by C. B. Stagg
Judge Kirby was leaning over the bench, her glasses resting on the tip of her beak as she pinned him with a glare of epic proportions. Her penciled-on eyebrows had long disappeared into her thinning hairline, making the wrinkles marking her face even more severe than when it was at rest. It didn’t appear his Southern charm worked on bitter old hags with Northern accents.
“I have read the entire pretrial packet, Mister Jamison. I am well-aware of Ms. Walker’s character.” Her sarcasm was unnerving. “In addition, I have read the full report, all responses to those reports, and while I may not understand or agree with this resolution, I respect the decision of the State.”
Then, I found myself the recipient of said glare. “The fact you’ve been admitted into the DIVERT program is no guarantee you'll complete the program, you do understand this, Ms. Walker?”
“Yes, Your Honor.” My hands shook.
“And the person responsible for the completion of this program, ultimately, is you. Are we clear?”
My stomach rolled like thunder, not at her words, but at the pain shooting through my body. A quick nod acknowledged her question, and Jamison wrapped his arm around me, easing my body down into a chair, seconds before I would’ve melted onto the cold tile floor. My body had had enough. When documents were signed and hands were shaken, I stood, with help, just as the judge called out.
“Mr. Jamison, I’d like to address your client personally.” Pain meds were officially out of my system and I worried if I didn’t lie down soon, I’d find myself in the ER. But I soldiered on, standing a little taller as I faced the old woman.
“Ms. Walker, I’ll put it to you plainly. I think you are a spoiled brat. Your family’s relationship with our state’s governor and your father’s political influence are the main reasons you aren’t serving time for such reckless endangerment… coupled with the fact that it was a single vehicle accident… and I have no doubt you’ll be suffering the consequences of your choices in the weeks, months, and even years to come.” She stood. The legs of her chair scraped the floor, creating a screech I’d imagine coming from the throat of a pterodactyl.
“This time, Daddy was able to swoop in and save you. But if you’re not careful, there will come a day when you find yourself in a mess that even your father’s long arms can’t reach. I hope you will view this as the second chance it is and take full advantage. It’s time for you to get your life on track.” She was tall… incredibly tall. And given the judge’s bench already stood a good four feet above everything else, I strained my neck to maintain eye contact. I’m sure this was part of her scare tactic.
“You need to see how the other half live. Then, maybe you’ll learn to appreciate what you have. I want you out in the field, serving the people of this community, and I know just the place for you to do it. I want you to push yourself, get out of your comfort zone, get your hands dirty. And when your time is up, I’d like to see you again.”
The feeling was most definitely not mutual.
“I know this might be a bitter pill to swallow, but I think it is the best medicine when it comes to someone like you. So, I order you to come back here when you’ve finished your community service and prove me right. Don’t make me regret allowing you to leave my court without more than this pathetic attempt at a slap on the wrist.”
Chapter 2
Bennett
May 30, 1992
SEEING LANDSTUHL REGIONAL Medical Center in the rearview mirror of my transport Humvee was a balm on my bruised and battered spirit. Yes, it was an American hospital. Yes, the majority of the staff spoke English and were very hospitable. But the simple fact was, it was in Germany. I needed American air, American sun, American soil. I needed baseball, apple pie, and the good old red, white, and blue. I needed home, and in less than an hour’s time, that’s exactly where I’d be headed.
I double-checked my rucksack, containing everything I physically owned in this world. A few sets of BDUs and a bag of toiletries occupied the main compartment. In the front, there was a folder containing the contract from the bank, signed and ready to be mailed when I was stateside, and the college admission letter I had yet to respond to.
My passport was there, along with my now-expired driver’s license, both tucked securely in the side pocket.
The newspaper I’d smuggled out of the occupational therapy waiting room that morning—old and out-of-date, but no less valuable—was sticking out from the top of my bag where I’d stashed it before leaving for the air base. And in my pants pocket, Chance’s wrecked picture. His beauty. His golden girl. But I knew that already. I’d checked for it no less than ten times on the drive to the plane, but I checked again. Everything else was replaceable. She was not.
We boarded the aircraft with little fanfare. I wondered if I’d miss the cocktail of the spicy scent of baharat, cheap aftershave, and sweat when I got home. Probably not.
My plan was to kick back, relax, and make the most of my twenty-four-hour flight to DC by getting up to speed on the happenings of the Western world. I’d only been gone just shy of two years: four months lying in wait on the Saudi border, two months falling apart on the battlefield, and fifteen months putting myself back together, mind and body, though neither would ever be the same. War felt like a lifetime. And the way I’d gone about it? Ten lifetimes.
“Where ya headed, once we land?” I pulled my hand from my pocket, where I’d been holding the picture, and ran it through my already sweat-damp hair. Why did I always feel like a naughty child getting caught with his hand in the cookie jar when I held Chance’s girl? Probably because she was just that: Chance’s girl. For the thousandth time, I wondered if I should have let her die with him on the desert floor turned battlefield. But that’s not what he would’ve wanted. Chance was my best friend, my brother in that hole. He would have laid his life down for his golden girl just like he did for me, so it was my responsibility to keep her safe. Because he no longer could.
“This is it, right here Ben. This is why I’m here.” Chance’s philosophical moods were exhausting, but he put up with my grumpy ass, so I owed it to him to listen to his musings. The two of us met at basic, but only became friends during our time in Saudi, holding at Dharan while we awaited orders.
“You talk about ‘this’ all the time brother, though you never let me in on what ‘this’ is.” I attempted to sound perturbed, but my smile was always evident in my voice. At least, that’s what Rosie always told me.
“You’re right, asshole. And you’ll never know.” I rolled my eyes. I’d looked over his shoulder a time or two and knew it was a picture of three people perched on the edge of a stone wall, arms thrown around each other. I hadn’t seen it up close, but there was only one thing that could make a soldier smile like that—a girl.”
“Who is she?” I decided to take a chance, see if he’d take the bait.
“No one.” His words were meant for me, but his gaze never left hers. “It doesn’t matter. It isn’t like that. She’s like a sister.” He sighed, but I don’t think he was even aware of it.
“Well, I can’t speak from experience since I never had a sister, but if I did… and I spent as much time looking at her as you do looking at yours… I’d need to visit a psychologist.”
Chance shook his head and tucked the picture back into his left pocket. “The sister thing is her choice, not mine.” Ah, so there’s the truth. Unrequited love.
“Maybe things will change when you get home.” My friend swung his legs over the side of his cot and stood, stretching high in the air.
“Nope. By the time I get home, she’ll be married.” With that he walked toward the smell of food, but just like always, his left hand was in his pocket, no doubt holding on to something that would never be, both literally and figuratively.
“Hello? Earth to Hanson.” I shook myself back into the present, coming face-to-face with one of the biggest grins that ever joined the army. I cleared the vision from my mind as I checked my pocket again. “Where’d you go
just now? Or do I even want to know?”
Botts, or Biscuit, as he liked to be called, was a buddy from my time in Germany. I met him shortly after the incident. He’d lost a few toes from his right foot, a couple fingers from his left hand, and his hearing on one side. His occupational therapy happened at the same time I was in physical therapy. With little else to do there, we struck up a conversation one day and the rest was history.
He went by Biscuit because he said if he could have anything in the world from back home, it would be his momma’s biscuits and gravy. I could think of a million other things I wanted and none of them would be food, so his momma must make some damn fine biscuits. Maybe he’d invite me over for some once we were stateside.
We only spoke in present tense, never past and never future. That’s the funny thing about the army. We kept all conversations superficial. Talking about the past was too painful. Most guys left something behind; a mom and dad, little brothers and sisters, a girlfriend, maybe even a wife and kids for some of the older guys. Mail deliveries, for me, were a double-edged sword. On one hand, it made me smile to see my buddies get letters and packages from home. On the other, I always left empty-handed.
We didn’t speak of the future either, not really. Sure, we’d talk about going to a baseball game, or eating real food again. It was fine to daydream out loud, but we didn’t talk about our future selves. At least I didn’t. While I wouldn’t refer to myself as superstitious, something in the back of my mind told me speaking of the future was a guarantee I wouldn’t have one. Counting your chickens before they hatch and all that crap. I needed to put some honest-to-goodness thought in about my future. I’d get right on it once I was safe in the States.
Neither Biscuit nor I wanted to admit the men we’d been before were long gone. It was much easier trying to figure out which nurses were sleeping with which doctors. No, I didn’t know too much about the man outside of the hospital walls and didn’t care to learn at this point. But he definitely wasn’t a fan of silence, so he chose to fill it with meaningless chatter.
“Where’re ya headed from here? We’re out now. There’s a light at the end of the tunnel. You can tell me now without jinxing anything.”
“Don’t know really.” That was a lie. I did know, but I wasn’t quite ready to speak of it. Based on his wide eyes and gaping jaw, one would think I’d told him I was headed right on out to strangle stray cats.
“Whattaya mean, ya don’t know? Surely ya got a woman or a family? That’s where ya go, man. Home isn't the USA, home is where your people are. You got people, right Hanson?” He was so touchy-feely. Me, not so much.
Elbow me one more time, pal.
“Well, I think I might just go to Texas.” My intent was to deflect his question, but in hindsight, my answer reflected what was truly in my heart. He slapped me on the back.
“Who’s in Texas?”
I shook my head. “It’s not who, it’s what. I think I might go to college.” There it was. I’d said it out loud, that was as good as a commitment. I’d applied months ago, and just a week ago received word at least one school had accepted me and it only took one. I wasn’t picky.
“That’s what I’m talkin’ ‘bout, man. That’s what I’m talkin’ ‘bout.”
Time to switch to plan B, to feign sleep for the eternal flight to DC. Screw the Western world. I still had another three-hour flight from DC to Houston. We could become reacquainted then.
Maybe.
“Hey, Biscuit. Where’re you headed again?” I was all shared out. I needed peace on my flight to Houston.
“Aw, Savannah, man. My people’re in Georgia.”
Satisfied I’d be parting ways with Biscuit’s big mouth and sharp elbows, I handed him the paper, settled in, and prepared for takeoff. Once I flew into Houston Intercontinental Airport and my feet hit the pavement, I had no immediate plan as to where I’d go first or what I’d do, but those things hardly mattered.
I was going home.
Fall, 1992
Chapter 3
Bennett
ONE WOULD THINK AFTER months and months in the desert with limited air conditioning, I’d be used to the heat… but there was something about Texas heat that outranked all others in its level of severity. The one hundred degree temperatures—combined with the intense humidity—created nature’s very own sauna. It was impossible to even walk the short distance from the library to the counseling office without some major sweat rings. Oh well, at least I knew I wouldn’t be the only one.
“Well, from what I see here, everything’s in order.” I’d been sitting in the office of Mrs. Lillie Lowe, a short African-American woman with mahogany skin and hair slightly graying at her temples, for close to thirty minutes as she carefully combed through each one of the eight million forms I’d filled out since being accepted. Mrs. Lowe was my newly assigned academic advisor and the only soul I knew within a hundred-mile radius.
“All I need is for you to sign and date at the bottom here, and you’ll be all ready to go.” She handed me a black Bic pen and shuffled the papers in my direction with a soft smile. “And just in time, too. Classes start tomorrow, you know.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I paused, pen hovering over where X marks the spot. “Hey, I’m sorry about all this.” I murmured, scrawling my name on the dotted line, finalizing this new path my life would take. “Nothing like waiting ‘til the last minute, huh?” I tried to smile as I handed the form back, partly to charm the old woman in front of me, and partly to curb the growing dread in my stomach.
“Why psychology, may I ask?”
That was a loaded question. Was it because I was a good listener? Yes, I was that. I’d proven it time and time again at Landstuhl. Helping soldiers work through anything from the death of a buddy, the loss of a limb, to survivor’s guilt… I was the guy they came to between mandated appointments with their assigned shrinks.
They said talking about all their crap with a friend was easier on their pride. I was approachable, not clinical. I had no official say in anything, so they felt comfortable opening up, like two friends meeting for a beer at the neighborhood bar. It got to the point where the counselors, psychiatrists, and I would work together on particularly difficult cases. They said I had a gift. I say I was just using the problems of others to mask my own. Either way, it brought me here.
“I want to better understand the human mind.” It was a BS answer, but until I knew her better that was all she was getting. Her smile said it was enough. For now.
Because I’d decided to try my hand at college only recently, and this poor woman drew the short straw, I allowed her a limited amount of time to get everything in order. Honestly, she must have some hidden magic wand because I was shocked when she said I wouldn’t have to sit out this semester. She’d been a saint through the process of selecting a path, registering for classes… not to mention holding my hand through the financial aid process. I was attending Texas A&M University on the GI Bill, which meant dealing with the military. That was no easy task.
“Mrs. Lowe, I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done.” I sat back in the uncomfortable maroon leather chair, one of two that sat in the too small, ground floor office. It was a spot I’d occupied many times since arriving in College Station only a week before. The day after I had things squared away at the ranch I’d just sunk my entire life savings into, I was college-bound.
I’d chosen Texas A&M for two reasons. One, it’s where Doc, my foster father, was an Aggie. He graduated with a Bachelor of Science in Animal Husbandry back in the sixties and it was Doc who told me college was even an option. He believed in me, had no problem saying so, and I was ready to make him proud. Second, it was the only college in which I was accepted. Since they wanted me, I wanted them.
Mrs. Lowe stood and walked out from behind her hulking desk to stand by the window. Looking out, I saw what caught her attention; a pair of squirrels chased each other up and down one of the large oak trees shading much of the campus.
/> “I usually don’t share much about myself with my students, Mr. Hanson, but I feel like today might be a good day to change that.” I stood and moved closer to her. She’d spent an exponential amount of time on me the last several days, the least I could do was give the woman my complete and undivided attention.
“I had a son who would be about your age right now. He was in the army and was one of the first casualties of Operation Desert Shield. Bridge bombing. Wrong place, wrong time, I guess.” She shrugged her narrow shoulders. The range of emotions crossing her face as she spoke said she was probably reconstructing what happened over there, a dangerous and unproductive train of thought for soldiers and their families. Imaginations could be a powerful weapon, especially when used to attack ourselves.
She sighed deep, letting the air out slowly, saying goodbye to her memories and coming back to the present. “I usually handle the end of the alphabet, but when your case popped up, I asked for it.” Her arms were wrapped tight across her chest and she appeared to be talking to the squirrels. She shrugged again, and turned to face me, taking another deep breath. “There wasn’t much I could do to help my son, Bennett, but I can help you.”
“I’m very sorry for your loss, ma’am.” I sat back down. Keeping my eyes on her, she settled herself in the chair next to me.
“I am, too. Believe me.” She smiled with the lower half of her face, but in her eyes lived a sadness I hadn’t noticed before. “A minute ago, you mentioned thanking me.”
I nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Well, work hard, study, make good grades. Then, go out into the world and make a difference. Do the things my son will never have the opportunity to do. That’s all the thanks I need.” I handed her a tissue from the box on her desk and she dashed away the few tears rolling down her cheeks.
“I can do that, Mrs. Lowe.” I stood and she followed, collecting the papers with my schedule and other important pieces of information. Sliding them into a manila file folder, she pressed it into my hands.