"I'm worried about her, Cheri." My mom was talking to my father now as my brother and I sat side by side out in the front of the house, on the porch and my brother holding my hand tightly in his. My head was on his shoulder, staring out at the bayou in front of me and the dirt road that curved into the main area of town. I said nothing, but my own mind and heart was breaking down piece by piece as my brother stayed close by me after yet another nightmare that plagued my mind and gave me no sleep. It's been a week.
A week of hell.
Ever since coming home, I've been plagued with the sights and sounds of war that would come into my head when I would close my eyes. Everything made me think of a war again, even just washing the dishes and hearing the knives clunk to the floor made me think of gunfire, having me freeze in my spot and shove my hands over my eyes in pain. I could still hear them, all of them, dying around me and me not being able to help them. I could hear their screams, the pain they were going through when they lost an arm or leg, the screams of agony and for help when I could not do a thing about it. It was making the concept of sleep a chore more than a luxury.
From the moment that I came home I would wake up screaming, seeing certain battles in my dreams all over again and thinking that they were so real. My parents would barge in, thinking that I was in some kind of pain. But they watched me as I was in tears, clutching the bed sheets underneath me in a death grip and a cold sweat on my face and body and my back arched from the bed. It must have looked like I was having a seizure, but if only that was the case. I was still haunted from all that I witnessed and experienced back in Europe. All of the bad things were flooding through me: witnessing Grant being shot, Bull killing the German in front of me with his bayonet, almost dying from a grenade in the cold winters of Bastogne, every prisoner that I saw in the concentrate camp that we discovered, Franklin and his bony body though he showed a bright smile, almost dying at the hands of a German Solider after mere hours of dropping into Normandy. It was all too much, and I thought I would have enough of it. But it was still pounding away at me, like a hammer against my head and never letting me rest and let me have peace. Even eating was hard for me, since my now stomach was not used to the New Orleans meals my mother would make. I found myself not being bale to hold down any meals anymore, loosing weight and becoming more like the undead and throwing up after every meal. It was hell, and I wanted out so bad.
I tried to think of how to make it better, picturing the Easy Company men in my mind and their smiles that brought me joy. It worked for a moment: Luz and his jokes that were hilarious, Bull and his easy smile with his big stature, Doc and his genuine closeness with me and how he spoke French just to calm me down, and of course Joe.
Everything about Joe was bright to me: his voice, the smile he only showed me when we were either alone or in a crowded room, the way his lips felt against my own and made my own mind go blank through his kisses, his hands against my own and my skin, it was all something that I ached for. Joe would be my sense of healing since he was always the one out of the whole Company who truly saw me at my highest and lows. I missed him; just thinking about him burned a bigger hole in my heart. I should have known how bad I was suffering from the war, and the fact that I cannot run to him and hug him just to make it all melt away, that was worse. Was he suffering too? Hell, was anyone else from Easy suffering like I was? Or was I the only one?
Archer would follow me wherever I went. My family adopted him in as our pet, though Archer was more prone to be with me than the others. He warmed up to them though, especially Owen whom he would snuggle with behind my back. I was just glad that I was not going to loose Archer, since he was another positive reminder of the war. He got me through rough nights, even the ones when I was not talking to Joe. He was a sense of normalcy for me then, but now it was harder since even a dog could be help with the nightmares and the stress that was coming through me.
It's been one week, though it's felt more like a decade as I drifted from day to day as if I was a ghost in my own home. Images flooding behind my eyelids made me hard to just breathe some days. Most of the time I sat on the porch, staring at the distance and thinking that I was going to wake up and be back at the war again. At first my mother and father were hesitant, knowing that I was going to go through some kind of pain and drawback, but this was far worse for them to see. My brother could only watch me as I would sob in my father's arms in the wee hours of the morning, having me see the pain on his own face. He would be in the same place as I if he wasn't deaf and he was accepted in the army. Did he know that himself?
That afternoon Owen had an arm wrapped around my shoulder, his other hand holding my own as we just sat there on the porch, watching the sun sink down and saying nothing. Archer was asleep on the porch, head on his front paws and snoring. I had bags under my eyes, my hair was growing back to it's original length I had before I left for Camp Toccoa, but it was now in knots and not kept. I was wearing one of my nightgowns, not wanting to change out of it as I heard my parents walking in the house in hushed whispered and concerned tones.
"She's suffering right in front of us." My mother said in a worried tone, having me hear her heart break.
"All she needs right now is the time to heal, cheri." My father reassured her in a soothing tone.
"No, that's not what she needs." My mother argued, having me blink once in my brother's arms as he hold on his tightened.
"You need to let her breathe, she's trying to find herself again." My father kept saying to my mother, but I heard her slam her foot on the wooden floor beneath her in retaliation.
"She is not the same daughter we lost four years ago. She is not the same, you and I know that. What we have now, is a broken soul that we cannot repair." My mother explained in a bold tone, having me close my eyes and cry on the swing, having me see one of my tears hit my brother's shirt and he pulled my chin up to look at him. I watched him with glossy eyes as he smiled at me, the kind of smile that showed that he knew my pain and was going to suffer with me. Using one hand, as the other was still holding my shoulder to keep me near him, he signed to me smoothly.
I can never know what you went through. He signed to me showing in his face the pain that he was feeling through me. But I want you to tell me everything.
I don't think I have the strength to tell you. I confessed to him through my shaky fingers, having me see him catch my fingers in his spare hand to stop me from signing anything else. He shook his head at me, a stern look on his face as I then saw him do something fascinating. He has only done this one or twice in his life, when he was moved by something so big that he and no choice but to do it. I almost sobbed from this action.
"You're strong enough." He said to me in a bold tone, having me smile at him as more tears were coming down my face. Rarely would Owen speak, and when he did it was huge in our house. I had no choice but to go through it with him now; tell him all that I did what I saw. He smiled at me, nodding at me as I then took in a deep breath, though my lungs were in pain from screaming so much from my nightmares.
So I told him, everything that happened and all that I witnessed, both the good and bad. I signed slowly, showing it in my face the good things with a smile or two and the bad things with frowns and pain in my face. There was so much that I told: the prison camps, the grenade mishap in Bastogne, the night I went MIA with Bull, the French family I saved in Carentan, and other things. Owen watched, not saying a word as I signed to him every person and how they were different and kind to me. He smiled when I told him about Luz and Bull, even about Toye and all of the men's antics while we were in the war.
He watched in wrapped attention as I then talked about Joe. I explained how we met and how our relationship formed from a mere friendship to actual love for one another. But I went on to tell him how we fought and then made up again, though it was hard for me to tell them that. Lastly, I explained our love for one another and how much I loved him, seeing them then look at the brass ring I was still wearing. I never took it off, not once. It was a symbol for me to remember Joe and his promise to me: the one silver lining in this whole shit hole of a situation.
I wanna meet him. He signed to me finally after I told him all that I wanted to say. I gave him a confused look, seeing him shrug his shoulders at me.
Do you? I signed back with a hint of confusion on my face. He made a fist and moved it up and down, the sign for Yes.
He's important to you, very important. He loves you, and I can tell you love him. That's one thing about this war that I would want to hold on, wouldn't you? He signed to me with a raised eyebrow, having me only smile softly at him and nod my head. My brother, though he was younger than me, had times where he was wise beyond his years. He knew more about me than I thought I did, and I was forever thankful for him in how he would accept my suffering and want to take care of me.
Does mom and dad know about him? He asked me with his fingers, having me shake my head and hear him scoff at me.
What? I questioned with a shrug of my shoulders.
You're going to have to tell them both some time, since they are worried about you and if you're going to keep suffering. Owen explained to me with a stern look back on his face, having me watch him intently as he went on.
You at least have to tell them both about Joe, you owe them that. They'll understand about what happened to you, Marley. You have to trust them with that. I looked away from him at the sunset that was in front of me. A part of me was afraid to tell them about what I saw and did in the war, since they would flip out from knowing that I was close to dying plenty of times. Would they be proud of that? That their daughter was about to die because she made stupid decisions once or twice while over there? And what about me telling them about Joe? Did I even know what their thoughts were on the fact that not only did I want to marry a man they haven't met yet or gave approval or, but that he was also a Jew? Would they hate that? What was I going to do? I sighed, closing my eyes again and feel Owen holding me close once more as our discussion was over.
I had to tell them.
I sat in the tire swing in front of my house in a sunny Sunday afternoon, resting my head on the top of the tire as I was slowly swaying back and forth in the air. The air itself was still and soothing, yet I was no even close to having a soothing mind since I haven't slept in days. I only stared ahead, saying nothing and doing nothing but swaying in the tire swing in one of my summer dresses. My hair was down past my shoulders, wavy and flying in the wind that was coming up from under the trees and through the bayou. My bare feet were gliding over the grass with every sway. There was nothing that was helping me cope with what I was suffering. I tried so hard to sleep, so hard to forget all of the nightmares that were coming back to me. But nothing was working. Even just playing with Archer was not helping. He was currently under the willow tree near the roots that were digging into the earth, gnawing on a bone that I gave him from the leftovers that I once again threw up.
"I remember when you asked me to put this tire swing up." I heard next to me, having me look over with my eyes and not move my head. It was my father, whom was standing next to me with his hands in his pockets and looking off in the distance as well, but having a soft smile on his face. I've missed that smile, it reminded me of my childhood.
"You were three years old, a skinny little thing with flaming hair," My dad went on with his smile never leaving his face, "As I recall you begged and begged for a tire swing, for almost two weeks you pleaded with me. Now your mother, God Bless her, she forbad me from getting you one. But who was I to go against a beautiful little girl like you?" He stroked my cheek, having me smile against his finger as he rang his fingers in my locks.
"After I got this thing on, you would swing for hours and hours on end, day after day when you came home school. You broke your arm on this when you were 5, and I remember you being on this thing when we told you that you were going to have a baby brother." My father went on with his reminiscing, having me see him finally look over at me and gave a small smile on his face again. I didn't move, but he did as he placed his hand on my cheek to feel my cold cheek against his calloused hand.
"It brings me sadness to see you on the tire swing and not be filled with joy." He confessed to me, having me watch him with my eyes as my hands were still clutching the rubber underneath me, "And you were never one to show sadness or pain."
"It's just hard, papa." I explained to him in a trained tone, having me see him watch me with an intense look on his face.
"Then you must tell me why it is so hard, fille." my father urged me, having me close my eyes and squeeze the rubber from underneath me more in order not to cry in front of him and not loose it all over again.
"I don't know where to start…" I gave some pathetic excuse, but I then saw my father walk over to stand in front of me again. He was looking down at me with such pain in his eyes from seeing me in pain. I could see what the years of being on a boat did to his face and his body stance: he was a fisherman through and through. The tan on his skin, multiple scars from the accidents he's harbored and endured, the lines to show the stress not bringing enough bread on the table. He was still handsome to me, beyond so.
"You need to start at telling us all that is haunting you," He explained to me in a serious tone, having me watch him carefully, "We are concerned about you and how you are not the same daughter we had when you left us four years ago. Your mother and I want to help you, but you must help us by talking to us." I knew he was right, very much so since he was concerned about me. Everything that was holding me back from telling him was no longer there, all of the walls I had up with my mother and father were crumbling down now and I was now ready to tell him. But where was I going to start?
"I just…" I started, taking in a shaky breath before finally getting it all of me within one breath and one swift of tears upon my cheeks, "I can't sleep anymore because I see the faces of men who died around me. I can't eat because I'm not used to real food anymore, and I get sick from smelling something mom makes, and I can hear the screams of the soldiers around me dying and I can't do anything about it." By this time I was crying in front of him, silent and big tears were coming onto the tire swing as I was shaking from my crying.
"I can still feel the blood of the men, all on my fingers and face when I look in the mirror. I almost died plenty of times over there, papa. But now it's the same thing, over and over when I close my eyes and when I have a moment alone. I can't escape from it, never." By this time, he was squatting to be at my level and running his fingers over my hair over and over to soothe me. I saw how sad he looked from seeing me break down in front of him. As I did with Owen, I told him all that happened. he listened through every turmoil that I told him, not speaking or interrupting as I then told him about the prison camps and how I found the poor men there. The more I told them, the more I can see it in my head and it made me weep even harder. This was good for me to voice what happened, what I saw and what I felt, but then again it was like a knife was stabbed in my heart over and over. The knowledge that this was going to haunt me forever was slowly coming over me.
"Bon Dieu." My father gasped as I finished telling him about all that I did out there in the field. Somehow I felt better after voicing it all to him, thinking that it was some kind of weight that was washing over me now and making me feel lighter.
"But it was the men I worked with that made it more bearable," I explained, seeing him now look at me with interest, "They protect me out there, papa. I never met a better group of men than those guys who were in Easy Company." He smiled at me, a warm smile as he placed his hands on my own in the tire swing, having me then gave the sense of smiling as well since I thought of the men in my Company, my brothers, and how they made me feel joy and happiness.
"Tell me about them." He urged, seeing that there was some kind of spark in me then when I mentioned the men.
"There's Winters, our major. He's very kind, sincere and a good leader. And Nixon, another Captain of ours, he liked to drink and was more sarcastic. And then there's Eugene, he goes by Doc, the other combat medic on the company. You would like him, papa. He's very kind and makes me look mediocre with medicine. He's my best friend in the group." I went on, talking about Luz, Toye and Bull, Guarnene and Malarky, along with those we lost in the war like Tipper and Muck, along with Julian. But I left Joe for last.
"He's…..he's something else." I started, a smile was still evident on my face and I could feel warmth flooding my cheeks as he watched me with his own grin on his face, "He's sarcastic, very stubborn and hardheaded, snarky with his comments and his remarks, a good soldier…but he was also kind to me and never saw me less than what I was. And…I fell in love with him." I said the last part in such a breathy tone that it felt so easy to say out loud, a bigger grin was on my face as I was dozing off in my own mind, seeing Joe there with a grin on his face and his eyes so warm, "It was easy for me to fall for him I guess. But I didn't think he would love me back, not for one minute. There's no one else like him, papa. I can't picture myself with anyone else than him." As soon as I finished with that thought, I snapped out of my dazed fantasy of Joe and then look at my father. He was still watching me, but his smile never left his face as he heard what I said about Joe. I felt then under the microscope with him, since I just confessed that I fell in love with a solider in front of my father and I had no idea what he was going to say next.
"You love this man?" He asked me in a curious tone, though I could see something glossy in his eye. I nodded my head, the smile still there and my heart feeling a bit better. No matter how many times I said it out loud, it was still giving me butterflies when I thought about it and said it from my own mouth to someone that was not myself.
"More than anything and anyone." I replied back to him smoothly as I then saw a single tear roll down his cheek and hit the dusty ground beneath me, having me see him then frame my face gently in his hands, having me think of Joe again and even Doc, since they have done this to me so many times.
"If this man can make you smile and have joy again, from what I'm seeing now," My father said aloud, having me see that he was talking about how I was being affected now as I was telling him about my time with him, "Then I want to meet him sometime in the future and shake his hand."
"Shake his hand?" I asked him, confused as to why he would say that.
"For making you beyond happy." He explained to me, having me finally grin from ear to ear for the first time since I came home. My father saw the happiness back on my face, and all that I needed to do was talk about it with him and get it off my chest since there was no other way tog et the demons away from me. I then bit my lip, having to realize that I had to voice one other factor to Joe that would be important.
"I should tell you." I started, having me see him watch me now with interest as I took in a deep breath and watched him carefully to see the look on his face.
"He's a Jew."
"Oh dear."
