The field ahead looked worked over, flattened in patches like multitudes had crossed it for centuries. Brown grass under frost.
Men standing in lines. Faces too close to each other, shoulders almost touching. I didn’t recognize any of the faces.
A colonel moved down the line. Everyone stiffened when he passed, so that’s what he must’ve been. Or major. Maybe brigadier general. He stopped beside me; my boots settled deeper in the mud. Training. Reflex.
An order came. The body moved before I caught up to it. Rifle raised. Words said, worn smooth from too many times. Mouth working through short sentences that lost their meaning years back. When it was done, the lips kept going a little longer. The faces melted into new faces.
They put a paper in my hands. Faces waiting. I thanked all who were there, or were dead, or both. Both? At that I lost my place, quickly skipped ahead, kept on reading. Nobody knew the order had broken. Sentences closed over it.
Night after. Stove going, kettle starting to boil. I grabbed it too fast, burned my hand. Ran it under cold water until it stopped feeling it was mine.
*****
Metal in my left knee, shrapnel. Doctors have said it’ll quiet down.
The blast happened long time ago but I can still see it clearly. Maybe it’s in someone else’s recollection. Either way I shorten my stride.
Try not to favor it. A small limp but I don’t want people to notice it.
Things go wrong in small ways. Boots not where I left them. A thought that stays. Or it’s the body. Weight pulling one way, then the other. Balance?
Some days are clean. Coffee, dressed, out the door. Nothing to account for later.
Other days the room shuts. Sealed. I know it’s me doing it.
Morning comes and the room opens on its own.
Not sealed again, until…