Wednesday, April 25, 2007

Nine

We’d heard about the nine. At first it was just a blurb in the daily update, just another number in a briefing filled with numbers. Nine bodies. Nine lives. Nine mother’s sons… nine thick black rubber bags. Nine was a lot, but not the worst. There had been worse, hadn’t there? But all from one platoon? I don’t know. But that was a lot. People whispered:

Did you hear? Nine from the 82nd.”
“Where?”
”Diyala.”
“East?”
“Yeah. It’s getting worse out there.”
“How??”
“Truck bomb, I think. I heard they couldn’t even find the pieces from a couple of them.”

But you just shake it off, you know? There but for the grace of God go I - that sort of thing. Out here to do a job, and it’s all a part of the job. Until D. got the call.

I was in the next room when it came in, all the way from the States. He dropped the phone. What can you say when someone tells you that your best friend was blown apart?

They were no longer in the same unit, but they were still on the same base. And, back in the world they still lived on the same street. Last year D. took over mowing both lawns while ______ was deployed. It’s just what you do. He had a picture on his desk of his wife and his and ______’s wife together…

what do you say? what can you say when someone’s world crashes down in front of you. Do you say “Buck up, son. My friends have died too,” and assure him that he’ll get through it. That the pain will go away? do you lie?? you never get through it – they’re just gone and you’re empty. just another huge hole inside of you. Like when Mike died. You don’t get over it. too much empty, and then you die too.

You can’t just keep running… running… every time you feel something Or maybe you can. Fuck this goddammed place. Fuck fuck fuck fuck

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I made D. turn in his ammo for a couple of days. And so tomorrow we head out, riding east. Without our best gunner. And my damned foot still hurts.

1 Comments:

Blogger I'm just Anais said...

im so sorry. i really am.

May 02, 2007 6:18 PM  

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