He lay there looking handsome, his blue eyes open and staring at me, piercing into my heart and soul, asking me ‘why did you let this happen to me?’ I looked away from his eyes but I couldn’t look away from him, I looked at his perfect nose, his amazing complexion, his flowing blonde hair, so smooth in defiance of the humidity. It would have been a sight to behold, one of beauty and innocence, but it wasn’t. Breaking apart his silky smooth blonde hair was a piece of metallic iron, protruding from his skull and probably impacting deep into his brain.
I lay there as the warmth of my blood comforted me in the cold face of death. The darkness started engulfing me, not in the dead of night and not by some supernatural monster as I had feared when I was young. Losing my vision and the sight of my best friend, lying dead in front of me, I knew the monster wasn’t supernatural, the monster was real and the monster was me.
Back in high school we were best friends, Brendan and I, yet as far as personalities we couldn’t be further apart. Our teacher would often compare us jokingly, ‘so Brendan gets a C minus, that means Ryan gets an A plus’. It wasn’t that Brendan wasn’t as smart as me, he was just different. He had the character of a tradesman, strong sturdy hands and body, a love of creating things with his hands and lots of enthusiasm, he would create masterpieces out of wood when I could barely drill a straight hole.
We graduated with different prospects, he was going to take an apprenticeship and open a shop, at least that was his dream, and I was going to pursue a degree in law. He was luckier than me in many ways, he was doing what he loved, and I was doing what was expected of me.
In a perfect world I would have received my degree, married my high school sweetheart and stayed best friends with Brendan. But the world wasn’t perfect, the world was hell, there was a war going on and for misplaced patriotism Brendan wanted in, and he was going to drag me along with him.
The Vietnam War, something I didn’t oppose nor support, something that had very little to do with my country and even less to do with me, was I meant to partake in this war? Perhaps it was Brendan’s enthusiasm or maybe he managed to convince a part of me with his repeated ‘brothers in arms’ monologues about how one must serve ones country, perhaps it was some inherent fear I had of marrying my girlfriend or maybe, and most likely, my loathing of getting that law degree.
Maybe I didn’t think I would get in, that I would be disqualified at some point during the recruitment proceedings because I was as frail as an old man and pretty much the biggest coward I knew. I wasn’t disqualified, they needed more meat for the grinder and given I was volunteering it was enough incentive for them to throw me in a pair of army boots, give me a gun and call me a soldier. At least Brendan calling me ‘brother’ while at the barracks made me feel good, for some reason I liked it that he called me his brother.
The room is crowded. People typing. I'm sitting. People point. Smell of some dude eating pickeles. There's a magazine. Helpful comments. Tiredness. Life's not bad. Itches. This room booked for a class. Everything continues. No need for anger etc. Just chill with it. Pull out of computer. Push into the frey. Deboot. Exit. Now.
Mine - Flibbertigibbet - a Silly or flighty person.
Yours = ?
Brenton
itumeleng kganyago
Shea
Always Eighteen
Ahmed
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