Sincerely, Uncle Sam
I am in the middle of a desert,
alone, separated from the other soldiers in the firefight. My boots pound the
sand, then the paved street, then the grass. I lean against a brick building as
if it
is the only thing I can rely on. A towering tree rises to my
left, its bright green leaves swaying over an empty field. Its reassuring bulk
allows me to close my eyes and imagine all the other places I could be.
I put my M16 on burst and squeeze the
trigger slowly with my left index finger. I don’t hit anything: not a building,
a car, or a person. It’s like my bullets know the fight isn’t worth it, but I
keep shooting, and between shots, I cry out for the other soldiers.
“Wait…Don’t leave!”
I close my eyes and run my palms down
the bricks. Even, they are sweating. I realized that if I don’t take cover, I
will be killed. I open my eyes and peer around the corner. I see the other
soldiers running through the streets, taking cover. I step from behind the
building, and it hits me: a bullet in my left cheek, then two more. A man with
dark oily hair, bright brown eyes, and crooked overlapping teeth emerges from,
behind the brick wall. His bullets sedate me. I am unable to move. I don’t
care. The bullets expand gently in my face. Some nights my fingers seem to
dissolve as I run them over the gaping holes in my cheek. There is never any
blood, any death. I always wake up the same way - staring at my bedroom wall,
wondering if I am going to die in Iraq. A good soldier was supposed to run
through the bullets, accept that they might get shot in the face, but at least
shoot something before they die. Shit, I don’t want to get shot in the face. I
do not want to shoot anyone in the face. After having the same dream for a few
weeks in a row, I think for sure I am going to get killed in Iraq. I imagine
the letter my parents will get notifying them about my death.
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Hoit,
We are sorry to inform you but your
daughter, Specialist Kate Hoit, was shot in the face by a man who didn‘t
believe in using shampoo. You should know the Army trained her well but
apparently she liked to do things her own way. On the day of her death she
separated herself from the other soldiers, hid behind a building, and she was a
terrible shot. By the way, her face ate her fingers so we suggest a closed
casket. We are sorry for your loss.
Sincerely,
Uncle Sam
posted by GI Kate at 10:14 PM
6 Comments:
thanks for sharing, kate. I still have mine, which I wrote about also, but have no idea what to do about them, or whether they ever go away. sure, they have slowed, but they come back...
good work.
This seems a stark contrast to your post about thongs in uniform. I almost expected the girl who wrote that post to be an excellent shot and to want to shoot someone in the face.
a touching, a powerfull beginning.
i wish you the strength and stamina to keep on writing!
- lars
Grabs attention and desire to read more. Way to peel back if the segment was recently written. Thanks for posting it, Kate.
13 Stoploss-I'm sorry...I know it's rough. That dream went away a few weeks into training before deploying. (I still have to write on your blog. I know I'm slow. I've checked it out, it's pretty awesome!)
olgreydog-Well, in real life I'm a pretty decent shot. This was just a dream. Does anyone really want to shoot someone in the face?
Lars-Thank you! I'm on it.
Long-time RN-I'm glad it makes you want to read more! Hope you and your family are well!
Fair enough. But, I'd have to say that I do want to shoot some people in the face. Well, maybe some other more painful place. These people do not deserve a quick painless death. I think that would work as a great lead in. As long as the rest brings together the fears, expectations, the reality, and what happens after it all.
Post a Comment
<< Home