Beyond The Ghosts (Legacy Falls Project) (2 page)

“Christina meet my brother, P—“ I stood up to greet her and towered over her munchkin-sized frame.

“Whoa, you’re tall,” she squeaked.

“Everyone is tall next to you, Christina.” My sister rolled her eyes behind her small friend, and I couldn’t help but smile.

“Yeah, but he is like another zip code kind of tall.” She attempted to whisper to Beth, but I’m not sure any Southern women knew how to effectively whisper.

“I’m right here.”
Why do people insist in talking around me? I expect it in the military, but not in civilian life.

“Christina, say hi.” Beth turned Christina around to face me and waited for her reply.

She giggled a meager “hi” before turning a ripe shade of cherry.

“Feel free to join us.” I offered, holding out my arm to direct her to the vacant space in our booth.

“Oh, no, you two enjoy your breakfast. I am sure I will be seeing you again.”

I sat back down, and she waved to us as she scurried away. I shoveled another forkful of eggs into my mouth, and from the corner of my eye saw her holding two fingers to her ears miming ‘Call me’ before bumping into another patron nearly spilling her cup of coffee on him and herself.

I turned to my sister who was trying to steal my bacon and swiftly but gently stabbed her hand with my fork.

“Hands off the bacon, woman.”

“You have two more strips.”

“If you wanted some, you should have ordered some.”

“I wouldn’t have eaten it all.”

“Trust me, it wouldn’t have gone to waste.”

“Whatever, and ouch!” She rolled her eyes at me and pouted, moving her remaining home fries around on her plate.

“So, who did she think I was, sissy?”

“No one.” Not accepting that response, I glared at her to continue. “She is always trying to hook me up with people.”

“No special man in your life?”

“Nope, just you.” She winked and blew a kiss at me. “Are you done?” The conversation was not over, but I let it go for the moment.

I popped the last strip of bacon in my mouth whole, and Beth stared at me with her mouth hanging open.

“Leave your mouth open like that and you’re bound to catch flies.” Quickly shutting her mouth, she grabbed her keys and cell phone and went to the register to settle our check. I pulled my wallet from my pocket and left five bucks on the table before following my sister back to her car.

Welcome home. Time to face my parents.

I hadn’t seen my parents since graduation day at Fort Sill, Oklahoma. My parents were proud of me, but my dad was a small town businessman. He couldn’t afford to close up shop and take his right-hand woman and go anywhere for more than a Sunday-afternoon drive. He had one boy working with him for a while when I left. His name was Ronnie if I remembered correctly. He ran errands, swept up the shop, and performed other odd jobs in hopes of learning the trade.

My dad was a butcher. He started bagging groceries in the local Piggly Wiggly back in 1960 at the tender age of ten. With World War II long over and the Vietnam War in full swing, everyone’s fear was their children going to war. In 1968, when he had to fill the Selective Service rolls, his flat feet and heart murmur kept him from military service. Instead, he was taken under the wing of the town butcher and learned the trade. Dad married his high school sweetheart, and in the spring of 1975, on the 30th of April, I was born as Saigon fell.

Mom grew up on a ranch and stayed away from the hippie movement. She stayed attached to Dad’s hip, and when their courtship took them to a small house living on the outskirts of the Smiths’ ranch property, it was a symbiotic relationship as Dad became the head butcher for the Lance Smith, owner of the Rocking T Ranch, and processed their cattle.

Whatever beef wasn’t trained or ideal for rodeo circuits was raised for beef and butchered. Dad had a retail shop in town, but it was the ranchers and hunters that kept him in business. He serviced multiple suppliers and was very busy during hunting season processing their kills.

We pulled up to my parents’ home—the home I took my first steps in and waved goodbye to after high school graduation, then again after I graduated college when I left for the military. The paint was peeling and the porch needed a few planks replaced. Not much had changed in the years of my military service, and suddenly, I felt like I had stepped backward in time. Time stood still there, and it made me sad.

The world around that place was progressing, and I suddenly felt stagnant. Maybe it was the wrong idea coming home. I had to pay my parents a visit, but the idea of staying there longer than I had to, didn’t appeal to me at all.

I pulled my ruck sack out of the back of my sister’s Beetle since it probably outweighed her and prodded up the porch steps of my childhood home. As my foot hit the landing of the porch, the screen door flew upon and my mother bounded out of the doorway, arms outstretched, screeching, “
Peter
. My baby. My baby is
home
.”

My father lumbered out behind her, his face scrunched and wincing at each octave my mom escalated to as she announced to anyone within the county’s earshot that I was home.

“Daddy,
look
. Our baby is home.”

“Settle down, woman. I can see. I might not be able to hear anything for a week with all your carrying on but I can see. Now, let the boy go. He don’t need your weight adding to that load on his back.”

My mom unfurled herself from me and smoothed out my clothes as if her hands were lined with starch and kissed my cheek.

“I’m so happy to see you, Peter.”

My father shoved Mom out the way and held out his hand. “Let me take a look at you.”

He eyed me up and down. I wasn’t sure exactly what he was looking for, but he examined me like a used car. I almost expected him to kick me in the boots. Finally, after circling me twice, he patted me on the shoulder and extended his hand for a handshake.

“Damn proud of you, boy. You did good. And you came home in one piece. That’s the most important part. Now, come inside and take a load off.”

“I will see you guys for dinner later. I have a few things I have to do. Love you, bro. See you in a little bit. If you need anything, text me.” My sister bailed on me and jumped in her little green bug, speeding off before anyone had a chance to say if they needed anything of not. Something told me that was exactly her plan.

Dad opened the screen door and held it for me, pulling my mom to his side allowing me to pass first.

“Will you get out of the boy’s way? You don’t want him dropping that big thing on your head.”

I stepped into the foyer and set my stuff down next to the boot bench. Raincoats, dusters, and hats lined the hooks around the mirror that backed the bench we used to put our shoes on.

My parents’ house looked exactly the same on the inside as well. There had not been any remodeling or redecorating at all. I didn’t think anything had changed in the forty-plus years my parents lived in that house except the old, avocado, time capsule refrigerator was replaced nearly ten years ago. After it finally kicked the bucket, Dad refurbished that old fridge into an ice chest now laying on its side on the back porch. My dad loved that ugly avocado fridge. He said it was the first thing he ever bought, on layaway, and paid for in full. A new, well kind of new, stainless steel fridge sat in its place in the kitchen, but the rest of the décor remained the same.

My mother was obsessed with roosters. Roosters adorned everything you could put a rooster on, including the dish towels, sugar and flour canisters on the counter, even the good dishes—the ones put out for Thanksgiving and family dinners—had roosters around the edges of the china. At least she was easy to shop for around birthdays and holidays. Anything cock-a-doodle-do would do.

We sat around the farmhouse-style, white-tile-topped, kitchen table, and my mom started pulling mugs out for coffee. She always had a pot of coffee on the ready. If you wanted to stay awake for days, just hang out with my mom. Her coffee would put hair on your chest and lightning in your veins. I was tired and just wanted to rest, but I would humor my mom.

“You got any decaf, Mom?”

“Decaf? What is that?” My dad chuckled as he scooped two sugar cubes into his cup and added cream to the mug my mom set before him. I might have seen deployments, but my dad knew which battles to fight on the home front.

I took his cue and didn’t respond to my mother’s challenging question. I guess some Benadryl would counteract the caffeine. Then again, I was so tired the coffee would probably give me just enough energy to lug my bag to my room upstairs.

My mother waited patiently with her own mug in her hands as I dressed my coffee and raised my mug to my lips to take the first sip. The fresh farm cream was at room temperature and no doubt from that morning’s milking so it neither watered down the coffee nor chilled it. The smooth hot liquid coated my tongue like liquid fire then warmed my throat on the way down. It was better than anything Starbucks had to offer—Mom’s rocket fuel, fresh cream, and old-fashioned sugar cubes, not those little packets of cancer, for the perfect balance of warmth, strength, and sweetness.

My moan of delight returned my mother’s smile to her face, and she took a sip of her own coffee before the barrage of questions began.

“So, tell me everything. Are you okay? Are you done? How long are you home for? You didn’t get hurt, did you? Were you with those guys who caught Bin Laden?”

Her rapid fire questions left me dizzy, and I waited for her to take a breath before attempting to answer any of them or try and get a word in edgewise. My dad leaned back in his chair and watched. I’m sure the conversation was amusing to him not being in the hot seat for once.

“I’m fine, Mom. I’ve been blessed.”

“Yes, you have, son. So, tell us, where have you been?” my dad asked.

“A little bit of everywhere, really.”

“But you have been gone so long, Peter.” My mom was getting herself worked up.

“I wasn’t overseas the whole time, just the last few years consistently.”

“So, start at the beginning, son.”

“After you guys came to see me at Fort Sill for graduation, they sent me to Iowa for a little while and everything was a whirlwind after that. I was just a Reservist but they sure didn’t treat me as one. After AIT, I did some drills on the weekends and took a few more classes at the local college to get some food inspection certificates. The Army paid for all that, then boom—they sent me overseas.”

“Where did you go?”

“Where
didn’t
they send me? I can’t even pronounce some of the names, and I don’t even know if I am allowed to say half of them if I could. In three years, I saw four continents including Europe, Africa, and Asia, and places like Kazakhstan, Qatar, and Germany.”

“Oh, Daddy, I always wanted to go to Europe.”

“He wasn’t sightseeing, dear; he was defending our country. Did you get to see anything besides airports and barracks?”

"I got to see different countries, ate a lot of different foods. The local markets were great. You just have to be careful; it's hot, and they don't have the best food handling practices."

My father chuckled. "That's all you have to say is don't get food poisoning?"

"Well, the toilets aren't exactly the best, either, so it's a vicious cycle that is best avoided. Let's just leave it at that."

“You’re not Reserves anymore. What happened?”

“War happened. I had been deployed already, so they didn’t have to train me for much except a new job. I came back stateside and changed jobs and went active duty.”

“So, you’re not cooking? I thought you loved to cook?” my mom pleaded.

“Anyone can pour liquid eggs and check expiration dates, Mom. They needed people to operate and maintain Patriot missiles. That’s what I do.”

“That sounds dangerous.” Her hands grasped the rooster dishtowel to her face as sheer terror overtook her face.

“So then what? Where did you go next?”

“I stayed stateside for a little while at Fort Bliss, Texas, Fort Hood, Texas, went back to Fort Sill, Oklahoma since I am artillery, and then I have been back and forth from Kuwait for the last five years or so. Now they have me attached to Fort Sill again. I’m on leave for a little while. I have some decisions to make as to whether I re-up or not. I have a month or so to sleep on it.”