The entire winter had been a miserable one. It almost never stoped raining, and when it did, the overcast dreariness still weighed you down, depressing you somehow.
During this horrible winter, James Maguire, now 50 years old, ended up on more doorstep. Standing on my porch, protecting himself from the rain pouring down outside, I ushered him inside, offering him lime cordial and Arnott's biscuits like all good grandmother's do. His face, while it's had a fair few wrinkles added to it, and the small scar across his left cheek, remained much as I remembered it.
"Not that I'm not happy to see you, James, but what brings to my neck of the woods?" My house is hardly 'in town'. I moved here 3 years ago. I realised just why Jonathon loved 'the sticks', as he had affectionately nicknames rural Minnesota, as much as he had.
He took off his hat, and it was then I realised he was wearing a military uniform. Dress blues, to be exact. So, the Air Force, I presume. I also knew that, by that gesture, he was the bearer of bad news. "Do you remember Jack?" my mind draws a black, as I try to recall a 'Jack'. And then it hits me.
"Jonathon O'Neill?"
He smiles half-heartedly, "Yeah. He hasn't been called that in years" and there's a hint of sadness in his voice, as if remembering back to when he was Jonathon and not Jack. I return his smile, wanting him to continue, but not entirely sure if I could accept what he was about to tell me.
"He joined the Air Force after he left school. Been in it ever since. He's a Colonel now." He paused for a second, his eyes downcast. He shifted back up again, this time, small puddles of salt water collecting in his eyes, "He was killed in action. Last Friday"
It takes a second for it to hit me, but when it does, it hits at full force. I back up into my old lounge, grabbing the armrest, trying to comprehend what I had just been told. "How?" I finally ask, as I regain control of my emotions.
He shakes his head, "Classified" he said bitterly, "Even I don't know." He paused for a second, "I spoke to his Second-in-Command, though. Said he died saving his team. That's all I was told."
I didn't remember James leaving, or the rest of the evening for that matter. It was hard to accept, that after all these years for not knowing, that the boy I'd come to see as one of my favourite students, was dead. He had been killed.
Of all the scenarios I'd dreamed up over the years for Jonathon, the military had no been one of them, especially 'Classified' missions.
And then I realised, the boy – Jonathon- who I'd met 44 years prior, that sparkling little kid, wide-eyed and adventurous was no more. He had grown into 'Jack'. Colonel Jack O'Neill. A Military man.
Then a thousand questions invaded my head, Family? Friends? Faith? Fishing? Questions I needed answers to.
Glancing over at the note young James had left me, I saw the funeral service was 3 days from now. I was invited.
3 Days, and I'll find out just who young Jonathon became.