Chapter 5: For Every Silver Lining

Beep. Beep. Beep. It was incessant, through the heavy fog of distant awareness I could always hear it ... beeping, somewhere above me. I was heavy and weak, the weight like a blanket made of lead, the weakness profound and pathetic. Every so often I heard/felt a turbulent whoosh and my lungs would expand, sending searing pain through my chest. Beep. Beep. Beep. I was choking, gagging, retching. The beeping got faster. I coughed and a shrill warbling sound came from somewhere nearby, echoing the fiery pain in my lungs. Beeping faster.

“Easy Sergeant,” the voice was so loud and so near, “you are all right.” A hand touched my forehead, it was so cool, and comforting. “I’m going to touch your hand, feel that? Can you squeeze my fingers?” I thought I felt something down ... there. “Good! Now the other hand ... squeeze.”

What the fuck was going on? I tried to talk and started retching again, setting off another series of horrifically painful coughs. The warbling started up again and quickly stopped.

“Okay. Okay. Slow breaths now,” Something changed and the weight seemed to lift away. “Just let the machine breathe for yo...”

“ ... your toes!”

‘Hunh?’

“Sergeant? Can you hear me? Wiggle your toes!”

‘What the... ‘ I blinked my eyes and saw dim shapes moving around above me. ‘Ow!’

“Did you feel that? Wiggle them toes!”

‘All right, already!’

“Good.”

‘Fuck you, asshole!’

“I’m Doctor Alister Flemmins. You were injured by a roadside bomb. But I think you are going to be okay. I need you to squeeze my hand if you understand.”

A soft hand gripped mine. It felt like a woman’s hand, all soft and smooth and warm. I squeezed it and felt the metal band around the finger...

‘Gomez!’

I crushed the hand under my grip and began jerking about in the bed. Beeps sounded faster and faster and the shrill warbling blared nearby.

“Ten cc’s propofol bolus!” the voice ordered. He jerked his hand out of mine. “Give him 2 mg fentanyl every 15 min if needed, as long as his pressure holds...”

“C’mon Sarge, stop fighting me!” the heavily accented orderly demanded as he held my hands down, “you are only making this harder than it has to be. Now turn over.” I was rolled roughly over onto my left side causing pain to shoot through my back like fire. I felt cold wet washcloths wiping me from my neck and shoulders down to ... goddammit!

“Okay now, you’re gonna roll back over a bump and then you will be all clean and lying on fresh linen.” the big nazi fuck said condescendingly. As if it wasn’t bad enough that I had to lie here and shit the bed every five or six hours! ‘Fuck you, Fritz!’

This fucking place sucked! The drugs were bad enough. They shot me full of them whenever I became disagreeable. I was a fucking Marine for fucks sake! I’m paid to be fucking disagreeable! Then they went and made me get out of bed to sit in a chair for the whole fucking morning while I was connected to every fucking thing you could imagine. IVs here, PICC lines there, a huge fucking garden hose shoved into my chest under my armpit which sucked blood and pus and shit into a plastic fucking box on the floor beside me. I couldn’t even piss for myself because they had a tube shoved up my dick which burned and itched like the fucking Clap! And then there was the tube stuck down my throat, hooked up to that damnable machine that kept alarming every time I so much as coughed. But, “Oh you’re doing so good Sergeant!” and “It’s only for a couple more days Sergeant!” or “Tomorrow we will go for a walk, won’t that be nice?” ‘Oh, you mother fuckers... ‘

Maybe I should have felt bad for Beatrice, the Physical Therapist assistant who came by every morning to diligently work on my range of motion. Perhaps she felt she could trust me, just this once, as she lay my arm back down after a grueling series of range of motion exercises. For sure she shouldn’t have turned her back on me to make a note in my chart. By the time she turned back, it was too late. I had reached up, grabbed that mother fucking, goddammed tube that was taped to my face, and I yanked that bitch right out. Okay the balloon at the end that sealed my airway, was a bit much, but it was only uncomfortable for a second. And then I was coughing and hacking violently as the ventilator beside me began screaming mechanical obscenities for everyone to hear.

“Oh my God! No!” Beatrice exclaimed as she turned back to find me gasping for air. Suddenly my room was full of people with all sorts of equipment and syringes to force me back into blissful dreamland while they violated me in every way imaginable.

“Get an intubation tray ready!” someone yelled, “and call anesthesia for an emergency reintubation!”

“Bag him!”

“Who is the attending on call?”

“Fuck you bastards!” I croaked as they tried to restrain my free hand. “Get your goddamned hands off me you sons of bitches!”

“EVERYBODY JUST CALM DOWN!” a man’s voice roared from the door to my room. We all stopped yelling and fighting long enough for an elderly guy wearing a white coat to come in and look down at me with a frown. “What is your name soldier?” he barked.

“Alexander Vincent Bishop, Staff Sergeant, United States Marine Corps, OohRah, SIR!” I belted out automatically.

“Alright Staff Sergeant, lift your head off of the pillow and hold it there for me,” he said. I noticed he never asked me to do anything like most of the others. ‘Can you squeeze my hand?’ ‘Can you tell me what day it is?’

I did, as ordered, and took the opportunity to glare at the other bitches gathered around the room.

“Turn your head from side to side,” he instructed and I obeyed, feeling slightly guilty when I saw the tragic expression on Beatrice’s face.

“Tell me where you are,” he ordered.

“Landstuhl Army Medical Center, Germany,” I replied gruffly.

“Very good,” he said and turned away, waving to everyone to stand down and go back to, fucking the hell off. “If you start having any trouble breathing, don’t be a hero. Just tell us so we can do our best to keep you alive.”

“Sir! Yessir!”

“That will be enough theatrics for now Staff Sergeant.” He stepped away and made for the exit.

“Sir?”

He turned back, “Yes, Staff Sergeant?”

“What happened to my squad, sir? Gomez, Talbot, Simmons...”

“I am sorry Staff Sergeant I just don’t know. We did not receive any other casualties from that theater that day, but...” he hesitated, “from reports, it would appear that you were the only survivor of that ambush. I am so sorry.”

If only I had my 1911 right then and there ... But then you wouldn’t be reading this.

“Alex! Are you okay?” I heard from nearby. I was sitting up on the couch when the lights came on, causing me to blink away the brightness. Libby was leaning over me protectively, licking my face. Gunner whined beside me. I looked up and found Lupi standing in the middle of the room holding one of the girls in her arms. I could hear tiny sobs from her. Maria was standing further back with the other tot clinging fearfully to her leg. The Mom’s expression was incredulous and troubled.

‘What the fuck?’

“We heard you crying out, the dogs panicked,” Lupi said uncertainly as I looked around the living room. It slowly came back to me.

“You were screaming,” Maria added with a hesitant whisper.

Lupi’s mom had come over for dinner and to check out my place. Apparently, it was suitable, though she couldn’t understand my lack of basic essentials ... like a rice cooker and wok. It was getting late so I offered her my room and retired to the couch, a bed I had slept upon many times in the past.

“I ... I’m sorry,” I said hesitantly, “It was ... I had a...” I stopped and felt my face with my hands. ‘God, how long has it been since the dreams began fading? Why now?’ “Look, I’m up now. Y’all can go back to bed. I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean to upset the little ones.” I got to my feet and limped slowly into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. ‘No way was I going back to sleep after that! Goddamn!’

“Are you hurting?” Lupi asked, making me realize how much my back was aching.

“A little,” I replied, “I’ll take some Motrin. Go back to bed. I promise I will be quiet for the rest of the night.” I watched them slowly return to their beds and the lights went back out. I sat in my recliner in the dark trying to fathom what the hell set me back nearly 12 months’ worth of therapy. Damn, my back was sore, maybe it was the couch. I went to my bathroom and took an 800mg horse pill and two tramadol. I paused on the way out and grabbed two oxycodone as well. Better to nip this in the bud before it becomes an issue later during the day. I interrupted the brew cycle to pour myself a cup of coffee and then went back to my recliner to contemplate things.

‘Fuck!’ All I needed now was to fall back into that fucking rabbit hole that took me so long to crawl out of. I picked up my phone and thumbed through my contacts. She was still there. ‘Goddamn it all!’ This was the last thing I ever expected or wanted to have to do! It took a lot of counseling and therapy to get me to where I am now. To the point that I didn’t want to eat my gun every time I remembered ... anything. No bullshit here, but one of my esteemed counselors actually required counseling of his own, after he concluded our sessions prematurely. If that wasn’t an accurate portrayal of just how fucked up my head was, then I don’t even know how to explain it to you.

I held the phone and stared at the contact for some time before opening it. I knew if I called, she would answer right away. But why ruin her night too? I opted to send a text instead:

Hey, it’s Bishop. Not sure what happened, but just when life started looking up ... the dream returned. I really can’t go back there again. I need your help! Please...

I stared at it for a long time, tempted to delete it several times. Why was I being such a pussy? They gave me my toolbox and helped me fill it with all the tools I needed for situations like this. Rationality, logic, reasoning, strength, forward-thinking, positive affirmations ... Was there any reason to panic and drag her back into this? No. There wasn’t. I sighed as I hit the Send icon. There were three reasons, and they were all sound asleep in the next room.

“Alright!” Davee said eagerly as he rubbed his hands together, “This is going to be fun! FUN Alex, F-U-N. So, try to look like you are enjoying yourself,” he admonished me before I even had a chance to tell him to take his F-U-N and stick it up his A-S-S. “Lupi, you look absolutely darling! I see you went to Calbots for that dress, oh my goodness I just couldn’t stop thinking of you when I saw it.”

Well, he was right there. Lupi stood near the Mall Side entrance to the bookstore, like a walking fashion statement. She wore an elegant pastel dress that left one shoulder bare, while the other sported a fluffy turquoise flower, the dress fell to her mid-thighs. Her dark-toned legs were accentuated by the soft blue material and she wore a pair of practical heels with open toes to highlight her pretty painted toes. Her hair was done up in a way that suggested, getting out of bed and just piling it on top of her head, while the price for said hairdo suggested otherwise. Regardless, she was stunning and I had a hard time staying on task whenever she was close enough for me to smell her subtle perfume.

Me? I chose to purport myself with the latest fashion trend of comfort and casual. I wore my trusty Carhartt khakis with my favorite leather loafers and my old, but serviceable Army green shooting sweater with leather padded shoulders. My hair was cut to regulation high and tight — shaved around the side, four fingers above the ears, with just enough fuzz on top to keep my head warm. Davee took one look at me and chose to pick other battles he could win. He darted around the lobby like a flighty chipmunk trying to decide where to stash his nuts — as if he had any.

The booth was quite an eye-opener for having been whipped together in a matter of days. The table I would sit behind was covered with several camouflaged Ghillie suits that were stretched out and sewn together. There were stacks of my book piled hap hazardously atop it with just enough room for me to sit in the middle and look like some debonaire Chesty Puller wannabe. Behind me was a larger-than-life poster/banner with a color picture of ‘Dark Tales’ that you could probably see from space. To either side of the table was a square pillar of collaged photos that were enlarged and printed over one another displaying various acts of valor throughout the history of the Corps. Smaller display cases were positioned before each pillar and I noticed that my oversized and grandiose shadow box was on prominent display atop one, while my second tri-folded flag adorned the other. A simple three-legged coat rack stood to one side and I noticed my dress uniform hanging from it with enough salad on the chest to make most younger marines get wood. Someone took liberties with my things ... Davee was too busy humming and flitting about to look guilty about it.

Lulu and Didi were beside themselves with all the pomp and glitter. They wore matching denim skirts with coverall straps, and white turtle necks to compliment their stockings. They had shiny black faux leather boots on their tiny feet and they looked about the store with big eyes. Each carried a small cartoon-faced backpack loaded with coloring and drawing material to keep them busy. Oddly, I felt that they were going to be the easiest of the bunch to deal with. One exceptional employee showed incredible initiative and brought them a smaller table of their very own to work on as they sat on tiny wooden chairs nearby.

The Store management put the kibosh on Gunner and Libby attending the festivities. They weren’t so much worried about any liabilities that could arise if one of them chose to eat a customer — rather they didn’t want to set a precedent whereby everyone felt so empowered to bring their pets with them, turning the bookstore into a zoo. I could see their point.

“Okay, the store opens in 30 minutes people,” Davee said. He sounded like he was trying to organize a chorus line, herd cats, or something when there were only the three of us to ... herd. He clapped his hands. “So potty if you got to.”

I walked over to the Starbucks counter and ordered my traditional Americano. When I got back Davee had me set to, signing a separate stack of books that were pre-ordered. Each had a card attached specifying to whom I was signing it. He provided me with a very high-end writing stick that flowed smoothly and felt just as natural in my hand as my match-grade Springfield. Yeah, I could suck it up and carry on for two hours of this.