He was armed and
ready, hunkered down behind Grandpa’s old wheelbarrow by the woodshed, his
brothers in secured prone positions under Mama’s lilac bush, … and just in
time. The droning of the crop duster
engine grew steadily nearer. Adjusting colander and sauce pan helmets, walkie-talkies crackled as stick
rifles lifted and sling shots stretched into position.
One last kiss. She resolved to smile bravely, to send him
off with courage, to be strong for the children… again. As the Chinook engines droned, he sat with
head in hands, praying for their safety. He knew she would be faithful to him. But so many of the other guys who sat around
him, consumed in their own thoughts, what of them?
Murky trenches,
pelting sandy wind, sweltering heat, bitter cold, and waiting… waiting for
orders, waiting for letters from home, waiting for rations, waiting… always
waiting… and always ready. Canvas walls
offered meek attempts to shut out the constant droning of military vehicles day
and night.
Grand reunions,
red carpet, medal ceremonies, flags unfurled, apple pie, warm welcomes, friends
and family. Joy, real and surreal. Slowly the last pickup truck drove away leaving in its
wake a gently receding drone in a small cloud of dust. Everything had changed and his youth was gone. Who was he?
What was important? How would he
lead without following orders? Where would
he go from here?
He sat ready with pocket watch in hand… and
just in time. He saw her through the small round window standing bravely beside the children. He felt grit in his boots and the weight of
his pack. He smelled the stench of
smoke, of filth, of wounds. He heard rhythmic
boots marching in cadence. As the droning
of the crop duster engine gradually faded and was gone, her trembling hand patted his own tenderly. She was there to wheel his chair slowly
through the day room and down the hall.
~Mrs. Arlene Eldridge
