They move silently; floating. There is a sense of assurance, confidence as they shift from room to room. It seems that they are waiting; always watching. As freely as they move, the air is tight and tense as if SOMETHING is wrong but they don't know what. The lights are dim so you aren't even certain how many are there with you, but you don't mind.
Eventually they become comfortable, allowing a little more personal space with you--one who is not like them. They might even look at you, permitting you to see and understand it all. You can't help but feel the exhaustion: the kind that makes your knees tingle as if they are no longer capable of carrying your weight...ANY weight. Their eyes burn from sorrow pent up, fear driven down, and anger ...well that may never quite go away.
"Can I help you?" you ask into the room. They may turn, having heard a voice but most shrink away into the shadows where, for them, it is safe. You can feel the wind as they pass by you. "Welcome." You try again. "Is there something you need?" Most of the time it will be a sigh: lost and breathy; somewhat stale. They need nothing. They are fine on their own. They have been proving that for what feels to them like an eternity.
Just when you think it's pointless and you need to move on. One appears timidly beside you: not quite touching but close enough that you feel the energy. You turn slowly so as not to scare him away. Seeming lost, you want to help; wanting only the chance to make a difference.
"Sir?" your voice is soft and you search those haunted eyes. They are the eyes of a child.
"Cheese?"
"Pardon?" you are incredulous.
"Cheese? Ma'am? May I have cheese?" he holds up a hot dog with chili on it, onions...the works.
"Ohhh" you laugh a little. "Of COURSE! Wait right there." feeling as if you have made a magnanamous breakthrough.
"Don't go to any trouble... Please." he raises his arms and almost pulls away from you; afraid.
"Stop. It's what I'm here to do." you touch his arm. He tenses, but allows you. It feels good...simply to go and get some cheese. I do this every day for my kids and it feels; well, different. You return with cheese. A grin is reward enough.
"Thank you Ma'am" and he drifts off quietly.
A job well done. Oooaap! There's another one coming this way. She would like a pillow. Then another one appears. He just wants to sit next to you. He begins to talk to you...not really . He's talking AT you. His mind is racing, his thoughts, his life spills out onto the table like a tipped cup you can't stop. You realize you shouldn't. Let it go, Sir. You sit and nod. You laugh. It is still in the dim light as most have retreated to corners and nooks to sleep...sort of. Before you realize it, it is past midnight and you must leave. As you get up, you offer your hand. He reaches for you and there is an embrace; strong, grateful and weak all at the same time. "Be well. Travel safe. Thank you." It's all you can say without crying for this wandering hero.
They are soldiers. They are coming home; most of them from a second or third tour. I gladly welcome them as they "stop over". There are usually three to five more days before they actually get to their final destination. I am amazed by their strength inside and out. I am sorry that they have had to lead two lives: a soldier's in the conditions only war can create and then to have to try to balance a family life (mother, son, father, husband, daughter) from across the world. They have to fight once more...to get back to living.
My camo flip flops used for the grocery store seem silly; the artillery of my iPod; useless.
I'm glad those kids made it home.
Thanks for sitting with me for a moment.
