The Warrior Heart October 2014 | Page 6

Redemption By Andrew R. Jones We sit on opposite sides of a table in a back corner booth as Mom makes her way over with the diner’s famous apple pie. into the pie and if she doesn’t do the same soon, I have no problem eating her half. Finally Chamille takes a bite and tries to continue talking. It sounds like she mentioned something about penguins. I’m not sure. She continues to ramble on, but most of it came across like Charlie Brown’s mom, so I keep eating. After two weeks of starving my body, this pie has never tasted better. I’m sure later on I’ll regret eating so quickly. “Where in the hell you been Aaron, and what’s with that God awful smell all over you? You look like you haven’t bathed in weeks.” “You’re not looking so hot yourself. come down with a fever?” “It’s nothing. Mexican woman as she walks away. You I’m fine,” says the little old Later on. Earlier I didn’t have a later on. Mom isn’t really my mom. I’ve been coming here since I was a teenager and even then, it seemed she had been a midnight waitress forever. I’m convinced the tips I’ve left over the years put her daughter through college. *** On a concrete bench I sit as the moon glares from above--a spotlight for my performance. If all the world’s a stage, this is my final act. Crickets supply an orchestra of the world’s smallest violins, playing the world’s saddest song. This bench is as cold as the death surrounding me. Rows of tombstones belonging to Warriors of the past line the grass fields. She smelled of her usual generic perfume and the red-framed glasses covered half her face. Her step, a bit slower and strained. She coughs hard and immediately washes her hands behind the counter. I can’t help but notice something isn’t right with her. I’ve performed the ceremonies and handed the Flag to loved ones of many of these fine men and women. Fear is nowhere to be found in my body because these dead are my friends. My brothers. “Aaron?” “What?” Her voice brings me back to the table. I almost forgot she was sitting there. “Your name’s Aaron. Good to know. I had a cousin named Aaron. Lived on the Rez until he was 14. We had high hopes for him, but he stole his dad’s truck one night and ran it into a pole. Crazy things happen out there. I stay in the city and go to school. You go to school? I think a higher education is important. My niece is 3 years old and loves kid’s shows. Some of them are a little weird, but they help her along. I remember shows when we were kids…” They are the ones who witnessed the end of war. Found peace. I envy them and choose to join their ranks this evening. Tonight, nightmares stop. Guilt subsides. Pain resolves. Some people would suggest getting right with God or finding Jesus. Truth is, my faith in God is strong. After surviving Iraq, I felt He had a plan for me, or I was meant for something special. Here we go again. I’ve already begun to dig 6