> > * An Award Winning Heartwarmer * > > FRIENDLY FIRE > > I have been thinking about him all month, and the thoughts get > heavier, as Memorial Day draws closer. > I don't remember his name, but I remember his face -- pale, thin -- > and a body, splotched with a cancer that old men get. But he was just > nineteen. He was a good looking boy, who should have had a bright future > before him. But he was dying. He had AIDS. > I was a Department of Defense "sand crab." One of those faceless, > civilian people, who work for Uncle Sam at military bases. It was my job > to discharge sailors whose discharges were "other than honorable." I > thought about "honor" a lot, that day, as I interviewed that young boy and > typed his paperwork. He kept looking at my daughter's picture. She was > about his age. > "She's so pretty," he said, wistfully. > I felt uncomfortable. I moved her picture, and I proceeded to do the > job I hated. I placed the paperwork on my desk and gave him a pen to sign > his name, asking all the meaningless questions I'd asked before, explaining > his "rights". He nodded, sadly. > In my heart, there was a rage going on. This boy was being sent home, > with an Other Than Honorable Discharge, and it wasn't fair! It was an > abomination, and all of us who worked with him knew it! Worst of all, > there wasn't a thing we could do about it! > He had been in surgery at a Navy Hospital, and he had needed a blood > transfusion. He was given infected blood -- blood that gave him AIDS. > When he found out, he went berserk! In a panic, he also went UA, otherwise > known as "Unauthorized Absence." The Navy proceeded to catch him, charge > him, prosecute him, and discharge him -- through me. > So, there I sat with a young boy who was dying, because he was > infected in a Navy Hospital with a disease that, at the time, NO ONE had > survived! He didn't yell at me, or call me names, or threaten to have his > mother sue the Navy. He just sat there, sweet and hopeless. And I was > helpless to do anything, except process him out of the Navy. > Yes, he had committed a crime. Desertion is a crime, according to the > Uniform Code of Military Justice. He should have been a man! He should > have stood his ground! He should have stayed the course! I knew all the > arguments. Instead he ran, and ran, and ran, and ran, trying to escape the > disease he had caught in a Navy Hospital. > I completed his paperwork, my heart crying out to God, for some clue > that could help his mother get some recompense for the healthy, hopeful > child she had entrusted to the Navy -- and for the shadow of a child who > was going home. The records were silent. Anything that could hold the > Navy responsible was no longer in existence. Everything in front of me > condemned him, on new, crisp, white papers. > As he continued to sign his name and date every paper, somehow my > fingers got in the way. One of those new, crisp, white papers sliced the > tip of my finger and, being a bleeder, I bled all over my desk, and him. > Then he did something extraordinary. > He grabbed some tissues and he began to blot the blood from my hand -- > our hands touching, for the first time -- my hand pouring blood onto his > diseased hands. Suddenly, we both realized that our hands had touched. > That my blood had washed over his lesions, and his lesions had come in > contact with the cut on my hand. > Our eyes met for an eternity. Then he jerked his hand away. We never > spoke of it. We left the papers as they were, blood spattered, along with > his single, bloody fingerprint. Then I sent him home, knowing that he'd > never see another birthday. > As we approach Memorial Day -- a day when we remember veterans of the > past -- I think of a mother placing flowers upon the grave of a boy, who > had died in a losing battle, for his country. > > -- Jaye Lewis »§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§« You're Just Jealous Because The Voices Are Talking To Me Richiele Sloan ICQ #63829109 (Missi) »§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«