Mrs. Carvajal

English IV

7th Hour

Shannon Burke

Bam. Gone.

Curt and I were just screwing around, nothing serious going on, and that's the way it should've stayed. But nothing can be serious in 'Nam.

We played these kind of bullshit games all the time, tossing the stupid grenade around and dumb stuff like that. It was a way to take us out of the hell we were in, and make it feel like it was fun romping through the woods, instead of a war. I'll never forget, now, that we were, in fact, in a war.

It happened so damn fast. He just took a step and bam. He was gone. He was laughing about some stupid story he was telling about home, while we were playing our stupid game, and I was teasing him, threatening to punch him if I got close enough and he took that one stupid step, out into the golden sunlight that was filtering through the canopy and.... bam.

There was a deafening, sharp explosion and suddenly I was very wet and Curt, who'd been standing not twenty feet away, was gone. I looked down at myself and found that my whole front was painted red with his blood, from where it had sprayed all over me when the mine exploded and he was gone. He caught my eye for just a split second, when he knew he'd tripped an explosion, and the look in his eyes was just so eerie, so knowing.

One second he was smiling and laughing and the next he wasn't and pieces of him were all over the place and I was covered in his blood and, somehow, he'd managed to catch my eye somewhere in between those moments.

Dear, God, he was gone.

Gone.

Lieutenant Cross came up to after a few minutes, I guess. I only know it had been a few minutes because O'Brien and Jensen were already up in the trees, picking down Curt's parts. It made my stomach turn, the squishy thud as a particularly big hunk of flesh hit the ground. I tore my eyes away from the bloody lump, though and up to Lieutenant Cross, who was repeating what he was saying for the second time, at least.

"You okay, Kiley?" he asked, his brow creased and concern in his eyes. I was the medic, after all. If I freaked out, or bit it, they'd all be screwed over in a big way. I had to get it together.

So, I straightened myself right up, rolling my shoulders back and leveled my gaze at him. I felt sweat trickle down the side of my face and then realized that, no, it was blood. Curt's blood. I almost lost it again, then, almost snapped. But I managed to pull myself together, hastily assembling my sanity and nodded.

"Yes, sir. I'm fine," I said, my voice like a stranger's. It was strong and confident, somehow, even though I could feel myself shaking. Whether that was imagined, just on the inside, or I was physically shaking I'm not sure. But if I wasn't, Cross still seemed to see through my facade, judging by his skeptical look.

We couldn't afford to lose too much time, though, and I seemed okay enough. So we marched.

--

I was in a sort of daze as we trekked up the mountain, shouldering the weight of not only my physical burdens, my pack and my weapons and my medical kit, but another weight that was far heavier. It was crushing down on me, threatening to cave my chest in if I didn't do something about it. It was building, bit by bit, just sort of creeping up on you, until it felt like it was choking the life out of me. It was getting harder and harder to breath as we marched up the steep slope, through the thick vegetation and foliage. I remember nothing more than a blur of green and the sounds of our boots stomping through the brush that day, up until the point when we stopped for dinner.

Everything is sort of fuzzy, the conversation around me a big conglomeration of white noise as they made subdued small talk, and Kiowa and a few others were off somewhere, doing something else that I wasn't sure of at the time. We had beans. I remember because we were camped out in a little deserted village and felt secure enough to actually cook some of the little real food we had. They were usually tasteless, but it was even worse now, almost like they were soggy sawdust.

I couldn't focus on anything. I just kept thinking back to Curt.

Bam, gone.

Gone.

It wasn't until it was led in on the rope that I even noticed the water buffalo. The poor little thing was kind of pathetic looking, how small and alone it was. I sat there for a long while, I don't even remember how long, exactly, and just watched it. It just kind of stood there, looking dumbly at all of us.

After a while I stood up, brushing the dust off my pants and walked over to the water buffalo. I leaned over, weaving my fingers through its coarse fur, stroking its nose, then I crouched down, offering some of the C rations to it. But it just stood there, staring at me dumbly. That look was so innocent, so blank and somehow intense. I felt scrutinized. That pressure, ever-crushing, returned with full force and I felt trapped.

So I stepped back. What the hell?

Then, before I even realized what I was doing, the gun was in my hand. I looked down at it, dimly surprised by its sudden appearance, then I shrugged and took aim, squeezing the trigger. I watched its knee blow out and give way with a sort of detached calmness, just pure observation, no emotion, no ill will or real anger towards the damn buffalo, just like a neutral third party or something. It fell, then it stood back up, staring at me with those big, black alien eyes it had.

There was silence all around. Not a foresty kind of silence, with leaves rustling, but an absolutely dead, oppressive silence that threatened to crush me, like that weight that was already pressing down on my chest. That's when I started to really, really lose it. I took aim again, rapidly and shot it in the eat, then the blanks, that weird little hump on its back that made it look like a deformed camel. I rapidly blew off two rounds into the flanks.

I wanted revenge, damn it! I had this burning, fiery hate just begging to be let out, coiling in my belly, threatening to burn me up, from the inside-out. It was maddening.

That was for the the VC who set the booby trap. That one was for the damn straight-laced politicians who'd sent us over here, and the recruiters, and the others, and all those who weren't here, and the damn Domino Effect. And, and....

I was just shooting randomly, by then. I wasn't even fully aware of what I was doing. I'd kind of blacked out, in a way. I didn't even remember switching to automatic, but I apparently had, as was evidenced by the gun in my hand then. I was kneeling beside the baby buffalo, and it was breathing heavily, through this bloody hold where it's nose and mouth had been a minute ago and was now gone, a little gurgling noise penetrating the heavy silence.

I realized what I'd done and it was horrible. Why did I do that? Why did I put that animal through all of that?

Because Curt Lemon was dead. That echoed in my mind and I knew it was more than that. It was because I loved him. He was the only person that I'd ever had a real connection with. More genuine than with any girl I'd ever dated or any buddy from school was our connection. He was like my other half.... and now he was gone.

The baby water buffalo was looking up at me then, with those big, stupid cow eyes that seemed to somehow just know. It's really creepy when an animal does that, you know? At that moment, it reminded me of Curt's eyes, just before he blew up.

Then suddenly I was tearing up and sobbing and trying to choke back my cries. I leaned down and whispered, "I'm so sorry," very softly in its ear before putting the poor creature out of its suffering and shot it in the throat. I sat like that, just kneeling over it, for a few seconds before I stood up and turned.

I knew the others were standing around watching me. I could see their feet in front of me—I refused to look up. I couldn't bare to look into any of their eyes, not right then. I opened my mouth, trying to choke something, anything, out, but my voice wouldn't work. I found that my throat was suddenly very constricted. I just shook my head, pulled my rifle up to my chest and walked off.

I went to go pull myself together and keep on keepin' on, like I always did. After all, I was a doctor, damn it, and I had responsibilities to my squad. I sat down over by my pack and pulled out the M&M's I kept for especially bad wounds, because this one was the worst of all.