Skipping Stones

by J. B. McGee

  Four Years Later

  I didn’t have any photographs of Drew. We never had time to actually take pictures. But when I would come home, on the nights I couldn’t sleep, I’d sketch his face. Even in smudged pencil he was beautiful. No one really knows about these. I don’t share my drawings with anyone.

  Pulling them out from the drawer in my bedside table, I run my finger over them. Remembering what it was like to touch his skin, how his lips felt against mine. Usually, when I revisit him, it’s when I’m sad. It’s when I need a reminder that if I made it through those initial weeks, I can make it through anything.

  Looking at those sketches makes me want him back. He made everything so much easier. I flip it to the next page. This one is my favorite. I close my eyes as I recall this moment. We were both lying in the field. He had his arm curved, and his hand was in his hair. I sat up on my elbow because I wanted to see him. He had just been listening to me talk about my life, about my parents. I could see the pain he felt for me on his face. So I committed it to my memory until I could make it into something permanent.

  I thought that one day I would be able to show it to him. I shake my head. As much as I shared with him, I never got to share these. Putting the images back in the portfolio, I stash them back in the drawer. Then I sit up and decide that I’ll try again to see if I can find any information on him.

  While I wait for the computer to boot up, I think about how it seems that each day technology becomes more and more advanced. There are more and more tools available for finding people. I’m convinced that one day, I’ll be able to find him.

  The modem starts to dial, and when I have a connection, I immediately start to type his name into the search engine. It’s such a common name. Sometimes I feel like I know these other people because I’ve read so much on them, hoping they were my Drew.

  Nothing. Every search starts the same way, and ultimately ends the same way. It starts just like this one. With me remembering all that he was, what he meant to me. Reminding myself that he was real, not a figment of my imagination...because I have these sketches. Every search makes me want him to come back. Every search leaves me empty.

  So instead of him being here to get me through the unbearable times, it’s the hope that one day he’ll live outside of my memories, outside of my dreams. That helps me through the dark tunnel and brings me closer to the light.

  I drove straight to the creek and parked here. I knew that if they saw me come down the hill through that kitchen window, they’d be outside before I parked in the driveway to greet me. I need some time alone first to soak in the scenery, to remember how I ended up in this position to begin with.

  Standing at this place is like being fifteen all over again. Except the pain I felt then wasn’t bearable and now I’m almost thirty. It’s hard to believe that so much time has passed, and yet it still feels so fresh. Not a day goes by where I don’t think about my parents, or Drew for that matter. You’d think that after all of these years I’d be over him, but when he left that summer day, he walked away with a piece of my crumbling heart. I’ve never been able to repair it.

  Humpty Dumpty comes to mind. The king’s horses could attempt to put me back together, but no matter how hard they’d try, it just doesn’t seem possible. When I really think about Humpty Dumpty, I wonder why people tell kids that story. It’s so sad. Maybe it’s because they want to teach them at a young age that every action has a consequence. It may be good, but it may also be life altering, so much so, that the after effects of said action may even be irreversible.

  I wish I hadn’t learned this lesson the way I did, but it’s done. It’s definitely irreversible. There’s no getting my parents back. And Drew. I don’t know that I’d recognize him even if I saw him. I do know that I run that scenario through my mind every now and again.

  I decide to just leave my car here for a little bit, and walk around these streets...back to the house. It makes me sad to see how the homes have become old, tattered. Everyone of them except ours. It’s like it’s always been. The yard is still beautifully maintained, but it’s the same. The outside is the same. The vehicle is the same. I think we all tried to maintain what we had because the rate of change was too much for our hearts to take at the time. So we formed routines. We tried really hard to keep things simple. When what we were actually doing was surviving, not living.

  It’s why I had to go away after high school. I needed to find myself outside of this place. The summer of 1996 was not just the death of Tony and Felicia Hart. It was the death of Alex Hart as I knew her. When I had Drew I thought I would recover, but when he left it was like the final nail in my coffin.

  So I have literally been putting one foot in front of the other. Taking it day-by-day. No, breath by breath, moment by moment. I knew when I graduated that I had the grades to go anywhere I wanted for college, so I did. The hardest part of being away hasn’t been the studying. It’s been being away from Memaw and Papa.

  I’ve always been pretty good at doing whatever I put my mind to, and so the way I’ve continued my survival is by studying all the time. Applying for medical school was easy for me than it was my peers. More than my grades, I have a personality and a story to help.

  As I get closer to the bottom of the hill, to the house I’ve called home since that tragic accident, I think about the decisions to become a doctor. To have the ability to save lives as a profession was a no brainer to me. My family has been so proud and supportive of my career choice. The one choice they have not been supportive of was the decision to join the military to fund my education.

  For me that seemed like a good idea, until I was told that they couldn’t bear to lose me, too. Then they asked how I could put them through that: the potential worry and deployments. Maybe I was naive. We weren’t at war at the time. The only thing I could think of was that they’d pay for my education if I gave them a commitment through the ROTC program commission as a 2nd Lieutenant officer when I graduated college.

  Then September 11 happened. How could I have known that there’d be a war to fight when I joined? So even though I’ve been away from home a lot going to college, then medical school, then internships and residencies, I’m here doing something that I really thought would never happen.

  And I hate it. If I could get out of it, I would. The reality is that there’s no way to get around it. The fear that the last impression I have of Papa’s face in my mind may be one of disappointment could haunt me for the rest of my life. Maybe this is why I’ve been dreading going to the house.

  Finally, I climb those few steps to the house, and I tap on the back storm door. “Knock, knock,” I say.

  “Alex!” Memaw cheers. “You know knocking isn’t allowed around here.”

  I knew she would react just like that, which is why I said it to begin with. It’s nice to be home. I walk up the few small steps and into the living room. Papa is sitting in his chair watching Fox News. I’ve tried to tell him he needs to watch CNN, but he’s positive the people on Fox have a better grasp on the situation. “Hey, Pop.” I smile. He makes my heart feel warm and fuzzy.

  He pats his knee. “There’s Papa’s Girl. Come hug my neck, and fill me in.”

  I laugh because I know that I’ll never outgrow his lap. “Sure I won’t break those little bird legs of yours?”

  He shakes his head. “How many times do I have to tell you? You’ll never outgrow this old man’s lap.”

  “I’m glad.” I gently sit down and wrap my arms around his neck. I whisper, “I’ve missed you, Papa.”

  He pats my back. “You, too, Alex”

  “Papa, I don’t want to leave you again,” I begin to cry as I squeeze hard. I know he understands. He served in the Korean War. “I’m scared.”

  “You’re tough, though. So strong.” He continues to rub soothing circles. “You’ve always been a fighter.”

  I nod and swallow the lump in my throat. “Not this kind of fighter.” I pull back and look into his brown, tired eye
s. The dialysis has taken its toll on him the last few years. The expression on his face is the one I had dreaded. “Pop?” I ask.

  “Yes’um?”

  “Please don’t be upset with me for leaving,” I plead.

  His head moves slightly from side-to-side. “I’m not upset with you. I just know what war is like, and I wish I could shelter you from what I know you’re about to see. I’d take your place if I could.”

  I squeeze my eyes closed as the tears drip down my cheeks. “I know you would. Do you think Mom and Dad would be proud of me? Right now I’m not sure for putting you through more.”

  His eyes bulge. “There is no doubt in my mind that they would be proud. We’re proud.” He glances over his shoulder to Memaw, who I’ve barely even acknowledged. She’s got a tissue and she’s dabbing her green eyes. It only makes me more of an emotional wreck. I bury my head into Papa’s chest. They both say, nearly in unison, “We love you, Alex.” Then Papa murmurs ever so quietly in my ear, “Praying for God to keep you safe. To bring you back to us whole and well. You have our blessings.”

  A few hours later, I’ve been fed and given my first letter to be opened on the long flight to Afghanistan. Papa and I took a walk to the creek to get my car before it was dark. We’re now standing outside, and I don’t want to leave. We hug one final time. I refuse to say the word ‘goodbye’. I quit saying that word a long time ago. I wave and say, “See you later.” I blow a kiss to both and mouth ‘I love you’ as I pull out of the gravel driveway.

  They stand in the yard with their arms around each other, still as in love as they’ve ever been sixty years later. Whatever was left of my heart since Drew Foster and my parent’s death...I just left it in that house with the two people I love more than anything else. They will be the way I get through this. I will fight to come home to them. I will live to be able to see them again.

  The flight to Afghanistan is the longest one I’ve ever taken. I already hate flying as it is. Every bump makes me feel like we’re going to fall out of the sky. Then I laugh at myself. If I am scared of a plane ride, what in the heck am I going to do when I get there?

  I pull the letter from my camoflauge duffle bag that Memaw and Papa gave me. This might be the best way for me to get my mind off of the scary stuff. Really, the anticipation has been killing me. I’ve almost opened it early several times.

  I run my finger through the small opening where the flap folds on the envelope to open it, then pull the notes out and unwrap them. It’s not written on fancy stationery. Come to think of it, I don’t think they own any. Every Christmas I wonder what to buy them. Maybe I’ll get them some so they can write me on it.

  Memaw’s is on top. I smile. It’s the perfect medicine for home sickness.

  Dearest Alex,

  The first thing I want to say is that Memaw is so proud of you. I know that we’ve been hard on you about your decision, but it’s only because we love you so much. The thought of something happening to you is too much for our hearts to take, but we have faith in the Lord that he’ll bring you home to us. I know that he doesn’t give us more than we can handle in this life. There’s no way your Papa or I could deal with another loss.

  You’ve become a very selfless person. You grew up too fast. I hope that during this adventure, you’ll be able to make the best of it. It’s hard to imagine, but in every situation there is good. Even when we’re unable to see what that good is, even when that situation may seem like the scariest and hardest thing we’ve ever had to face. Sometimes it isn’t necessarily for your good, but the good of someone else.

  We’ll write you every chance we get. I’ll send you food because I know you aren’t going to eat like you should. And I’m sure that the stuff they have for you isn’t fittin’ to eat anyway. The things I can’t send, I’ll save for you for when you get back. You make yourself a menu of all the things you want Memaw to cook you when you come home.

  Most of all, Alex, take care of yourself. Know that we love you, and you will always have our support.

  I love you,

  Memaw

  I smile as big as I can. It’s exactly what I needed to hear, to read. Even though she said it, I wasn’t convinced. This lets me know that what I’m doing is right. It’s all going to be okay. I hold the letter against my chest because it makes me feel closer to her.

  I carefully put it back the way it came and tuck it into the envelope. Then I focus on Papa’s letter.

  My Ali-Lou,

  I wish I could shelter you from what you’re about to see. All I’ve ever tried to do is keep you from the evil in this world. I’ve tried to outweigh it with love. Love conquers all, always. My heart already hurts thinking about the things you’re going to witness. It hurts because of the loss of innocence you’re about to experience. The evil you’ve seen in this world doesn’t compare to what is happening over there.

  I don’t have too much to say other than to keep yourself safe. Watch your back. Watch your front. Listen to your gut. Always do what you think is right. Your instincts are strong. Use them. Pray when you’re lonely. Write us often, we already miss you. Know that you’re never alone. There are always arms wrapped around you. If there are tears, know I’d have a bucket to catch them all if I could. I know you think crying is a sign of weakness, but it’s not. Tears have a way of flushing the system. They are as essential to life as water.

  There’s not a day that you don’t make me proud. There’s not a moment that I’m not thankful you were chosen to be my granddaughter. You are a fighter, and you’re strong. I don’t mean physically. Your heart and your faith are strong. Alexandria Hart, you’re going to do great things in this world, in this life. You already have.

  Call when you can, write if you’re able. Take care of yourself, baby girl. We’ll see you soon.

  I love you,

  Papa

  I close my eyes as I picture his smile. For a minute, I can feel his legs beneath me, his fingers strumming my back. His laughter echoes in my ear. As far as goals go, making them proud has always been at the top. I just hope I can continue to do so without worrying them. He says I’m strong. I think I got that from him.

  I fold them up and put them back into the envelope. Then I tuck it into my bag. These letters will definitely cheer my spirits up when I’m feeling down. I now have new letters to look forward to receiving to keep me moving, motivating me to stay alive.

  While I’m packaging my patient for the helicopter that is on its way to pick him up, I hear that there is an incoming casualty. “Probable IED explosion with casualties and severe injuries. ETA five minutes.” I hate to hear there are casualties, but I knew that would be part of this ordeal. The part that I thrive on is the severe injuries. I was born to treat traumas. For some reason, I’ve always worked well under pressure. I’ve always loved beating the odds. Trauma affords me both of those rushes...to know that I saved someone against all odds in a time crunch.

  That’s why I love being in the Forward Surgical Team. I’m the first doctor to treat patients who are injured on the front lines. It’s been great experience for my future career choice, which is to become a burn specialist. That was my path before I was deployed. Certainly, my experience here should only help, not hurt. Yeah, it will take me a little longer to get to that point in my career, but I will get there.

  My thoughts wander to skin. It seems superficial and cosmetic. If we don’t like it, we cover it with makeup. We spend our summers trying to make it darker. We take it for granted. We think skin and we automatically think cosmetics and summer.

  Not me. Not anymore. After my mother’s accident, it has been impossible to forget or get used to the smell of charred human beings. There aren’t many experiences that are worse than that. There aren’t many injuries more difficult to fix, either. This patient has a long road of recovery because of burns.

  Anytime I hear the word ‘explosion,’ my nostrils are filled with the memory of that scent. My heart starts thumping in my chest. I thought eve
ntually I would get used to this, but I haven’t. I don’t think I will ever get used to seeing the horrific images of people mangled and hanging on for dear life. I never get used to people’s lives being in my hands.

  Before I was deployed, one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do in my life was tell someone their loved one hadn’t made it. Telling a parent that they have outlived their child causes an indescribable emotion. Holding it together and being the strong one for those people takes its toll on you. I have had to detatch myself somehow, or the pain and anguish would eat me alive.

  I just know that I can’t think of what is going on when I deliver the news. It’s almost like I go into some kind of robot form. I know that sounds insensitive, but it’s the only way I can deal with the loss of a patient. Sometimes it’s the only way I can deal with the reality of my life.

  My point is that no matter how many times I’ve been the bearer of bad news, it never prepares me for being on the receiving end. For as many times as I’ve comforted families and dealt with my own grief, it has never prepared me more for the next time. It never gets easier. Death is one of those things that no matter how hard I try to think about it, I just can’t grasp it. It’s beyond my comprehension.

  Maybe that’s part of the reason I decided to be a doctor. I wanted to help prevent death in any way possible. I wanted to know that I had done my part to help avoid it for someone – for them to have a second chance – because I know what it’s like to not get a second chance with the people I love.

  Compartmentalization has become essential doing this job in theater. There isn’t time for me to think about what’s just happened because it seems as soon as we get one patient stabilized, another one arrives. I literally have to put it in some internal box deep in my soul. Maybe one day I’ll have the chance to deal with the horrors I’ve seen.