Unspoken Abandonment (17 page)

“This can’t be right
; it
has to be a mistake!”

“No mistake, man; t
his is reality.
Just get used to it.
”

I returned to the Company O
ffice to
ask the admin soldier if there we
re a
ny other bunks available. As I was
being
told that there
we
re no other open bunks and I’m stuck
where I am, a man entered the office. He wa
s a tall man, well ove
r six-foot-
three.  His uniform wa
s pressed and starched to perfection and his black boots gleam
ed
with p
olish.  He matter-of-factly asked
, “Are you Wood, the new guy?”

I s
aw
the rank on his collar and respond, “Yes, First Sergeant.”

“Good, step into my office.”

I enter
ed
the office with the
intention of voicing my concern;
however, I was
quickly ignored and the
First Sergeant coldly interrupted
, “I’m First Serge
ant Redding. A few simple rules:
wake up is 0630, breakfast is 0700. All medical appointments and rehab need to be done by 1130 hours and you need to report to your job by 1200. On days with no medical appointments, you’re to report to your job by 0745 hours. Any questions?”

Any questions? I had dozens, but I had no idea where to even begin. I asked, “What jobs?”

First Sergeant Redding replied, “Every soldier in my Company will be gainfully employed. I have two spots available, one is in supply and the other is a kitchen detail.  The kitchen detail requires a 0330 wake up.”

“First Sergeant, I’m here for physical therapy and rehab. I was hurt in Afghanistan,” I said hesitantly.

“Yes, I’m fully aware of that. And I’m also fully aware that you are still an enlisted member of the United States Army. I’m also fully aware that every soldier in my company will be gainfully employed. That’s twice that I’ve told you this,
and
there will not be a third time.” First Sergeant Redding then sarcastically asked, “Now are there any other questions?”

I began to ask about the living quarters
,
but
I
was quickly interrupted
again
, “Wood, you were assigned to a barrack and a bunk. You will remain assigned to that barrack and bunk, period. You’re dismissed.”

I attempted to explain my situation again, but my concerns were quickly cut off with an interruption, “I believe I just told you that you were dismissed. Once again, that’s twice and there will not be a third.”

I walked off feeling defeated. At that moment, I realized that I would rather be back in Afghanistan than where I was now. I went to dinner at the base dining facility
,
and
I then waited for night to fall;
I just wanted to sleep.

After nightfall
, I climbed onto my bunk and
lay
staring at the ceiling for hours. By this time, all of the barrack’s occupants had returned from their own daily job assignments
and medical appointments
. The noise of
fifty
soldiers rumbled through
out
the
entire
night. Even into the early morning, conversation was constant and there was virtually n
ever a
quiet time.

At random points throughout the night, I could hear my bunkmate crying. The smell, the noise, and the tears stirred an anxiety in me that I had not felt since I had left the chaos of Kabul. I closed my eyes in an attempt to sleep, but the only images I could see made staying awake a better option. I felt like I
had arrived
in
my own
personal prison.

Morning wake up came
,
and Kevin quickly made his way over to my bunk. He said, “Hey
,
man
!
Y
ou have a car right?”

“Yeah, I do,” I replied.

“Is there any way I can catch a ride with you to breakfast? I’ll show you around if you help me get there. They have a school bus that comes around for us, but it’s a pain in the ass with my legs.”

I watched Kevin walk, and I could easily see walking
was a struggle
for him. He needed my help
,
and quite frankly, I knew I needed his. Besides, Kevin seemed like a nice enough guy. I did
n
o
t realize at that moment,
but
Kevin would eventually become my lifeline through this place, and I would become his.

Kevin and I went to the base dining facility. It
i
s very similar to a large school cafeteria, and the food was actually pretty good. I offered to help Kevin
carry his food
tray
,
but he boldly objected, “I can do this myself.”

I looked at him strangely and said, “Doesn’t quite look that way to me.”

Kevin laughingly repli
ed, “Ok, so I can’t do this,
b
ut I have to learn.”

“How about you learn step-by-
step, and start today by letting me carry some of that shit?”

Kevin reluctantly agreed. I knew very little of Kevin at this point, but I was already starting to like him. He was a Warrant Officer and obviously very intelligent.  When Kevin would speak, he was very well spoken
,
and
he
had a well versed vocabulary. I was very curious as to how he was injured, but yet
also quite
hesitant to ask. We sat at the table and started to eat.

“So, are you going to ask?” Kevin asked
in an assuming tone
.

I immediatel
y knew what Kevin was referring
to, but I played dumb
and replied
, “Ask what?”

“
Are you going to ask me w
h
y I walk like I need a telethon
?
”

“Really? I hardly n
oticed. I
just
thought that was your
pimp limp!”

“Whatever
,
asshole. Se
riously, if you’re curious I’ll
tell you.”

I paused for a mo
ment and told Kevin that if it was
too painful to bring up, I did
n
o
t need to know.  Kevin told me, “No,
it’s too painful to hold in.”

I did
n
o
t yet understand what he meant by that, but I never forgot him saying it.
Although I didn’t comprehend the full value of that statement, I
immediately recognized
the feeling it gave me.

Kevin explained, “I’m a helicopter pilot, or I was a helic
opter pilot. I’m not sure yet, b
ut I was in Iraq, and we were running a night time medevac rescue. I was pilot,
and then
there was my co-pilot, the crew, and two injured personnel. We were flying low and fast, and something happened. Shit went bad really fast
,
and we crashed. I broke both of my femurs, but I was the lucky one. Everyone else was killed in the crash.
Can you believe that shit? I’m the only one who survived.
”

I watched as Kevin continued on with his story. At times, his bottom lip would quiver
,
his chin would s
crunch, and
h
e would have to pause for a moment or two before continuing. A single tear began to roll down his cheek. The tear was quickly wiped away
,
and Kevin finished, “That’s how I wound up here. I go through agonizing therapy every day
,
and then
I
go clean the base library for f
our
hours. I eat dinner, hope to fall asleep,
and
then
I
wake up
to
do it all over again.
This place is like a punishment, but I have no idea what the fuck I did to deserve any of it.
”

We finished our breakfast and went about our day. I dropped Kevin off at the library and reported to my own assignment at Supply Distribution. I reported
as instructed,
and
I
was greeted by a civilian employee. He was thin and very unkempt. His hair had a greasy sheen
,
and he had a pungent
body
odor.

The civilian employee spoke with a thick southern drawl and said, “I’m Mister Woolard. Now listen here, you’ll refer to me as Mister Woolard and nothing else. And I don’t want to hear no back talk shit either. I tell you b
oys what to do, and y’all do it;
end of story. If you have a problem with that
,
I just pick up that there phone and call First Sergeant Redding. We’ll have your ass cleaning toilets so fast your head’ll spin.”

I immediately felt my face getting flushed
as Woolard continued on
. I had to stick my hand in my pocket to conceal the fist I was clinching, and to keep myself from actually using it. My face mu
st have telegraphed my emotions, because Woolard seemed to be able to read exactly what I was thinking.

“You don’t like that, do you?” Woolard asked.

“No sir,
that’s just fine.” I replied. I have
fought many battle
s in my life, and I knew
, in the long run,
I was no
t going to win here.

“Good, then let’s get you to work.”

Woolard walked me over
to a long, waist-high wooden table
. The table
, which
was four or five feet wide and about twenty-five feet long, was filled end-to-end with hundreds of pairs of combat boots. Woolard pointed to a large
transparent
trash bag filled with shoelaces and explained my new job.

“What you’re gonna do is string up these boots. I know you got a busted wing,
but
you should be able to do this with one hand
just fine
.
Go ahead and
let me know when you get done, and we’ll have someone bring you some more,” said Woolard.
He continued,
“You let me know if you need a piss break. Don’t just go walking off without telling nobody.”

I sat on a wooden stool for a moment and looked at all of the boots. I tried to estimate the number, and I figured it had to be two to three hundred pairs. I was trying to estimate how long it would take me to
lace
every pair
, and I realized it did
n
o
t matter; as soon as I finish
ed
, he
would
just bring more. It was hard
for me to believe
that less than two weeks
earlier
, I was in the middle of combat operations all over Kabul, Afghanistan.
I was dealing with everything from combat patrols and dead children, to rocket attacks and car bombs.
Now I
a
m here, lacing boots for this asshole.
As I started to lace the first pair of boots, I felt as though my soul was being crushed.

After about four hours of lacing boots, I had to go to the bathroom so bad it was beginning to hurt.
I could feel my lower back
aching
from holding it in, but n
o matter how bad I needed to go,
I
c
ould
n
o
t
bring myself to
ask that man for permission
to do
something as simple as
use the bathroom.
I ignored the pain and held it
in,
along with my pride.
I just spent the rest of the day lacing boots and tryin
g to imagine something better
,
a
nything
that was
better
than this
.

That night, I found myself laying in my bunk, once again wide awake and staring at the dimly lit ceiling. The mood in the b
arrack
was that of pure depression. It was a room filled with injuries and emotional distress. Not a single person wanted to be there, and no one ever signed up for this. Life had suddenly become
almost
like prison. I felt my eyes begin to well, but I struggled to choke my
feelings back. I would not cry;
I refused.
I would have given anything to have been back in Afghanistan instead of there.
Before this moment, I could
n
o
t have imagined a place I
woul
d despise more than
Camp Eagle
, but here it was.