"Aim." A Marine Captain in full dress uniform commanded the line of seven other marines to his right. The Captain held a ceremonial sword in his right hand as he stood at attention, the blade touching his shoulder. It looked like a pirate sword, with a gold hilt, and curved, shining silver blade. The line of honor guards wore their dress uniforms as well. The sky was grey and dark, threatening rain on this April day. At the command, each of the Marine honor guards simultaneously raised their M-1 Garands to the sky. The weapons were also ceremonial: wooden stocks, painted pearly white: polished and lacquered to mirror shine. The bolts that sat atop the weapons and the barrels protruding from the far ends were painted ebony black and just as shiny.
"Fire," The Captain commanded, quickly swinging the sword blade so it pointed to the ground and then bringing it back to his shoulder. The honor guard simultaneously loosed seven shots into the sky. "Ready, aim." The Captain commanded. The honor guard all operated the manual bolts on top of the rifles, in one swift motion ejecting the spent round and inserting a new one. "Fire." The Captain yelled again loudly. Again seven shots were loosed simultaneously. The long rifles were loaded with blanks, and so sounded like little more than boy's cap pistol. The whole process was repeated a third time. "Order arms." The Captain finally shouted; sheathing the sword in the scabbard attached to the left side of his belt. In a rhythmic four count movement, the guards lowered the rifles: placing them at their right sides, butts touching the ground, barrels pointed to the sky. The line of eight Marines continued to stand rigidly at attention.
Ben and Monica were among about a hundred or so people gathered watching the proceedings. Ben wore the same black suit and red tie he'd worn in New York. Monica clung to his right arm in a simple, unadorned, ankle length black dress. Her hair was pulled back and held in place with barrettes. Both had tears welling in their eyes. Staring at the coffin perhaps ten feet in front, with an American flag draped over it. The sky thundered and flashed lighting, finally letting loose the rain it held. Ben popped open an umbrella. He and Monica stood on freshly greened grass of spring, but this day was not about birth. They stood amongst row upon row of Moslems, monuments and headstones of varying shapes and colors. Willow Ridge cemetery was a depressing place to begin with and the day simply made it worse.
After the twenty-one-gun salute was finished, four more marines stepped to the coffin and lifted the flag. A small brass band began playing Taps. The marines began folding in the customary triangular fashion of the United States Military. "On behalf of a grateful nation, whom he proudly served." The Marine Captain handed the folded flag to an oriental looking woman, perhaps in her middle Fifties with black hair, seated by the coffin. She accepted it and wiped tears from her eyes.
"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, as we have lived so to shall we die. We are gathered here to commit the body of Henry Wayne Phillips to the ground." A tall preacher in a white robe spoke at the head of the coffin. His voice was deep and throaty. "The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever (psalm 23)."
"I never knew he was a Marine, and who'd they give the flag to?" Monica whispered in Ben's ear. Ben regarded her and shook his head, indicating he had no answers.
Three months had passed since Ben and Monica had formally re-forged their relationship. Ben was nineteen now, and Monica would turn twenty-seven before the end of the month. For the youngest Conner it had been another hard semester. Ben had returned from the January weekend with Monica to the news of Henry's illness. Henry was perhaps the one friend, outside of Monica, that Ben had truly made in Denver. The kindly grandfather was a large part of the reason Ben and Monica existed as a couple. Now that friend was gone. Monica didn't watch or listen to the interment so much as her boyfriend. He stood silently, looking at his shoes, his lower lip quivering with the strain of holding his emotions in check. Monica had never watched Ben work so hard in his life at this moment. The image made her cry harder.
Ben's mind wandered back and was remembering the rude shock of coming back from Rocky Mountain National Park. "I thought I had the flu. I'd still think I had the flu, if they weren't telling me otherwise." Henry was dressed in deep purple bathrobe and resting comfortably on top of his hospital bed as Ben sat in a chair next to him.
"Well what are they telling you?" Ben asked hesitantly as he looked around. Henry's room at University Hospital was pastel blue, with furnishings similar to the one Ben had occupied.
Henry looked down; it was the first time Ben could ever remember the old man looking scared. "Pancreatic Cancer of an aggressive nature. If I heard them right."
"Jesus." Ben looked down also and let out a labored breath. "Well what does it mean?"
"I suppose it means I'm in big trouble," Henry replied, somewhat puzzled by the question.
"No I mean, like, can they operate?" Ben attempted to clarify.
"Maybe, that's what they said maybe. Which sounds suspiciously like, no, to me." The grandfather rose and walked over to the window, staring out at the bright Denver midday. Ben's emotions overwhelmed him and he turned his head away from Henry as he started to cry. "Hey, I'm not dead yet." Henry walked over and put a hand on Ben's shoulder. "How'd you get here to see me anyway?"
Ben looked up with still moist eyes to meet those of the grandfather. "Skipped my first class and took a cab over. Don't have a car anymore."
Henry reached into the pocket of his robe and pulled out a set of keys, offering them to Ben. The keychain was a small metal replica of crossed checkered flags behind a Chevy logo; it was the symbol of the Chevy Corvette. "Boss I can't accept this. It's too much."
"Hey, I'm not bequeathing it to you. I'm just loaning it to you. You just make sure you don't crash it." Henry started laughing as he wagged an index finger at Ben. However this made the old man instantly begin to cough and gag. Ben watched him wipe a small amount of blood from his mouth with a handkerchief. "Oh, damn." Henry quipped as he looked at it. The old man crawled back into bed.
After the interment Ben and Monica got into separate vehicles. Ben continued to drive the grandfather's Corvette, and Monica her Bug. Ben began thinking out loud as he followed Monica to the reception. "In some ways he was the best friend I had here, he was certainly the first. For some reason he just took a liking to me." Ben was fighting to hold back tears and focus on the road. "Now he's gone. Except for Monica, I have no reason to be here. I don't belong in Denver."
The reception was held in the fellowship hall of the church where the funeral service had been held. A tall red brick building with light grey roof shingles and white concrete archways over the entrance doors. Inside the hall was carpeted the same color grey as the shingles. Banners of various colors with bible passages written on them adorned the drab white walls. The hall was filled with black round top tables and folding chairs. At the front were long banquet tables with the trays of sandwiches, chips, and other hors-d'oeuvres on them. Coffee and fruit punch provided the liquid refreshment.
Monica worked her way through the serving line first followed by Ben. They sat down at one of the tables near the front of the hall and began eating quietly. Ben watched the entrance and rose when he saw the oriental woman who had been given the flag. He had never seen her before today, but she obviously had to be part of Henry's family. Ben watched her go through the serving line and sit down before he headed over. Monica watched Ben but didn't immediately follow. "Miss my name is Ben Conner, and Henry was my boss." He extended a hand, which she shook.
"So you're Ben, you sit down please," the woman said in a thick Korean accent. She motioned to the chair next to her. "My name, Kim," she covered her chest with her hand, indicating herself.
"Pleased to meet you." Ben took his seat. Kim was defiantly native Korean, or so Ben guessed from her slightly fractured English. She was in her middle fifties, but carried her age quite well. There were a few wrinkle lines beginning to form at the corners of her eyes. Her hair was black, and showed no signs of grey. Her eyes were dark brown but still clear. She wore a white blouse and navy blue skirt. Kim was beautiful now, and must have been a knockout as a younger woman, Ben thought.
"Henry, he speak of you, very much." She smiled at Ben.
"I was very fond of him also. He just seemed to take a liking to me, I don't know exactly why."
At that moment Monica wandered over and sat down next to Ben. Kim immediately guessed who Miss Young was. "Ahh, so this, this is the woman Henry mentions."
"Excuse me." Monica tilted her head and made a face, indicating she didn't think Kim knew her.
"Indeed she is lovely." Kim studied Monica's face for a moment before continuing. "Henry mentions her as well. You wish to know why Henry like you?" Kim's eyes roamed back and forth between Ben and Monica.
"Yes." Ben answered emphatically.
"He was a wonderful man, but we knew so little about him. We didn't even know he was a Marine. So you have us at a disadvantage." Monica finished Ben's thought.
"Yes, yes, Marine, and a war hero, in Korean War. He save my village, and me. See my village in Korea, near Pusan perimeter. Very fierce fighting, Henry's regiment suffer sixteen thousand causalities in eighteen months. My village being bombed, Henry risk life, bring trucks to evacuate our village." Kim fought back tears as she told the story.
"We never knew an, any of this." Ben and Monica said in unison. Both reached to comfort Kim.
"Henry never talk about it. Anyways, he save me and we fall in love. After war we make a deal. I tell him I not want him to be solider. He say okay, if I come back to America with him." Kim wiped her eyes with a tissue.
"This might sound like a strange question, but how old were you, when you met Henry?" Ben raised an eyebrow.
Kim smiled sweetly at the memory, "I was sixteen." Ben and Monica looked at each other sharing the moment of realization.
"What happened between you two?" Monica asked after some time.
"His family not approve of me. So we try and make our own way, but we have no money. Henry fulfilled his promise and leave Marines, so he have no job. Henry always so ashamed he could not take care of me. He said I deserve better. He go back to school, learn how to be reporter, but he." Kim's voice trailed off as she began to cry.
Ben and Monica could both guess the rest, life had gotten in Henry and Kim's way like it had theirs. Ben rose and reached into his pocket, "Well then, I guess these belong to you now." Ben handed Kim the keys to the Corvette. "I wish someone had been there to give you and Henry a helping hand like he did us." Ben closed Kim's hand around the keys and gave it a supportive squeeze. Then he turned and headed for the exit.
"Nice to have met you." Monica quickly shook Kim's hand and then walked briskly to catch up with Ben. He had already climbed into the Bug. Monica drove the couple back to her campus apartment. Ben never made a sound on the way.
"I can't believe he's gone." Ben seated himself on Monica's bed, which was a single just like his. It was the first time he had ever seen the place. The apartment consisted of three small rooms. The main living space contained Monica's bed on one side and combination desk, shelving unit on the other side. Not unlike Ben's dorm. However her apartment also featured a small kitchen and bath. Monica went to the refrigerator and produced two Coors longnecks. She handed one to Ben and sat on the bed next to him. He took a big swig and was lost deep in thought again, remembering the last time he saw Henry alive.
The grandfather was much more pale and unable to get out of bed. Chemotherapy had removed what little hair he had left on his head. His eyes were bloodshot and he now wore an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose. Ben took a seat next to the Henry and leaned in, resting his elbows on the bedrail. Henry could sense Ben was upset about something, beside just him. "Mon and I are having some problems. Or maybe I'm having some problems, I don't know. Denver isn't my home boss, and Mon doesn't want to go back to Washington."
Henry let out a labored breath at the news. "You know what ya think as ya lie here?" Henry coughed frequently and found talking difficult. "You know you're gonna die, and you think that's alright. You lived a long time, you had a job you liked, and you had family that loved you. You thought you even managed to make a difference for a few people." Henry reached out and rubbed Ben's hair. "And then someone tells me something like this. Ben life and love is going to give you all kinds of barriers. Kick em down. I've tried to help you two, don't let my generosity come to nothing. Life can only stay in your way if you let it. You've already done what I could not. You sacrificed a whole previous life to get back the woman you love. Don't make the same mistake I did." The grandfather closed his eyes and slept.
At the time, Ben hadn't had the heart to ask Henry what his mistake was. Ben returned to the present, realizing he'd met Henry's mistake this morning. Ben downed the rest of the beer and went to the fridge for another. Monica's face showed grave concern as she watched him. "Ben take it easy, alcohol won't help you right now," she said as he returned to her side. Ben flashed her an angry look and took another long drink. "Ben trust me, I know from experience, that stuff, it'll get ya drunk, but it won't kill this kind of pain." Monica covered his hand with hers.
"Monica, I'll grieve in my own way and time," Ben said sharply, anger flashing in his eyes again. Ben took another drink before continuing. "I don't belong here Monica: Denver isn't my home." He held his beer bottle by the neck with his thumb and index finger, sloshing the contents back and forth gently as he spoke. Ben stared intently at his shoes.
Monica considered how to respond for several moments. She listened to the rain pelting her window, as she tried to come up with words to avoid a storm inside her apartment. She took another drink of her Coors. "You've had a rough year, I don't deny that. All I can say is that things won't always be this way. We can build a life here if you give it a fair chance." She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.
Ben finished his second beer before responding. "Monica, with Henry gone the only reason I have left to stay is you. I had friends, I had family, hell I had a life back in Seattle, and so did you as a matter of fact." Ben reached inside his suit coat and produced two plane tickets. "I'm going back to Washington to see my family and friends. I'd like you to come along." Ben rose from the bed again and went for a third beer. Monica tried to protest but couldn't make any words come out. This time Ben didn't return to the bed. Instead he grabbed the folding chair from her desk and spun it around. Sitting backwards he propped his elbows on the chair back, he was now facing Monica. She could see his cheeks were flushed; the alcohol was starting to affect him. Ben raised the bottle and took another large swig.
"Ben if you need to visit your family and friends that's fine. Just don't ask me to come with you, I can't do it. Please god don't ask me to again. All you need to do is see them, and then you won't be so homesick. I meant enough to you, that you came over a thousand miles to find me. Now suddenly I don't mean enough for you to stay? I don't understand this." Monica could no longer hide the desperation in her voice.
"I'm not sure I want to stay. I feel like my life is there, you are a very big part of that life and that's why I want you to come along." Ben was yelling now.
"So it's my responsibility to pick up the threads of an old life. To spite what could happen to me if I do." Monica lost control and started yelling back.
"Well it's my responsibility to build an entirely new life. To spite my accident and the fact that my best, maybe the only friend I have here, is dead now." Ben raised his voice even more, though it was the alcohol doing most of the talking.
"So you don't consider me a friend." Monica's voice was hard as steel but there were tears in her eyes.
Ben took another big drink. "Monica I have made many sacrifices and leaps of faith to continue this relationship. You honestly think I don't want it. Yet the minute I ask you for a sacrifice or a leap of faith you refuse. So no, at this moment you're not a friend. In fact at this moment I'm remembering why we nicknamed you Meanica in high school." Ben shook with rage, his emotions intensified by drink.
Monica rose and nearly slapped him, but stopped herself. "You're drunk Ben, you don't mean any of this."
"Oh don't I. Monica Young, so pure, so self righteous. You've never had an out of control moment in your life have you. Oh wait yes you have, and it was me that caused it." Ben got up and paced the room as he screamed.
Monica's eyes narrowed, she grabbed Ben by the arm and stared up at him. "You know something I've never seen you drunk before. Now that I have, let me say, you're not just a drunk, you're a mean drunk. Now get out! Go home and sleep it off." She snapped and tossed Ben his umbrella while herding him towards the door.
"You expect me to walk?" Ben's eyes burned right back at Monica's.
"That's right, and don't expect to find me at that airport when you leave tomorrow." Monica shoved Ben out the door and down the hall. A neighbor happened by and gave Monica an, is everything all right, look. She nodded that everything was handled, but the neighbor remained in the hall.
Ben walked a few steps and then turned. "If you're not with me when I get on that plane, don't expect me to come back, ever!" Ben studied Monica for a moment, allowing his last words to linger. Then he turned and stomped out of the building. Monica ran back into her apartment and collapsed on her bed sobbing. Her plane ticket was still lying on her desk.
The next day Ben summoned a shuttle service to take him to the airport. He checked his bags at the United counter and shouldered a blue duffle bag, which he'd carry on. Denver international airport is large and Ben rode the people movers for nearly twenty minutes to get to his gate. He passed through security and placed his bag on a seat in the terminal. All the while he was in the airport, his eyes searched the masses for Monica. There was no sign of her. Ben removed an aspirin bottle from his bag and popped a couple in his mouth. He had a headache this morning. He also had a nervous feeling in the pit of his stomach. Ben knew he might have damaged his and Monica's relationship beyond repair. He'd thought about calling her to apologize, but his male ego wouldn't let him. Ben waited until the final boarding call for his flight. He shouldered his bag and slowly walked toward the gate. As he handed the attendant his boarding pass he took one last look around. Monica Young was nowhere in sight. Ben Conner lowered his head and descended the boarding ramp alone.