“And what about this coffin? Is it comfortable enough for you?” I look at the coffin salesman as he softly smiles at me while asking me the question, he’s heartlessly asked hundreds of customers before. I brush my hand softly on the soothing white fabric. “I guess this is good enough.” I murmur out. “Why don’t you just get cremated when you pass?” asks my soft-spoken nephew. His name is Carter.
I feel embarrassed having to be taken care of all the time. I slowly look down towards the ground to my feet. My knees trembling. I sigh, “yeah, we might as well. It will save you guys quite a lot of money.” “Hey on the bright side, we could spread your ashes anywhere you want!” he exclaims to try to force a minimal smile on my face and to brighten up my now sore and miserable life.
I slowly slide my eyelids over my eyes and keep them shut to enjoy the little bit of peacefulness left in my life before it’s my time to go. Reluctantly, we leave the funeral store. The cold mucky rain drips onto my grey, white hair and slides down my wrinkled face as I take slow and painful steps towards my vehicle. I raise my left foot as my nephew aids me to enter the white Honda accord as gently as possible. A sharp pain shoots through my spine while trying to get comfortable on the black leather seat that has been reaped from a cow just for the comfort of humans.
My eyes glaze over towards the window watching the rain drops frantically slide down the window. Carter makes his way over to the driver’s side to drive me home since I am indeed incapable of doing most things on my own. He gets inside the vehicle and puts the keys in the ignition and rotates it. The engine begins to roar, and we exit out of the empty parking lot. I glance outside as the grey clouds and thick air spire over us. “I don’t have much longer left Carter.” “I know,” he responds.
I can hear the pity in his voice. It’s a long drive home, the sound of the radio solemnly dancing inside of my ears and my head. “I want to review all the research I’ve collected on the second world war. You know how filled up that room of the house is.” “Yeah, you’ve collected a lot old man, better start as soon as we get you home.”.
Time passes by slowly as the air thickens outside. My mind drifts to the hundreds of thousands of battles I’ve studied throughout my life. Oh, how they’ve brought so much interest into my old and fading life. I know all the details by heart. I gasp out in shock as a horrific thought comes to mind. The car swerves suddenly with the squealing sound of rubber adjusting friction with the wet road. Carter adjusts the vehicle and looks as me with a vast look of worry in his piercing blue eyes.
“Hey there old man, what happened? Are you alright? All those years in Vietnam sure got to you huh?” He spoke softly. It’s not very known that I fought in Vietnam. Coming back home got me interested in the war my old man fought in. World War 2. The war the man never came back from. He was shot in neck twice by a German child with a stg44 he picked up from a dead SS soldier. They managed to bring his uniform back. The collar bloodied and looked like the blood made its way down to his middle area making a V shape on his chest to his collar. His name tag “D. Rogers” dirtied from the fallen dirt caused by artillery shells sending the mud flying everywhere. They didn’t even bother to wash it they just sent it here. Even though Nam scared the shit out of me and gave me the most gut-wrenching PTSD, I somehow found myself invested in the history of the Second World War. Coming back home, I went to college and studied my way through the major and miniscule events of the war. Every detail interested me.
“Hey, I said are you alright?” He says worryingly with the touch of his warm hand squeezing my fragile and tender shoulder. “Uh, yeah sorry, I umm got lost in my thoughts there.”. I stutter. “It’s no worries. I just wanted to make sure you were still breathing old man”. We chuckle.
I hear the sound of gravel cracking and shifting underneath the black rubber tire as we pull into the driveway of the cozy place, I call home. But not tonight, tonight is different, it’s cold and scarce. The sand squishes underneath our shoes as we make our way up the 3 steps of my house. I turn around to take in the scenery. The pine trees wallow in the empty fields separated by my driveway. I think of my father when I look at this. “Come on old man, let’s get you inside.” I take slow and careful steps as my dear nephew guides me inside.
I sit down in my office chair, appreciating all the memories and research I’ve successfully collected. It’s strenuous on my mind to carry my finger trembling memories with me all this way. Just to hopefully find peace. After seeing war, peace is nearly impossible to find. In the other room, my nephew crushes vitamins. Brushing them cautiously into his hand using the edge of the counter for support, he directs the fine powder into the liquid and makes his way to my office to bring me the drink. He places it gently in my hand and I take a little sip. The icy water caressing the sides of my throat giving it a delicate release to the soreness of my throat.
Carter leaves the room.
Accidentally slamming the door behind him, my aged and fragile muscles jolt in a muscle memory reaction to what my brain thought to be a Vietcong who tossed a grenade into our campsite. I fall to the hard wooden floor. Groaning in pain, I lay still quivering in fear. My nephew rushes to help me. Kneeling, I hear the pop of his knees. He softly strokes my hair with his soft hand helping me to calm myself down. I take a deep breath and compose myself.
“Do you feel the memories? Can you feel the pain of the shrapnel hitting you in your flashback?” Carter asks curiously. “No, I can’t feel them. It just feels like I’m there, but I don’t feel any of the pain. I just want to be relieved of the memory.” I explain. “Let’s get you to bed old man.”. My frigid legs walk me through the hallway full of family photos. The door to my bedroom stares me down. We walk inside of the room. The smell of mud enters my nostrils. I lay down in my bed and shut my exhausted eyes. Waiting to be woken up again by the pain of my oldened self. But this time I didn’t wake up.
My mind frightened by the sound of explosions and the sounds of bullets hitting the dirt. I open an eye to look at my surroundings. I see a man get rushed by a soldier with a bayonet. The blade pierces his skin, blood rushing onto the blade. The man with the bayonet wraps his finger around the trigger and takes 3 shots, killing the man. An artillery strike begins to barrage our area. With men being flamed alive by the flamethrower carrying soldiers, it’s chaos. Terrified, I close my eyes again with tears pouring down my dirty face.
I feel the touch of a man squeezing my shoulder. He shakes me and yells. “GET UP SON, START FIRING BACK.” Two shots ring out and I hear the soldier hit the mud. I open my eyes and get a quick glance at the man who I assume to have just been killed. The nametag on his uniform stares me in the eyes with blood leaking out of his neck making a V shape formed with blood to his collar. The name tag read “D. Rogers”.
“Dad?”