Brass & Unity, page 15
“Want to go to court instead? It’s the only way to save yourself.”
“Then what?”
He shakes his head. “This doesn’t happen often, so I’m not sure exactly what’s next. Just be ready to go in case you’re cleared early.”
“I want to finish my tour.” I stare him down.
“I know you do, but you might not have a choice here.”
“You need me on the guns. You said so yourself.”
“I need you well.”
I won’t leave yet. I need to get revenge on the monsters who killed my friend.
Finished
The guys are laughing at you because
You’re a JOKE.
You’re weak.
You’re “sick,” but you don’t look sick to me. Or to anyone.
You should be taught enough to get through this.
The others do it.
You should be able to block me out, you piece of shit.
You don’t deserve to wear the uniform.
FIFTEEN
Released
August 2009
Sitting in front of a military doctor again, tapping my foot, I wait for him to give me more pills and tell me I’ll be fine in a few weeks.
“Burns, I’m not seeing much improvement.”
“Okay.” I rub my hands together on my lap, my eyes darting around the room. “So what’s wrong with me?”
“I think we’re dealing with post-traumatic stress disorder.”
“I thought that’s what I already had?”
“We thought it was acute, but it isn’t getting better. It’s not going to go away on its own.”
“So what happens now?”
“You’ll be sent home.”
“But I’m not finished with my tour.”
“You aren’t fit to serve, Burns.”
“I’m fine.”
“Are you sleeping better?”
“Yes.” I lie because I don’t want to go home.
“Is your appetite okay?”
I nod and sit on my hands to stop myself from wringing them. There is silence as he stares at me, and I try to pretend I’m okay. He opens and closes my folder, all the while looking back at me. I fear he can see through me.
Next, I’m sent to the major’s office. I sink into his leather chair, feeling small and vulnerable. “Feeling okay, Burns?”
“Yes, Major.”
“You ready to get back on the guns?”
Music to my ears. I sit up taller. “Absolutely.”
He laughs and looks me straight in the eyes. “Well, there’s no chance of that happening.”
My heart sinks.
He opens my file and takes out the thick stack of paperwork. “All of this has been filed since your return from outside the wire.”
He shoves it across the desk, and his face turns dark. “Severe PTSD?”
“That’s what the doc says.”
“Burns, you’re more of a problem for me than anything.”
My cheeks redden.
He stuffs the papers back into the folder and slams it on the desk. “There’s nothing worse than a useless soldier.”
I bite my lip and wring my hands.
“Frankly,” he stands up, “it would have been better for me if you’d died.”
Did he really just say that? My eyes sting as I try to hold back the tears.
“Less paperwork to deal with.” He motions to the door. “Get out of here.”
Useless Soldier
Let that sink in for a minute; get good and comfortable with it.
“It would have been better if you died.”
The sounds of a ball hockey game almost make me forget that I’m in Kandahar. Watson, whose tour is almost up, places a coffee in front of me and sits down at the table. “Careful not to burn your tongue.”
I look at the dark circles under his eyes. “Not getting much sleep?”
He shakes his head. “You?”
“None.” I pull the lid off the cup, releasing a cloud of steam. “How’s Max doing?”
“Eh, haven’t heard a thing, but he’ll be all right. I miss the bastard.”
“I miss everyone.” I pause for a moment. “Including Mick.”
We sit in silence for a bit, sipping our coffee. “Why…” I start and then stop. “Why wasn’t it one of us?”
“I told ya, Burns, I’m set to go August 10th, and you September 10th. Hurry up and wait!”
I try to smile but can’t.
Watson reaches out a hand. “It would be strange if you didn’t wonder why it wasn’t you. Why wasn’t it any of us? It’s just natural to think about it that way. Part of the problem with having a tactical mind is that you’ll always think that if it were five minutes later or earlier it coulda been me. It’s normal to go there.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“How are you coping with it all? How are the Canadian arseholes behaving?”
“Just like I thought they would. They don’t believe anything happened.”
“Aye. You need to get your hands on some dead goats and put them in their tent.”
“Great advice, thanks.” I can’t help but grin back at him. “I’m going to have to see a shrink.”
“Braw. But keep talking to us. We were there with you. Just ’cause you’re leaving here, that doesn’t mean you’re leaving the war. We’ve all still got your back.”
“I guess so.” I look down, then back up at Watson. “I’m sorry I’m leaving.”
“You need the rest, Kels.”
“I’ll be back. I’ll finish my tour.”
“Aye, take care of yourself first. Where they sending you?”
“Back to Quebec. I’ll get further instruction there.”
“You’ll be all right, Kelsi. You’re strong. We all know it. We all know you’re a lot tougher than any of those dobbers.”
I laugh. I’m going to miss him. Being with these guys gives me a sense of comfort, but it also hurts. No way am I ready to leave. There’s still a part of me in the Panjwai district, and I am not ready to go home, but that’s what’s happening. It’s out of my control.
Later that day, the door of the Herc closes on my life in Afghanistan. As I watch the dusty earth below while we take off, I feel like I’m being taken from my family.
Home
Hold the door.
I’m coming along to make sure the sights and
sounds of Afghanistan never, ever leave you.
I’m the perfect souvenir.
When I land in Quebec, no one is there to pick me up, of course, because the rest of my unit is still in Afghanistan. But shouldn’t someone be there? I’ve done my duty; I’ve given all I have to give. And the military can’t even pick up a soldier from the airport? Shouldn’t they extend this simplest of courtesies? I wonder, briefly, if they even remember that I exist. Then I put the thought out of my mind. I have other things to think about.
After three connecting flights, I’m exhausted—mentally, physically, and emotionally—and I pace in the empty airport in Quebec at 0200. What am I supposed to do now? I try recalling names of people I know in Quebec and remember one of the nicer officers at the regiment who didn’t deploy.
I look up his number in my contacts and call him. “Salut! It’s Burns.”
“Burns? Where are you calling from?”
“The airport. I’m sorry to call in the middle of the night, but I need someone to pick me up and take me to the regiment.”
He replies, “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Thank you.”
While I wait for him, I send Brady a text. Back in Canada.
It’s been almost a year since we met, but despite the distance, we’ve kept in touch.
In another minute, there’s a reply:
Where are you?
Quebec. Airport. Waiting for someone to pick me up.
How was your flight?
Long. zzz
We text each other until Brady has to go to sleep. Like a normal person.
Never
That relationship will never go anywhere.
You know that, right?
Someone like you can’t be with someone like him.
He’ll never put up with me.
You can only have one of us, and I’m not going anywhere.
By the way, where’s that military family of
yours now?
Oh, that’s right.
You’re a useless soldier.
In full uniform, I wait at the regiment for people to start showing up for the day. The clock has changed from 0400 to 0500 since I’ve been here, which was when I brushed my teeth and changed my clothes. With nothing else to do, I watch time go by, until finally, at 0630, the RSM (regimental sergeant major) walks into the regiment and waves me over to follow him to his office.
He’s a tall, intimidating man with broad shoulders and a strong jaw. He’s a super soldier—someone you can’t help but look up to. He must have been through what I’ve been through. He must understand.
“Burns, you’re being reposted to Ottawa, where you’ll be closer to the hospital for treatment.”
“Wait…what? Reposted? I’m no longer part of the 5RALC?”
“Not anymore. You leave tomorrow.”
Shaking my head in disbelief, my cheeks burn. “The place that was my ‘home’ for almost a year? I’m being tossed out to the hospital now? Just like that?”
He looks up past me and then back down at the stack of papers on his desk. Never have I been one of them. I am a replaceable number in a group of people who never wanted me in the first place.
He closes my folder and pushes it aside on his desk. “Check in once you arrive and wait for your next instructions.”
The words from my major echo in my ears: It would have been better for me if you’d died.
There’s nobody to say goodbye to. There’s nothing left here for me. Good riddance.
PTSD
I’m coming with you.
You’ve never been one of them, but you’re with
me now.
You belong to me.
SIXTEEN
Civilian
September 2009
Sipping on a coffee in the Tim Horton’s parking lot after a seven-hour drive, I scroll through my messages until I find the last text from Brady, the one that says:
Message me when you’re home.
Made it back to Campbellford, grabbing a coffee and will be at my parents place in a few minutes. chat later.
Setting down the phone, I start to reverse the truck and hear a notification. Putting the truck back in park, I check the text.
Message me anytime you need to, ok?
k. wishing their new house was ready by now. not looking forward to sleeping in the motorhome. Since there house burnt down they were in the middle of a rebuild.
Until I pull into my parents’ driveway, the only thing on my mind is what seeing everyone will be like. I’m so numb. I feel dead inside. How am I going to pretend that I’m happy to be home?
Houch bounds to my truck, the first one to greet me, and I bend down to cuddle him. In another minute, Dillon’s there with the biggest smile on his face, tossing me around. Then Mom and Dad. Without a word, they just hold me and cry.
“Hey, when did you guys become a bunch of crybabies?” I try to keep things light.
Mom wipes her tears and smiles. “We’ve been getting some advice from a doctor about how we can help you over the next couple of weeks, honey.”
Dad smiles, feebly, from beneath the peak of his ball cap, and there’s an ache in my chest as I wish I was the same little girl as when I saw them last. But I’m not, and I never will be again.
“Me and Dad and Dillon. We’re here for you.”
“Thanks, it’s really nice of you to want to help me.”
Dad grabs my bags, and we walk toward the trailer. I just want to wander into my room and hide, but there’s no room here for me anymore. I think back to my little space at Ramrod with its fancy castle plywood walls. What I would give to be there right now. For a chance to get back on the guns. When I step inside the motorhome, I’m silently reprimanding myself for not taking the howitzer carving with me when I hear, “Surprise!”
I stand there shaking, unable to lift my arms, my body overwhelmed.
High-pitched screams rip me back to reality. Shit.
A bunch of friends swarm me, hugging me and laughing and chatting loudly. The smell of wine coolers, deodorant, and perfume—more sweetness than I’ve smelled in months—is totally overwhelming. Everything is pressing in on me, and my head feels full.
“We’re so happy you’re home, Kels!” my friend Michel squeals.
Mom looks so proud. “The girls are going to take you out tonight to celebrate you being home.”
“This is a pretty terrible fucking idea,” I say through gritted teeth.
Mom looks hurt, and now I hate myself for making her feel bad, but I can’t help it. I have no filter.
Grabbing a beer, I twist off the cap and follow the girls out the door.
At the bar, I stand in a corner where I can keep an eye on everything. My head pounds from the bright lights and loud music, but I keep watching the crowd, looking for anything suspicious.
When I step forward, a girl bumps into me and spills beer on my shirt. “Watch where you’re going!” I snap and instinctively scan the floor for garbage and anything that looks out of place. Forget it, Kelsi. You’re in Canada now. But I can’t help it. And when one of my friends puts her hand on my arm, I shove her away, aggressively. “Get your hands off of me.”
“Kels! Easy!”
Hating myself, I storm off, straight to the bar, and slam my glass on the counter. “Can I have another beer, please? Some cow spilled mine.”
Michel is beside me again. “Kelsi, are you sure you want another one?”
“What, are you my mother now?”
I shove a ten-dollar bill across the bar, swig my beer in two gulps, and stomp away.
Shame On You
Your normal parents and normal friends are trying to be nice to you, you asshole.
Show some gratitude.
Smile.
Oh, wait.
I have your feelings now, don’t I?
I have them locked up in a special little box where you will never find them ever again.
Have another drink, because alcohol is perfect for you right now.
Ba ha ha ha ha!
One eyelid opens and scans the room; I’m back in the motorhome. My mouth is dry, and there’s a queasiness in my stomach. How did I get here? Slowly, I lift my head off the pillow, and the minute I do, the throbbing in my brain makes me regret it. Must…find…Tylenol. I reach for my phone to check the time: 1500.
The moment I wander into the kitchen, Houch is at my heels. Rifling through the cupboards, I find some painkillers and swallow a couple down with a glass of water.
Houch whimpers at my feet. “Dammit, Houch. Get away from me!”
He retreats and cowers in the corner, and I bend down to stroke his soft head. “Sorry, buddy. Come on outside with me.”
When I check my phone, there are missed texts from Brady, the last one being, hope you got home ok.
I reply ya. hungover.
Grabbing my Oakleys from the counter, I head out to the yard and stare at the woods behind the house. It’s quiet here, and the thick blanket of trees is soothing to the eyes. For a moment, I think back to chopping firewood with Dad, and I almost smile. But then I’m right back in Afghanistan, hearing the attacks, the bombs. I put my hands over my ears, then jump. No helmet. We always need to wear our helmets, ever since a soldier got his head sliced open with an axe by the Taliban during a prayer circle.
Houch cocks his head and lies down at my feet. Jesus. What if someone comes out of those woods? I don’t have a weapon.
“Mom,” I yell. “Where’s the axe?”
She looks up from the garden bed and drops her trowel. “Why?”
I stare at her with a blank face. I know the Taliban isn’t going to come out of the woods right now, but I can’t calm down.
Mom walks toward me, dropping her gloves along the way. “How long do you plan on sitting out there?”
“I just got here.” I look down at my phone—1700? I’ve been staring at the woods for two hours?
Mom bends down to look me in the eye, but I turn away. She has no idea what happened to me over there. I can’t tell her, because her strained face tells me she’s living her own nightmare by having me back. I hate myself for doing this to her.
“Are you hungry?” she asks.
Ignoring her, I go back into the motorhome and crack open a cold beer to chase down some sleeping pills. Back in my bed, I fall asleep, fantasizing about killing myself, and not for the first time. I wake up two days later.
End It
It’s time, Kelsi.
What kind of life is this?
You can’t sleep without the scene replaying in
your mind.
It’s never going to stop.
Every night when you close your eyes?
That fear you have?
It’s always going to be here.
You’re a useless soldier.
You’re extra useless without your guns.
You won’t sleep tonight.
Keep taking your pills, and we’ll all pretend they’ll make this better.
It was Mom’s idea to pick up a few items at Walmart before I move into my apartment in Ottawa, but I’m too agitated. I’ve never been in this store, and every aisle we walk down, I’m looking over my shoulder, scanning the shelves, turning corners cautiously.
“Kels, do you want this?”
“Uh-huh,” I say without even looking at what she’s referring to. My eyes repeatedly scan the store for things that are out of place.
