Charlie

“Have you been drinking again, Mr. Barrow?”
“A little.”
“How much?”
“Enough.”

Eyes red. Shining. Clock ticks behind.
The crunch of leather as he sits, adjusting to the form of the couch.
Our fourth session.

“You've served with the Yard previously, correct?”
“I have. Six years.”
“Six years before you went into service?”
“That's right.”
“Why did you come back?”
“You already know.”

Fingers missing on right hand. Pinky and Ring.
The AC's running too high. Goosebumps rise against the skin.
Cold leather doesn't help.

“They're not letting me come back, are they?”
“That depends.”
“No. No it doesn't. Not until I talk. Even then.”
“I suppose not.”
“See, I don't like talking about this. I don’t. I don’t like speaking to people like you. I don’t believe you can help me. I just want you to know that.”
“We can talk about anything you want, Mr. Barrow.”
“No. I’m here until I get this off my chest. So they can assess if I’m not too fucked up. This has nothing to do with what I want.”

His eyes glance across the medal.
It sits hidden behind glass too often polished.
Starred for courage.
Tightening of the hand.

“You seen combat?”
“I did a tour.”
“You lose anyone?”
“Just one. Didn’t know him well.”
“I knew Charlie.”
“He the one you lost?”
“He is.”

Cold air still blowing.
Clock still ticking.
Talking.

“He was a good man. Carried me though the harder moments.”
“The best men always do, Mr. Barrow.”
“It’s John.”

Black boots tap against the carpet.
Torn on the sides, zipper broken, held together with bobby pins.
His next words are unexpected.

"He liked pudding."
"Charlie?"
"Yeah. Always carried a cup with him. Ate a pack before every patrol. Some kind of weird tradition his family had. Supposed to keep him safe, I guess. Seemed like bullshit to me. I don’t know. His girl sent a big case to him every month. He was always trying to share them with the rest of us. They didn’t arrive that month. Some kind of mix up at customs. I remember me and the squad poking fun at him. Guy was actually nervous about going out on patrol. Place had been a safe zone for over two months, yet the guy was actually nervous about not having his pudding pack.”
“We all have our beliefs.”
“That we do.”

Chain hanging from his neck.
A crucifix.
Turned in towards his chest.

“It was the 19th. Our patrol had been marked for the alleys. We’d drawn the short straws and ended up taking point outside the Humvee. He was right next to me. Fucking feet away. We were joking around, making cracks about each other’s girls. Last thing I said to him, called his girl a promiscuous whore. Something like that. We were just laughing. Then he was gone. Completely gone. There was a clash of metal that rose from behind me. Shrapnel hitting the truck. Then I couldn’t hear a thing. I didn’t notice what had happened. Not at first. I thought he'd snuck around me. But he wasn’t there. Sam, the guy in the Hummer, must’ve been shouting, but it didn’t get through.”

The sound is gone.
The running of the AC, the ticking clock, of the birds and wind outside.
Just his voice.
Just him.

“There was this plume, this mist, in the air. I thought the blast had knocked up the dirt. But it wasn’t that. It was Charlie. His blood. It coated my uniform. My face and skin. So much of it. I didn’t even notice my fingers weren’t there anymore. I didn’t scream or cry. I…I just went and got in the truck. Left my gun on the ground. They took me back. Sam was shouting and cursing something about the ‘sand monkeys’ and how they’d get what was coming to them. I didn’t pay attention.”

Tears in the eyes.
They threaten to fall.
So close.

“It was an old landmine we’d missed, the lieutenant told me. I spent the night at the hospital. I was still covered in Charlie’s blood when they brought me in and sewed me up. I didn’t wash it away. I didn’t want to. I didn’t want him to be gone. But he was.”

He stares down at his hands, rubbing them together.
Very slowly.
As though he can still see the blood.

“I spent several days at the hospital before they sent me home. Nerve damage. I remember how I fell asleep right away on the first night. I was so tired. But the second, I woke up crying. Screaming. Because Charlie was there. He was there...waiting for me. I wake up, many nights, crying over him. I still see him in my dreams.”

So silent, this room.
His sobbing is all there is.
His eyes meet mine.
All the strength there was long gone.

“I don’t know how to forget him.”

I reach out and take his hand.

“It’s ok, John. It’s ok…”