Angel in Blue Jeans

by Richard L. Coles

  Dwayne leaned over toward Elizabeth and whispered, “That lady has become a real asset to the community.”

  The chaplain scanned again. A young man approached the front. He turned. “I’m Jason, Jason Johnson. Dana was fun to be with. She always brightened up the party. She could be serious one moment, and cracking jokes the next. But she always cared. If someone was feeling down, Dana would talk with them and try to cheer them up. We all admire her for what she has done for us, and we’re all going to miss her, a lot.”

  A pause as Jason returned to his place. The chaplain nodded to one of the army officers, who walked to the front by the table and turned to the people.

  “Graham. That’s appropriate,” whispered Dwayne. “He looks very smart in his uniform.”

  “Lieutenant Munro—Dana—was a respected and capable officer, well-liked by all. During her service in the Armed Forces, she has received several commendations. She was not afraid of hard work, she was full of initiative, and she was a good leader. I have admired Dana since I first came to know her in this community, and I had the privilege of working with her and guiding her as she made her decision to join the Army. My wife Jane and I are deeply saddened by this tragedy.”

  Graham paused for a moment, clearing his throat and wiping one eye. He continued, “In any theatre of armed conflict, there are great risks. We all know that. But it is particularly difficult for those who are in a peacekeeping role in an unstable environment. Boundaries and rules are ephemeral, and peacekeepers are constrained to be impartial.

  “As many of you already know, Lieutenant Munro and her patrol were conducting a routine survey of boundary lines when an explosion under her vehicle blasted it off the road and down a precipitous cliff, into the river below. The vehicle then exploded, and burned fiercely. A search and rescue team examined the site thoroughly, once it was deemed safe to do so, and concluded that none of the vehicle’s occupants could have survived; no recoverable or identifiable remains were found …

  “I am here today to share in our grief, and to offer condolences to Dana’s family, to Caroline, Bob, Iain, and Tracey.”

  An intense silence followed, as everyone reflected on what had been said. The chaplain looked toward the Munro family.

  Bob Munro stood and slowly walked forward. He picked up the cap and, holding it, turned to the people. “Ah’m not used tae talking t’a lot o’ people, so please bear with me.”

  He cleared his throat, and looked downward for a moment. “Ah want tae say that we’re proud of our daughter; proud of what she’s done for us; proud of what she’s taught us; proud of what she’s done for our community; er … proud o’ what she’s achieved in her chosen career.

  “Er … Dana volunteered as a peacekeeper because she believed in it … because she believed in the need for an armed force tae be used tae restore or maintain peace … sae long as there’s armed conflict in this world.”

  Bob’s voice broke as he choked back emotion. “But tae be in the armed forces means tae be prepared tae take risks, tae take the ultimate risk, tae pay the ultimate price.” He glanced down at the cap. “Dana, we love you. God bless you, ma sweet, rest in peace.”

  Helping hands of friends gently guided Bob, now shaking visibly, back to his seat.

  The chaplain, who had receded into the background, came to the front and said quietly, “Let us stand and pray.”

  A rustling filled the hall as people adjusted to their new positions.

  “Almighty God, with whom do live the spirits of them that depart …” As the chaplain reached the end of the prayer, a loud murmured “Amen” filled the hall.

  The chaplain paused, and the soldiers took up their positions in formation. A lone piper at the back of the hall began to play a lament. The sad, haunting sound of the pipes took emotion to the breaking point as people openly shed tears.

  Dwayne whispered, “That’ll be her Uncle Alex. She told me about him one day.”

  “Rest eternal grant unto her, O Lord, and let light perpetual shine upon her.”

  “Amen.”

  Dwayne suddenly realized he was indeed also shedding tears. The enormity of this loss hit him hard. He had never been so close; he had never really given much thought to the lives lost during past wars and conflicts—there was no direct connection for him.

  But here, it was personal. He had grown to know, to like, to admire this young woman, and now he understood what she stood for—now he knew what the ultimate sacrifice means—he had heard the words before, but they had been empty, until now. He shuddered; his world was not the same anymore.

  Outside the hall, Jane struggled to contain her tears as she held her daughter Trish’s hand. Graham was over by two army vehicles, shaking hands with the soldiers.

  They exchanged salutes, and Graham turned back toward his family. He put his arm round Jane as she buried her head against his chest, sobbing. The others joined them, Kelly Carson taking hold of Trish’s hand, comforting her.

  Mike Carson, his ashen face strained, spoke first. “Do they really know what happened yet?”

  “’Fraid not. The explosion didn’t follow the pattern for a typical IED in that region, and they’d only just swept for mines, anyway. And no one has come up with an alternate explanation that could account for such an explosion from within the vehicle itself. The area is now occupied by one of the breakaway splinter groups, but it’s hard to see how they might have some new weaponry.”

  “Did they find anything in the river?” asked Kelly.

  “They sent a search helicopter in as soon as they could safely do so. Because of the new fragility in the situation, they had to wait for separate air-cover. They found the burnt-out hulk, but no survivors.”

  “No remains?”

  “Not that the guys could identify or recover—the fire and explosion had been so intense.”

  “How does this all affect the peace process?” asked Mike.

  “Very difficult to say, right now. No one has claimed any responsibility—and we cannot possibly make any accusations. We have no real evidence to go on right now—though we do have our suspicions. Canadian involvement in this particular UN mission is approaching its end, and this incident might very well have an impact on how long we actually stay in there.”

  “I thought Bob spoke well,” Kelly offered.

  “Yes, that poor family has had so much tragedy,” acknowledged Jane. “Gra, look after Trish, please. There’s someone over there I must talk to right now.”

  Jane left them abruptly, walking quickly over to a man standing alone, quite apart from the small groups that still hung around outside the Centre. As she approached, Jane called out his name.

  Tony sat disconsolate, nursing his coffee, a half-eaten doughnut on the table before him. Jane had called to him as he stood outside after the ceremony. They had come back into the hall to the kitchen, where some refreshments had been laid out.

  They had talked—about Dana—about himself, how he felt. Talking with Jane had helped; he liked Jane, she understood. But she had to leave; now he still felt cold, empty.

  He stared out of the window, past the parking lot, seeing nothing. Nothing, that is, outside his mind. And his mind’s eye could see only one thing—that image of Dana—that last image he had of her.

  No tears now. No; now, cold reality was setting in. She was gone—his angel was gone. The only girl he had ever really loved was gone. He knew long ago that he could never hold her again—he knew, after that first visit to old Mr Hennigan, that he could never keep up with her.

  And yet, when he had needed help the most, at the bottom of his pit, she had been there. She had held out her hands and led him upward. The rest had followed. He would never let himself go back to that sickening state again—or would he? Could he be sure he was cured?

  Yes, he was, he knew he was. Lookit, he’d been dry for over three years, now. But what was he to do now? Even though he knew she could never be his girl again, she would have been his dearest friend, h
is secret love, his angel in blue jeans, forever. Now she was gone.

  He had struggled to contain his despair at the ceremony. It had been so painful. But Gina had helped him. Dear Gina, he thought, she seems to be the only one left who really cares about me now. And Jane—she has helped too. He knew Jane was deeply hurt.

  He looked down at the coffee cup; the dregs were separating at the bottom. Dregs, he thought, dregs, I’m nothing but dregs.

  Absently, he stood up and walked outside. A cool wind was blowing, scudding low clouds across the sky. He looked at his watch. Seven-twenty-five. Yeah, he thought, I can get there in time.

  He reached the church hall at ten to eight. He went in and down the stairs to the basement. A few people were already there. Tom and Jeff were over by the kitchen counter. Steve and somebody he didn’t know were chatting over by the chair stacks, taking out some chairs for sitting on. Gerry was wandering about in the kitchen, fussing over a teapot.

  As he caught sight of Tony, Tom left Jeff and came briskly over to Tony. “Tony, I’m sorry to hear the news, I really am. Are you all right?”

  “I think so,” Tony offered hesitantly.

  “I’m glad you’ve come tonight. We’re all deeply saddened, and we want to help you pull through.”

  “Thanks.” Tony forced a smile. He knew he was among friends. These guys had all been through the same sort of pit that he’d been through; they’d all had the same kinds of demons to fight, the same temptations to fall backward into the pit.

  But they helped one another, they looked out for one another, they cared for one another. They were conscious of each other’s weaknesses, and were there with support—not with criticism. Positive, not negative.

  As Tom walked Tony over to the counter, to the coffee urn, others joined them, each offering Tony sympathy and condolences. Several had entered after Tony.

  “Hi Tony, I’m Jake,” said the stranger Tony had seen on first entering. “I joined the group last week. I’m very sorry to hear your sad news. I do sympathize with you. I lost my wife six months ago.”

  “Thanks, Jake, I’m sorry for you, too.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Shall we grab our cups and take our seats, gentlemen?” Tom was chivvying them just a little.

  The group was soon seated, and Tom was about to start the meeting when a redhead rushed through the doorway, a bundle of papers under one arm, a briefcase in his other hand.

  “Sorry I’m late—emergency call came through just as I was about leave.”

  “That’s okay, John, so long as you got here safely, that’s what counts,” responded Tom calmly.

  John found himself a seat, and plonked his papers and case on the adjacent seat. He turned to look around at the company.

  Tony was watching him; John’s gaze met his. John was on his feet in a flash, bounding back two rows to Tony. John was Tony’s sponsor. He had been a tremendous help in Tony’s early days with AA. Tony liked him. John was about five years older, and worked at a hospital, a very stressful job.

  “Tony, glad to see you tonight. I was devastated when I heard the news—I’m sorry I didn’t call you sooner, but I’ve been down in T.O. for the past few days—got back late last night …”

  Tom was fidgeting. He was one of those guys that worked to a schedule. It was time to start.

  “… Let’s talk some more after, okay?” said John, quietly.

  Tony nodded and gave John a brief smile.

  Tom was introducing the first speaker, Evan. Evan had been coming to the meetings for about two months. He had been a manager of a credit union, until his problems with alcohol became too bad, sometime last year.

  Tony usually found it very helpful to hear about the problems of others and how they were overcoming them, but tonight he just could not concentrate. All the images of Dana were crowding in, alternating with great surges of emptiness.

  Evan was followed by Jack, from another group across town somewhere. Tony had shaken his hand at the beginning, and now he perked up at the new face. But soon his mind was again assailed with hurt and loneliness.

  “You okay?” The formal part of the meeting was over. John was speaking.

  “Uh? Oh, yeah, I guess.”

  “Come on, let’s get a coffee. I’ve not had a drink since three this aft.”

  Tony followed John to the kitchen counter, where Gerry was pouring.

  “Two coffees, please, G.”

  “Coming right up. I’ve brought some raisin cookies too, if you want to try them.” Gerry proffered the plate.

  “Thanks,” said John, taking two. “This is my supper.”

  Tony took one. “Thanks, G.”

  “Don’t mention it. Say, John,” Gerry lowered his voice, “hope you’re getting plenty of food.”

  John laughed. “Don’t worry, G. Yes, I am. Today has been exceptional. Thanks, though.”

  Gerry smiled and nodded.

  “Let’s go over to the side there.” John directed Tony to a couple of chairs over at the side of the hall.

  “I hear there was a memorial service today. Did you go?”

  Tony nodded.

  “Did it help?”

  “Yes and no.”

  “How yes?”

  “Everybody was talking about her—they were all saying good things about her—everything was so emotional.”

  “How no?”

  “It couldn’t fill the emptiness. I feel so cold, empty, lost … God, John, I nearly lost it last night. The old craving started …”

  “What did you do?”

  “I called Gina.”

  “Could she help?”

  “Yeah, she was great. We talked for two hours.”

  “It passed?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Hang in there, my friend.”

  “Yeah, I know, John, I know. I owe it to Dana.”

  “Good man.”

  - 38 -

  At last, a break in the clouds; a hint of sunlight was filtering through the trees. The branches were still dripping from the incessant rain of the past several days.

  Dana was cold, wet, hungry, and feeling very much alone. But the welcome sunlight gave her a new spirit. During the days of rain, her spirits had ranged from deep despair and near panic to anger and frustration. There had been absolutely nothing she could do. The rain made everywhere so slick and slippery. Even if she were a skilled rock-climber, she couldn’t have tackled those cliff faces in that rain.

  The rough shelter, while it lasted, had shielded her from some of the rain, but after a couple of days, nothing remained dry. At least the little trickle of water that she was lying beside when she first regained consciousness was now a veritable stream, and she didn’t go thirsty. But the downside was she just had to get out of her spot to go pee—not easy on a steep slope in the rain.

  She had two small squares of chocolate left. She knew her strength was slipping. But she was physically fit; she put in a lot of time at the gym. Maybe it’ll all pay off this time. She popped one of the squares into her mouth and chewed on it.

  The sunlight was growing stronger. She felt an inner surge of warmth, of hope. Yes, she thought, yes. I’m not going to shrivel up and die here—I wasn’t made to end my days here. I can climb off this ledge, I’ve got to.

  That image of her mother came into her mind’s eye again, that evening when she had first told her parents about her wish to join the Army—the sadness in her mother’s eyes, that look she had not understood back then.

  And there was Tony, again. He’d occupied much of her thoughts these past days. Images of him blended, merging one with another; fond images, sad images; the alcoholic drop-out, that sickening sight; the joys of their early days together; the rocky times; his road to recovery; the pain and the anguish.

  Oh God, what will happen to Tony if I don’t get out of this? I can’t let him down. I can’t drive him back to drink. Oh God, no. I’ve gotta get out of here. Tony, do I ever need you now. Tony—I love you.

&n
bsp; She shuddered, and felt the cold seeping into her again. Stretching her legs out, she realized again just how wet she was. Maybe, if the sun does come out, I can dry out a bit. It’ll let the rocks dry off too.

  She moved over to a different spot for a slight change of scene, and began to reconsider her options again, for the umpteenth time. Itemize each option, then shoot it down—that had been her process so far. But this time she took a different tack.

  Lookit, Munro, you’ve gotta get yourself off this ledge and back in the mainstream—you’ve got these options, and no more. Choose one, and let’s get the hell outta here. If it fails, it’s curtains for you, but no worse than staying here.

  Okay, ma’am. One—upward—near vertical, no notion of what is up there, nor how far up, seems to have an overhang further up—that would kind of rule it out, for now.

  Two—downward—down to the precipice and try to climb down—no way of knowing how to get off the shelf onto the rock face—can’t see any footholds or handholds from the shelf—could just drop and pray. No, not first choice.

  Three—go left on to the cliff-face—yeah, well maybe, but I don’t see how yet.

  Four—go right. Jeez. I don’t know. But something stirred her to rise, and make her way to the right. The trees thinned as the ledge narrowed.

  She hung onto the last but one tree and surveyed the scene yet again—the cliff-face stretching away before her; below were more craggy rocks and clumps of trees, and the river. Yes, the sky was clearing. There was blue sky, and sunshine.

  She crouched down, wedging herself against the tree, and waited for things to dry out. She gazed across the rocks, looking for a strategy. Some crags beyond the cliff-face looked more reasonable. They were partly covered in trees, but the rock faces were not vertical.