by Karen Baker
Finally, the doctor showed up. “Hello, Officer Gittens. I’m Elizabeth Feynman. Please, let’s find someplace a little more conducive to a chat than this office.” We found a lounge area, where she took out a large sticky note and put it on the door. She wrote on it with a big marker, ‘IN USE’. “Please, come in. Sit down and make yourself comfortable.”
We both got seated, and neither of us spoke initially. I understood quickly she was waiting for me to go first to judge my condition. I played it coy for a few minutes before finally deciding to speak, “So when you go out on one these little ventures, do you jump on the departmental database and do a quick dossier scan before coming out or something like that?”
“Or something like that,” she responded.
“So you already know what I did before joining the NYPD. Right?”
“You were an MP in the Army.”
“Does my quick record show what my TDY’s were?”
“All I know is that you were in the Army as an MP for thirteen and a half years and that you retired honorably as a Sergeant First Class. It takes an absolute minimum of twelve and a half years to make SFC and yet you achieved that grade and functioned there for some time. It also says that you have a Bronze Star with two oak leaf clusters and two Vee’s, Global War on Terrorism medal with three clusters, a Commendation Medal with oak leaf cluster, Afghanistan Campaign medal with three clusters, Distinguished Service Medal, Good Conduct Medal, two Purple Hearts, Army Achievement Medal twice, a Combat Infantry Badge...Christ, that’s only the first quarter or so of the alphabet. And that’s only medals, not to mention ribbons and awards. It doesn’t say why, just says that you have them. If you don’t mind my asking, what were the extent of your wounds?”
I stood up from my chair, pulled my tee shirt up, and my sweat bottoms down about four inches. That let her see the scars from four bullet holes. “Dr. Feynman, I rarely performed MP duties in the Army.”
“And being from an enemy weapon, those would be thirty caliber wounds, correct?”
I nodded my head at her. I was impressed that she knew the differences and the implications that went along with them.
“So what did you do?”
“I was a sniper. I was already in the 10th Mountain Division, firmly embedded in Afghanistan, but worked primarily in the forward combat brigades. I still wore my MP insignias. In addition to the ones for the unit I worked with. That’s what I did for about eighty percent of my time. Both at home and deployed. Although my rotations home were always short and my deployments always long.”
“Well, that explains the CIB. I wondered about that. Most MP’s don’t get those.”
“You do if you’re working in a forward area, actually. Glen Parsons, the officer that wrote up my incident tonight, was in my unit at the same time. Never met him until we both started working here. Sort of funny. He has a Silver Star, a Commendation Medal, and a CIB. But he wasn’t a sniper.”
“Let’s talk about being sniper a little bit before we move on. Do you have any confirmed kills?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know how many?”
“Yes.”
“Would you mind sharing that with me?”
“Yes.”
“Amelia, I’m not your enemy here. I’m your friend. I’m not going to be asked to testify at your review board. If fact, I’m prohibited by both licensure and law, not to mention the Union, from doing so. I’m just trying to get a baseline for you. The more I know, the more I can help you.”
“Who says I need help?”
“That was poorly worded. How about the more I can make myself available to for whatever support I can give? Is that better?”
“Much.” I paused for a couple of minutes. What the hell. “Seventeen confirmed, thirty-one suspected.”
“And how do you feel about that, after the fact? Not at the moment, but now.”
“Whatever.”
“Does it bother you? Do you ever have nightmares? Have you ever been diagnosed with PTSD? Even mild?”
“Yes, yes, and yes.”
“Okay. Let’s move on to tonight. What happened?”
“I’m a beat cop. I responded to a call. I gave chase to two suspects. One had a gun. Easy to see even at night. Shiny. Forty-five caliber. I identified myself twice and gave them warning to stop. Both suspects failed to respond. Shortly after that, the suspect with the gun fired one round that missed me. I did hear the bullet wiz by, so it must have been fairly close. I fired three rounds into the suspect. Guaranteed to immobilize, but not so much as total overkill. The other suspect ran away. I radioed in the situation to Dispatch and immediately cleared the suspect’s weapon and begin giving him first aid as best I could. After the Paramedics had arrived, they weren’t able to save him.”
“How did it make you feel hearing the bullet go by you?”
“I didn’t particularly have an opinion one way or another about it, ma’am.”
“Please, no need for ma’am. You can call me Elizabeth if you like.”
“Actually, I’d prefer Dr. Feynman.”
“That’s okay, as well. So you didn’t get upset? Angry? Scared? Nothing particular regarding being shot at all?”
“No, but it was because of that I returned fire. I would never have shot first. I would have let them escape and evade before shooting first.”
“Departmental policy does give you circumstances where you not only should, but are required to shoot first if there is a safety issue for the public or yourself.”
“Are you going to report me for what I just said, ma’am?”
“No, of course not. I wish I could get you to understand that I represent your interests here. Nobody else’s. I tell you what, I want some time to review my notes, develop a little plan of action if you will, for you to follow. And we’ll talk again.”
“How often will I have to report to you before returning to duty?”
“Officer Gittens, I really want to see you again. At least a few times. Maybe three or four, if you would consent. But as far as I’m concerned, I’ll sign off for you tomorrow. I’ll have your notice of record included in your jacket to go to the review board to allow them to rest assured. Okay?”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“On one condition…”
“What’s that?”
“Just once, say it. Say ‘Elizabeth.' Then I promise you I’ll clear you,” she smiled.
I managed to smile back at her, even if I didn’t mean it wholeheartedly. I stood up out of my chair and stared her down for a minute. I extended my hand to her and said, “Elizabeth. Thank you.”
As she shook my hand, she said, “You’re welcome. Now was that so hard?”
“No ma’am.” We both broke out laughing then. A long, hard, belly laugh. It broke the tension tremendously. That alone made me feel better than everything else did. There was something about talking to a shrink. I kept having to do it on active duty and with the VA for the two or three years after I got out because I had PTSD. The day you go in and talk to them, and even the day after, you feel like crud. But then you get better, better than if you hadn’t gone. Maybe it was just stirring everything up that created that feeling.
Since Elizabeth was going my way, she offered to give me a ride home. I took her up on it. I thanked her again as I closed the car door and waved goodbye. I went to the door and was trying to fumble with the lock with my key when Theresa yanked it open. She grabbed my hoody and jerked me inside. “Hi, baby girl. How are you doing?”
“I’m fine,” was about all I could muster.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. I’m fine.”
“Do you maybe want a little ‘happy time’ tonight?” she asked.
“Not really. I just want a hot shower and to go to bed.”
“Are you sure you don’t want any of this?” she asked, with her hand on my crotch, grabbing the hands on my hips, her thumbs tickling me playfully.
“I’m sure,” I said pulling her h
and away. “Let me take a shower, and then we’ll cuddle up together in bed. Would that be okay for tonight?”
“No problem.”
“Are you disappointed?”
“Baby, I just want to do anything I can to make you as happy as I can tonight. You’ve had the shittiest of all possible nights, I suspect. I’ll do anything, not do anything, you just tell me what you need, and I’ll make it so. I’ll even get you a hooker if it helps,” she joked.
“Now that sounds pretty darned good. But the thing is, my girlfriend, she’s sort of the jealous type. She doesn’t snoop my email or anything like that, but I hardly think she’d take kindly to my fooling around with another chick.”
“You got that shit right! She’s a whack, totally wicked bitch when it comes to that. And I don’t see what you’d want in another woman anyway. After all, she’s so cute, and adorable, and funny, and loving…”
“Or so she thinks,” I said with a grin.
“But she loves you. More than anything in the world.”
“Next time you see her? Tell her that I was the one who fell in love first, I was the one who told her first, and I was the one who asked her to marry me first…”
“What?”
“You heard me. Tell her that I was the one who asked her to marry me first.”
“So you’re…” she started, shaking her head. “You’re asking me to marry you?”
“I was thinking of the right way to tell you. I’ve been carrying this damn thing around with me for three days at work, thinking about it while I was out pounding the pavement. Usually, I’m pretty good at presenting myself. But this one was different.” I got down on the floor on one knee in front of the couch where she was sitting, and pulled out the ring box. “Theresa Rosanna Biancardi, will you marry me, and live with me, and have babies with me, for the rest of my life?”
She launched herself up and on me with her arms around my neck, and began crying uncontrollably. Finally she stepped back, tears still flowing, and put her hand out so I could put the ring on her finger. It was a little difficult because she kept shaking her hand up and down. Finally, I took my left hand and grabbed her thumb to hold her hand in place, and my right hand to slide the ring up. She kept her hand flat to see what it looked like on her. Still, she cried and cried. I wrapped her arms around my neck again, and I encircled her waist and picked her off the floor. I carried her like that into the bathroom, then put her down. She took off her night shirt and her underwear, then reached in to turn on the water in the shower. I took my clothes off and made a little pile on the side of the floor. She stepped in first, then held out her hand beckoning me. I took her hand then stepped in beside her. Her tears were gone, and now she was simply beaming at me, with crystal clear blue-grey eyes so common in the north of her country of origin. We washed each other and rinsed each other and dried each other and dressed each other. Then we crawled beneath the covers and snuggled in tightly. We were both asleep in minutes. Unfortunately, I didn’t stay there
~End Sample Chapter of
LEAVING AFGHANISTAN BEHIND~
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