I, Soldier - part 19

"Tommy, can you hear me?"

It was Colonel Truman. That was a pleasant surprise. I picked up the radio and pushed the talk button.

"Hello, sir. I really stuck my dick in the mashed potatoes this time. I'm sorry."

"You can say that again. Bailing you out of trouble is becoming my full-time job and I don't want that. Stay with me, I have a special guest."

I was pretty sure I knew who was going to talk next.

"Thomas? Can you hear me? It's Alexandra."

"Reading you loud and clear, my love."

"Good, because if you truly love me, you'll do what I tell you now. You nearly killed several people today: your fellow Americans. The people you swore to defend. The people who paid your salary in Army. Go back to that cabin. There are cops waiting for you there. You'll spend the night in jail. We'll work things out from there. Understand?"

"Yes. I'm sorry I broke my promise."

"We'll talk more about that later. Make sure you return that radio."

"If there are any National Guard around, I'd love to meet them. Maybe shoot an M60 again for old time's sake."

"I don't want you touching any guns for a long time. Please come out of the woods."

"OK, I'm coming. Over and out."

I returned to cabin with my hands up and my fingers spread. They cuffed me, put me in a cop car, and drove me back to town. As the cell door clanked shut, I spread out on the bunk and finally got some decent shut eye. I found it strangely amusing that after kicking me out of town, they were now locking me in so I couldn't leave. People are weird.

I had a vivid nightmare full of bloody violence, darkness, and running. Maybe it was a lingering scopolamine flashback. I had heard LSD does that. I awoke with a start and freaked out the guard a bit. He tapped the cell door with his nightstick and spoke.

"You OK in there?"

"Yeah, just had a rough day is all"

"You and me both, pal."

The next morning, they let me out with little fanfare. Alexandra met me at the police station entrance, and we got into a taxi together. I broke the ice.

"I know I'm not getting off scot-free, so what's the plan?"

"So glad you asked. Also, good morning, how are you? Anyway, you're going to pay for the damage and injuries you caused. Don't worry, you can afford it. You'll be under house arrest with me for a year and will be required to take mandatory counseling for your substance abuse and mental health problems. Don't even try to argue with me. The judge was extremely impressed with your military record. Truman told him everything. That's why you're getting off so easy."

"Thank god for that, at least."

"Yeah. You hungry? There's diner on the way to Portland. It's about 40 miles up the road. We'll stop there. And we're flying back. We'll land at Dulles. My car is parked there."

"I'm impressed Truman was able to track you down so quickly."

"Let me put it this way. You weren't the only person reading my letters. A lot of your fellow soldiers at Da Nang were really worried about you."

"Crafty sons of bitches. I had no idea. All's well that ends well, I guess."

The diner had really good coffee. I guess that sheriff wasn't so bad after all. They didn't have avocado toast, but she didn't care.

"Listen, you have so much potential. Don't throw it away out of anger. We'll work through it together."

"One day at a time..."

I stared off into space and drank my coffee slowly. 

The rest of the trip was peaceful. It felt so good to be back at her place. There was new typewriter on her kitchen table. She pointed at it.

"That's for you. Write everything. It will help you. You've had an amazing life."

That was first time anyone said something like to me. I did well in school, but never got much recognition for it. At least that's how it seemed to me at the time. I was looking forward to telling my story.

The next day, it was off to the therapist. I had a vague understanding of what they did. To me, they seemed like Army chaplains minus the religion. I can respect that.

It was a nice office with soft earthtone colors, potted plants, bookcases, and so on. I couldn't remember the last time I had been in such a relaxing room. 

"Hello, Thomas. Make yourself comfortable."

She seemed nice. She was in her mid 40s, I guess. A lovely yet mature face and glasses. I was curious.

"Before I start, do you mind telling me a bit about your education and clinical experience? I'm honestly curious."

"I have a master's degree in psychology and spent most of my career treating criminals and addicts. Later, I opened my own practice."

"That's good to hear. I think we will get along well."

"How are you feeling today?"

"Pretty good. I'm kinda sorta married to the love of my life."

"Kinda sorta?"

"I proposed to her. I live in her apartment. She hasn't given up on me yet, and don't think she will."

"When was your last drink?"

"I had a beer the night I got back from Vietnam. None since then. I'd like one, but Alexandra hasn't brought any home and I doubt she will any time soon."

"Does that make you angry?"

"Not really. My emotions are subdued."

"I see that. You have a blank expression. The clinical term is a flat aspect."

"I read about that once. I've read a bit about psychology for military purposes."

"And what do you mean by that?"

"I studied psychology for the same reason that torturers study anatomy."

"That's very disturbing and makes me uncomfortable."

"My bad, just being honest. War isn't about playing nice."

"Very true. How do you feel about Vietnam? Your time there?"

"I feel sad about what's happened there and what's going to happen. I did as much as I could, and that was a lot more than most."

"You did a brave thing. I was given your file in advance. On the whole, I think you should be proud of yourself."