds
The VC had a massive chest wound and was having a very hard time breathing

Bill felt nothing for him, no pity, no compassion, no hatred, he just stood there looking down
He pointed his 16 at the gook’s face, staring straight into the other man’s eyes
Down the trail came more flashes and the report of three more rounds being fired
With the noise the wounded VC held up one hand, palm upward frantically began to jabber away
Bill fired two rounds into his face, lowered the weapon, turned and walked away without remorse

The final count that night had been, one Marine dead, one Marine wounded
And nine dead Victor Charlie’s, no wounded VC’s and no prisoners
For years Bill had been able to push that night out of his consciousness
It had become almost a dream, a nightmare that could not have really happened
For it had been a different world with different rules in a different time

But worlds and rules change with time
And although Bill had felt nothing when he had killed the wounded VC
In his maturing world of today his guilt was eating away at his soul
For what acts a young man can justify and even commit
An old man will pay for in his sleep

There had been one person he had contact with who had helped him for a while
An intelligent, caring woman, a therapist with the Vet Center
She had helped him see the problems and trap falls that he had been victim to
Helped him to understand what this monster PTSD could do
And why he was the way he was

It was she who made him realize that there were others just like him
And brought about this realization that he and his father,
As Veterans, though from different wars, had so much in common
But she had been transferred and with that Bill stopped going to the clinic
And that had been a long time ago now

Bill rocked slowly in the chair and drank a shot of the bourbon
Resting the album on his lap he thought of his father
How as a child or even as a young man back from his own war
He had never thought of what the man must have been going through
But reflecting now he realized that every feeling he felt, every problem he had, so to had his father

His father had never talked about his war, not even when Bill had come home from Vietnam
His father always seemed depressed, he drank a lot and there was that same type of sudden anger
He went to work religiously but other then that never seemed to go anywhere
In his entire childhood there had been just one family vacation
To visit his father’s sister in Wisconsin when Bill was ten

As the man had grown older he never went anywhere, staying at home
Like Bill he had no close friends, just people he knew at work
His mother went about her business much the same as Jessie had, mostly alone
Was his father always waiting for that other shoe to drop, too?
And then there was the suicide, or at least the attempt

It was late one summer evening when Bill had pulled into his father’s gravel driveway
The lights from his car shinning deep into the back yard
Where he saw his father standing on a chair reaching up into the old tree
Bill shut off the car, got out and walked back to where his father was
Wondering just what the old man could be up to out here in the dark

With the moon shinning bright, as Bill got closer he could see something hanging from the tree
The old man went clumsily about his task as if he hadn’t noticed the car drive up
Until Bill was within a few steps and he realized his dad had a rope around a branch and his neck
Bill raced towards him and yelled, “Dad, what are you doing?”
Just as the old man stepped off the chair

Bill caught him on his shoulder holding the bigger man up for all he was worth
His father seemed to had passed out either from drink or the effort and was dead weight
Bill was pushing him up with all his might trying to get some slack in the rope
While trying to loosen the loop with his one free hand
His father began to mumble pleading with Bill to let him go

Unable to work the rope free Bill was growing tired from the effort and frantic
With one last effort he pushed the old man back towards the chair, lifting his foot onto the seat
His dad had seemed to come around and realizing who was there stood up on the chair
Relieving the strain on Bill and looking down at his son
He took the noose off his neck and as he stepped off told Bill, “You should have let me go."

His father had been drinking and was very drunk
Bill watched him stagger towards the house and in the door
He took the rope down, threw it into his car and followed the old man inside
His father was already half way up the stairs where he would sleep it off
Bill watched as his father made the climb never to speak about the incident again

He loved his father so very much
And just four short years later he received a call from his mother early in the morning
Telling him that his father had died, Bill got to their house just minutes after the coroner arrived
The coroner asked if Bill and his brother-in-law could help carry the body down the stairs
When they went into the bedroom his father was already in a body bag, just like the ones in Nam

The three men picked up the body bag and went out into the hallway towards the stairs
Carrying this man he loved, they made the three steps to the landing where they had to turn
Bill looked down the long stairway seeing his mother and sister crying in the hallway
They started down the staircase, the body shifting in the bag
And like his unknown escape from the VC tunnel, Bill does not remember reaching the bottom

Now he understood the torment that his father had been going through
And tonight there would be no sons to stop him
He had always loved his father, and that was what hurt most about his own daughters
With all the same behavior that he and his father had shown
How could he love his father so much while his girls hated their’s

From early on they had always seemed distant to him
They loved, even worshiped their mother but in turn had no use for him
He loved them and had tried to show it but to no avail
And it hurt him terribly, troubled him more than the problems with the war
For nothing can hurt as eternally as the lost love of your children

He knew they didn’t understand what his life had been like
That they couldn’t begin to comprehend what he or any other Veterans had been through
And he understood that, how could anyone unless they had been through it?
But can’t you still love someone, even if you don’t understand them?
Apparently not, at least not in this case

His oldest daughter had once sat down with him and demanded that he put this war behind him
To forget about his service, his Corps, the men who he had served and fought with
It was all in the past she had said, it was just a few short years of your life
Why have you allowed it to control the rest of your life?
Move on she had said, get over it and enjoy your life.

Pretty heady stuff coming from a twenty-five year old, it was the last time they had spoken
Of course it was all coming from relatives, a parrot repeating what she had heard,
Mainly from Bill’s sister and her husband, and he hadn’t spoken to them now in years
It was not the brother-in-law who hooked him up with the VA for he was a Marine himself.
This was coming from the one who had enlisted in the National Guard to avoid the draft

It has always been easy for some to tell others how they should feel
To explain what someone has to do to make their lives better
It seems so simple for the outsider looking in to tell that Veteran what has to be done
Just let ‘it’ go, forget about it, put it in your past, move on, get some help, be a man
Like you haven’t been trying to do just that since your ass hit the seat on your Freedom Bird

“All you need to do is get a good job and get back to work.”
“Jesus! Where were they when I had lost every job I have ever had?
Six jobs in four years, and I was never absent, hardly ever late, I worked my ass off
Those jobs and that work had not stopped the nightmares, the depression
That anger, where if the boss had said one more word he was going down.”

“Ah, the hell with it!” Bill thought, “Let the meek inherit the earth.
Sooner or later someone will come along and take it away from them.
As for me, as much as I want to end this shit, I would do it all again.
How could I not, to stand there and watch those boys go off without me?
Not to serve my country, someone has to pay this price. To hell with ‘em.”

Bill dropped the picture album on the floor where it fell open to a photo of Jessie and the girls
It was time, he had thought that he could sit here and reflect on his life tonight
But the booze and his anger would not allow it
Rising, he walked slowly into the corner and slid open the bottom drawer of an old desk
Pulled out a bundled oily rag holding an old .45, just like the one he had carried into that tunnel

He walked back to the chair and sat down, sliding back the action to chamber a round
He poured another shot, drank it in one swift movement and threw the glass across the room
Breaking it on the wall, he wiped his sweaty brow with the sleeve of his shirt, laid the gun in his lap
Taking a deep breath he leaned back into the chair silently scanning the gloomy room
He was ready

Bill did not really want to die, if only his life was better, he was just so exhausted living life this way
He was tired of the haunting faces of the dead in his dreams, his friends, his enemies, the innocents
Since they were going to keep invading his nights, then tonight he would invade theirs
He was weary of hearing the agonizing screams of dying echo in his mind
He was ashamed of always being afraid, of what he was never sure, nothing yet everything

What he was about to do had nothing to do with revenge nor was he looking for sympathy
His loneliness had so fatigued his soul that he no longer cared to go on
Yet he knew that it had been no one’s fault but his own, for even before Jessie and the girls had left
He had always been alone in his own mind and heart, even though he loved them all
In the end he knew it had been this unwanted solitude that had driven them away

He missed his sweet Jessie, her smile, her laughter, her loving touch and even her anger
Her soft breathing at night as she laid curled by his side, the sight of her walking through a room
There had been some good times and he knew that she loved him
But he also knew that Jessie had had to leave, for her own survival
Because depression is contagious and living with Bill she too had fallen victim to it

He knew now what he had done in Vietnam so very long ago
He had built a solid, impregnable, inner wall around his heart, surrounding his emotions
A wall that trapped his feelings deep inside to deaden and destroy them
And the only beasts that could survive inside its ghastly corridors were the demons of his dreams
This was the only way to crumble this cold structure, destroy the demons, silence their wicked cries

Even the conditions he had set were now almost fulfilled
His mother had passed away a few weeks before Jessie had left
The girls were grown and gone, out of his life except for his love for them and the pain
Jessie would be well taken care of, at least financially, he had written no note
Except for his decision to use a gun it was almost perfect

He sat up in the chair picked up the gun and paused as he realized
That he was now the same age as his father when he had stopped him by the tree
Sweat was running off his forehead, he could feel the blood pounding in his temples
A slight headache tapped at his brain, he raised the pistol with trembling hands
Turning the barrel towards him and placed his thumb on the trigger

Raising the gun to his opened mouth, his heart drumming, the sweat now stinging his eyes
He placed the gun to his lips, felt the coolness of the metal, steel between his teeth, tasted the oil
Both hands on the gun were shaking, with his eyes lifted to the ceiling
He closed them forcing the tears to run down his cheeks
“Lord forgive me for taking another life.” He prayed to himself

He opened his eyes and the ceiling was turning, the liquor and tension was making him ill
He closed his eyes quickly to stop the spinning and he gagged with an aborted attempt to vomit
He took a long deep breath through his nose, and let it out
He felt calmer now and squeezed the trigger with his thumb
His last thought was of Jessie






Michael Tank
USMC
Scout/Snipers
1969-1972

08/10/03



"Copyright 2004. Michael E. Tank All rights reserved. No part of this document may be copied, faxed, electronically transmitted, or in any other manner duplicated without express written permission of the author."


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