God Bless America
So he came to see me today. He called and asked if I could come hang out with him, and instead I invited him over. He drove by twice, horn blaring, before parking his car somewhere down the street and heading for my house.He's so different now. The long, tightly curled hair is a close-cut helmet that lends startling clarity to his now-gaunt face. His eyes, which used to be so sleepy, are now wide-open and alert at every passing noise. He checks his back every few minutes, and watches my face intently. If my eyes wander from his face, he turns his body to follow the gaze of my eyes. He's short, still, but muscle is evident for the first time in his life. Gone are the long sleeves and beat-up khakis he used to wear, replaced by a white tank top (Oh, God, he has a tattoo of a burning cross... says it symbolizes his conflicting heart as regards religion) and blue cords. He kicks his sandals off at the first opportunity, standing barefoot in the setting sun, eyes almost closing as he drags on a harsh cigarette. Even that has changed. The soft brown cloves that used to almost put me to sleep with their intoxicating scent have been ousted by these things that make me wrinkle my nose and wave him further away from me... he's choking me.
After a while I wander over to the plant that hangs over the fence and gather a few clusters of tiny purple flowers, which I shred slowly and scatter on the cement porch.
It's a while before he asks me about the war... Somehow we get around to my opinion... After he's told me about the front lines, how night vision goggles don't really work, and how it becomes so natural to have your gun with you all the time... And I turn my head and hold up my hand in the now-famous gesture from decades ago: PEACE.
F**K that!!! He yells, and I shrug.
I've been supportive the entire time he was gone, I remind him, and he reminds me that he doesn't need this now. He's going back; don't I know that?
I don't know that.
Well, he is, and I should have known. The US isn't going to leave Iraq for a very long time. We've got too much money there now.
I just keep shredding little purple flowers and scattering them on the porch. Soon it looks like it's been raining flowers and leaves.
He leaves after almost an hour, hugging me tightly and telling me he'll come see me at the school tomorrow. He strides away, and from the back, I'd never guess it was him. His walk is gone, and he looks both ways before venturing from my lawn.
He hates the army, he said.
He hates this town, yet he loves it.
He's gone.
And I walk back inside, crushing purple flowers under my feet.
God Bless America.
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