Gooseberry Island

by Steven Manchester

  He’d never told Lindsey when he was flying back to Georgia—exactly—so there wouldn’t be anyone waiting for him when they landed. This also brought mixed feelings that he felt too exhausted to analyze. Instead, he picked up the MRE and tore it open. Dinnertime, he thought, and felt his stomach convulse over the disgusting sustenance he was about to ingest.

  While he gagged down his supper, David took a serious accounting of his time in Afghanistan. For the older soldiers, those who already know who they are, the fighting and killing is just something they were tasked to do. For the younger soldiers, though, there’s definitely the danger that it’ll become who they are, and not just something they were ordered to carry out. David was still young enough to feel it in his soul.

  He took a drink of water, trying to push down another bite. Words like freedom, honor, nobility and courage aren’t just words anymore, he thought. They’re ideals; a creed to live by. He felt so torn over the entire experience.

  He looked at the men who shared the ride home; Max, Kevin, Billy and Nathan. Among hundreds of other brave soldiers, they’d served side-by-side. And their perspective of the war was very different from the sanitized version CNN opted to show at home. Besides the terrible fighting, they’d witnessed multiple children slaughtered by roadside bombs. More evidence of the hefty costs of freedom, David thought.

  David’s ranger team shared every trying experience one could imagine during the twelve months of fighting. There were friends made and lost and battles waged on an internal front. Though most soldiers were returning home visibly whole, what they were bringing with them as a result of inhumane fears and pent-up rage was going to be hell to pay. But it was a just cause, David told himself again, and closed his eyes for the rest of the flight.

  ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

  It was a Thursday afternoon when the C-130 flew its final leg into Fort Benning, Georgia. David tried to stretch out his cramped back. As he yawned, he took a look down the line at his combat-hardened comrades. For U.S. Army Rangers—men who normally wore masks of strength and callousness—pure excitement was seeping from their pores. He smiled.

  The crew chief made his announcement, “Wheels down in twenty, boys. Welcome home.” From his indifferent tone, he’d made the announcement a hundred times before. Still, David felt a charge of excitement rip through his body. It was a pure thrill, like a boy riding a roller coaster for the first time. He calmed his breathing, while his mind continued to race. Maybe I should’ve told Lindsey I’d be flying home today, he scolded himself.

  The wheels hit the tarmac and screeched, making the plane bounce once. David was rocked in his canvas sling, while the engines roared in an attempt to halt the heavy beast. “Home,” he said aloud, and felt his eyes start to fill. Although he successfully fought back the tears, he could have never contained his smile, even if he’d wanted to.

  Once the plane came to a complete stop, David stood, finished stretching out his back and began to gather his things. He looked left and locked eyes with Max. “We made it,” he said.

  Max nodded solemnly. “Some of us anyway.”

  David’s joy was instantly challenged by the hard truth of Max’s words. David’s heart sank, and his mind lined up one face after the next—men who would never descend stairs to greet their families. Instead, they’d be received in flag-draped caskets.

  David looked back at his friend, realizing, Max was unusually quiet during the flight. He watched him. And he’s definitely not as excited as everyone else to be home…which is strange, considering all he ever talked about over there was Max Jr. David wondered about this. Then again, Max took two confirmed kills and tried like hell to save a child who’d tripped a roadside bomb. He shook his head. And he’s had a tough time living with all of it. For the moment, David decided not to question it.

  The pilot and co-pilot met them at the door as they juggled their gear and prepared to descend the stairs onto American soil. “Thank you for your service and welcome home,” they said.

  With Max walking in front of him, David took his first step outside the plane and sucked in a lung full of domestic air. A pang of joy arose again, immediately challenged by a wave of grief. Not everyone made it home, echoed in his head. He searched for the feeling of excitement again, but it was no longer there.

  David descended the stairs, while the cheering crowd swayed within the hangar, people dressed in red, white and blue, celebrating like they were at a rock concert. David took another deep breath and descended the steel staircase.

  David watched as these modern-day gladiators ran into the opened arms of their loved ones. If only for a moment, there was no threat of death or pain or a future paved with suffering. People swayed in each other’s arms and cried. As though all the months of worry and fear and the real possibilities of facing death were suddenly melting away, a terrible weight lifted from hundreds.

  Like the professional observer he was, David scanned the hangar and watched all of the subtle details that were taking place. There were men who struggled to hold back and remain strong in the face of their weeping families. David also found the stronger of them allowing their emotions to show, to take its natural course, without care of anyone else’s opinion. They’ll probably readjust a lot quicker than the rest of us, David thought, and envied them for their courage.

  People wailed and cried, mourning the time they’d lost together and grieving the absence of innocence in the faces of those who’d returned. Many of them had left as boys but come home as aged men. As David watched everything around him, he shook his head. I should’ve told Lindsey I was coming home today.

  He looked at Max, who was blanketed by his loving and supportive family. Like a spider monkey, young Max Jr. had his arms wrapped around his father’s neck. David felt torn to witness it; he was happy for his friend but sad for himself.

  And then the caskets, square aluminum boxes draped in American flags, were unloaded from the belly of the steel gray beast. The roar of the crowd was immediately silenced. Among the hushed sobs and whispers, soldiers in full dressed uniforms carried the silver caskets to a different area of the hangar, away from the celebration where the less fortunate families were waiting to receive their fallen sons and daughters.

  Although the hugs and kisses continued in the main hangar, the silence remained.

  ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

  Lindsey was just getting dropped off from her girl’s night out. She’d lost seven dollars at the mini Texas Hold’em tournament but made it up in the wine she’d enjoyed. Courtney, the designated driver, shared one last laugh with her before saying good night.

  “David should be home soon,” Courtney said, getting back in her car. “You must be counting down the days, right?”

  Lindsey shook her head and then grinned. “More like the hours.”

  They both laughed before Courtney backed out of the driveway.

  Lindsey stepped into the house to find her father standing two feet away from the television; he was just standing there, looking straight ahead. “Did you finish that Three Stooges marathon?” she asked, chuckling.

  He turned and looked at her, his eyes devoid of true consciousness.

  He’s sleepwalking, she realized, and froze—fear locking her knees in place.

  “You think I’m afraid of you?” he hissed, his nostrils flaring like a mad bull.

  “Dad, go to bed. You’re…”

  “Well, I’m not!” he screamed. Rage couldn’t begin to describe his demeanor.

  Oh no, she thought, but having experienced his awful temper many times before, she knew it was already too late to react.

  He lunged at her and threw a right cross that landed squarely on her nose. For a suspended moment, the world flickered like a television on its last leg. Flashes of light pulsed in her peripheral vision, dragging the darkness toward the center until she nearly blacked out. That’s when the nerve endings started firing, the intense pain shocking her back into consciousness to where her father stood over her, his fists cle
nched and his chest heaving. Between the excruciating drum beats in Lindsey’s head, a small voice—her childhood voice—screamed, No more! The pain was blinding.

  Then, as if an invisible switch was thrown, reality registered in his eyes and the rage was instantly replaced by horror. “Oh no! Oh Lindsey…” His eyes were wide and filled with terror. He dropped to his knees and held out his hand. “Oh God, what have I done?”

  Even if Lindsey had wanted to take his hand, she was too busy catching the puddle of blood in her cupped hands, while trying to get her head back on straight from the vicious assault. She stood, spraying blood everywhere as she did. “Not now, Dad. Just leave me alone. I’ll be fine.” She hurried into the bathroom to get cleaned up.

  As the door closed behind her, she heard him let out a war cry. Moments later, the front door slammed closed and the car started in the driveway.

  She looked down at the white facecloth, now completely stained red, and began to cry. “Oh Dad…”

  Ashamed and riddled with guilt, Denis Wood was off to check himself into the VA hospital and cut himself off from the rest of the world.

  ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

  David stepped into Fort Benning’s Retention Office and stood at parade rest. The smiling recruiter gestured that David take a seat and relax. He remained standing. The recruiter sighed. “Another four, Sergeant?” he asked, giving it a shot.

  David shook his head, hardly surprising the man.

  The recruiter flipped open a brown folder. “But your record indicates that you went above and beyond the call of duty during your deployment in Afghanistan,” he said, intent on delivering his best sales pitch. “Why wouldn’t you…”

  “I’m done,” David said, staring straight ahead.

  “But what if we offered you…”

  “I’m out,” David said again, this time his tone was less professional.

  The man snapped the folder closed and threw it on his desk in surrender. “All right then, but I’ll be here if you happen to change…”

  David had already executed an about-face and was halfway out the door.

  ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

  Three days later, David flew home under the radar. Taking a cab from the airport to his house, he found his mother exactly where he’d left her—seated at the kitchen table.

  “Oh my God, David, you’re home,” she yelped and hurried to him.

  David dropped his duffel bag on the worn linoleum floor and hugged her tightly. Trying to conceal his broken heart, he joined her at the table.

  His mom studied his face, his eyes, and began to cry. “Oh David,” she repeated, reaching for his hand. “Your dad’s service was very beautiful,” she said, confusing his terrible sorrow for grief over his dad’s death.

  He scoffed at the idea of such a foolish notion but still nodded kindly.

  She stood and hugged him from behind. David remained unmoved. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked gently.

  He shrugged. “I wouldn’t have the words, Mom.” he said, and thought for a long moment. “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

  After a half hour of sitting in relative silence together, David looked up to find his brother standing in the kitchen’s threshold.

  “You’re home!” Craig called out and ran to his brother. David stood and they hugged.

  “Why didn’t you call me? I would have given you a ride home from the airport.”

  “I didn’t want to bother you,” David said, making both his brother and mother gawk at him, concerned.

  Craig pulled on David’s arm. “Come with me. I have something to show you.” He was smiling from ear-to-ear.

  David looked at his mother, who was wearing the same mischievous smile.

  The three of them stepped outside. David gasped. His old, beat-up Mustang convertible looked brand new. The fender had been fixed and the entire car painted. Even the vinyl top was new—which isn’t cheap, David thought. The new tires shined, and as David stepped closer, he could see that the entire interior had been detailed as well. “How did you…”

  Filled with pride, Craig threw his arm around his big brother’s shoulder. “One piece at a time.”

  David’s eyes filled. Craig must have spent three month’s wages to pull this off, he thought. “You shouldn’t have, Craig,” he said, his voice quivering.

  Craig looked at him like he was on fire. “Are you crazy, bro?” He tightened his grip. “You’re a war hero.”

  David glared at his brother. “I’m no war hero,” he said firmly.

  “Well, no one deserves it more,” Craig said quietly.

  David nodded once and tried to speak but couldn’t. He hugged his brother. “Thank you,” he finally managed.

  As both brothers discreetly wiped their eyes, Craig asked, “Have you seen Lindsey yet?”

  “Nah,” David said, shaking his head. “She doesn’t even know I’m home.”

  “So you’re gonna surprise her, huh?” Craig asked, grinning.

  “When the time’s right,” David said, heading back toward the house.

  There was such sorrow in David’s voice that Craig blurted, “Won’t that be something?”

  David nodded once, never looking back.

  7

  David was walking with his friend Al on the beach. They were joking and laughing. “I think I’m pregnant,” Al said, rubbing his belly. “The blood tests should be in soon though.” He shook his head. “There were so many guys at the party I’m not even sure who the father is.”

  Suddenly, there was a loud explosion. While a cloud of dust was still settling, David screamed, “I’m sorry, Big Al. It should have been me.”

  Al shook his head again, but this time there was a strange look in his eyes. Sympathy, I think.

  Al pointed to David’s left leg, which was now a bloodied stump. “Your turn, McClain,” he said and started laughing.

  ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

  David awakened, clutching his chest and trying to breathe. He jumped out of bed on two healthy legs and fought desperately to fill his lungs with air and hang onto life. His head wasn’t pounding. Rather, it was growing numb with a thousand confusing thoughts—a tornado of doom and gloom creating fragments of hideous pictures with just enough reality to be absolutely and completely terrifying. His palpitating heart was racing so fast that his extremities—hands, feet, fingers, toes, and even the tip of his nose—began tingling. Pure and relentless panic was rushing from his core, filling his entire body with a fight or flight response from something that existed only in the darkest recesses of his mind. It was self-preservation in the face of peace.

  ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

  An hour later, David was sitting on a gurney. The balding emergency room doctor entered, holding a chart and smiling. “I have great news. We can’t find any evidence of a heart attack. It was probably just a panic attack.”

  “Can’t be…” David said.

  “These attacks are sometimes caused by the building tensions of everyday life,” the doctor explained. “Anything could have triggered the attack.” He studied David’s face. “Anything new going on—something that might be causing lots of stress?”

  David shook his head, playing the dunce.

  “I think you should go talk to someone,” the doctor advised.

  “I’ll go see my primary care physician tomorrow,” David said.

  “That’s great, but I was thinking more along the lines of a therapist.”

  David looked at the man in disbelief. As the doctor left the room, David collapsed back onto the gurney, placed his hands over his eyes and let out a wounded grunt.

  David pulled the shiny Mustang into his driveway. He stepped out of the car and watched as the Welcome flag waved in the wind. From the greeting sign and lawn ornaments in the front of the house to the pristine patio out back, it was the perfect picture of happy, middle class America. Looking at the manicured lawn and his mother’s flawless flowerbeds, David reached his front stairs and snickered. What bullshit! He slammed the door be
hind him.

  ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

  A full week had passed. David sat quietly, staring out the kitchen window and way beyond whatever lay in the yard. Not so much a dreamer anymore, he was reliving the same nightmares over and over and over.

  It only took a second to change the outcome of an entire lifetime. He thought about the Afghan boy who’d been beaten to death. Or several lifetimes.

  David continued to stare out his kitchen window. My life is in complete chaos, but maybe if I tried talking to Lindsey? He shook his head. No, he thought, it wouldn’t be fair.

  Though distinct, the front door softly closed. Uninterested, he continued to stare into nothingness. He smelled Lindsey’s perfume wafting through the stale air before he ever saw her. He looked up to find her standing in the middle of his kitchen. Her eyes were filled with tears, the left one purple and black. She’s been hurt, he thought, and took a deeper look into her eyes. But I’ve hurt her more. There was a piece of him, a very subdued piece that was beyond excited to see her again. And then reality hit. I wish she didn’t see me like this.

  “I thought you were supposed to meet me at our bench?” she said sadly.

  A dream from a long-forgotten time, he thought, shrugging. “Sorry,” he whispered.

  His baby face had been replaced with a man’s chiseled features. And his hazel eyes no longer sparkled, his love for life extinguished somewhere in Afghanistan.

  “So you made it home,” she said, breaking the terrible silence.

  He nodded. “I did.”

  “I hope you don’t mind,” Lindsey said, “but when I heard that you’d come home I asked Craig to let me see you. Please don’t be mad at him.”

  He shook his head, the tears building fast behind his eyes. “Of course not.” He stood and took a step toward her. “I’m sorry, Lindsey,” he said, “but…”