Time Marches On
Chapter 1: Unforgotten Memories
Hitch awoke from a nightmare. His breathing was rapid, he was sweaty and overcome with fear. It took him a few moments to realize he was no longer in the desert or Europe, fighting in the war. He was in his old bedroom at his parents' home in Manhattan, where he had been for the past three weeks, trying to adjust to normal life again.
The signs of his childhood were all around him: completed Erector Set contraptions, models, books, Lincoln logs, Tinker Toys, ice skates, a wooden sled, tennis racket, baseball bat & glove. On a high shelf was a well-loved Stieff teddy bear named Cuthbert overlooking the room. A Cornell pennant and a poster from MIT adorned the walls along with numerous pictures of girls he had dated. On the bedside table was one of him with Isla at a formal dance.
He took several deep breaths and let them out slowly, trying to calm his heart rate and breathing. Overcome with nausea, he ran to his bathroom and emptied the contents of his stomach into the toilet. When the retching stopped, he sat on the cool, tiled floor in his boxers for several minutes struggling to put the nightmare images back in their mental compartments.
The night terrors had been occurring frequently since he returned home and they left him feeling weak, frightened, and angry that he couldn't move on from his battle experiences. He knew the other three members of his team suffered from "combat fatigue," formerly known as "shell shock," and had similar nightmare experiences. It didn't make it any easier.
During the war, they were able to talk with one another about the incidents which helped them keep the feelings in check. He missed having them around and realized he hadn't slept alone in a room for over four years. He didn't think it would take such an adjustment. He shivered slightly and stood up. He rinsed his mouth and wiped his face with a washcloth then grabbed his glasses from the nightstand. He ignored the slippers next to his bed and wrapped a flannel robe about his muscular frame.
Quietly he opened his bedroom door and made his way downstairs to the kitchen. He put the kettle on and waited for it to heat while removing a mug from a cupboard and finding a box of peppermint tea bags. Coffee would have kept him awake but he found the smell of the tea to be comforting and relaxing. He poured the hot water over the tea bag in the mug adding a cube of sugar and a splash of milk. He deeply inhaled the aroma several times before taking a sip.
He sat at the kitchen table, holding the mug in both hands while he again went through the deep breathing ritual. He could feel tension leaving his shoulders as he slowly relaxed. He missed having Tully, Troy, or Moffitt close by to confide his disturbing dreams. He prayed they were not going through similar trauma and better adjusting to their new normal lives.
As Hitch slowly sipped his tea, he thought about his three closest friends. Over four years ago they had met as strangers and now there wasn't anything they wouldn't do for one another. In some cases, they had, taking a bullet for one, putting their life on the line for another, pulling off a daring rescue here or there. They were connected to one another by the deeply intense bonds of battle and life-threatening perils that made them comrades in arms, a close-knit band of brothers.
Several hours later, Ellanora Hitchcock had awakened and noticed the door to her son's room open and his bed empty. She entered the kitchen and found him asleep with his head on his folded arms atop the kitchen table. Her heart ached for the suffering he was experiencing and wished she could make it all right as she had done to all his "boo-boos" when he was a child. This was going to take more than a motherly kiss and a cookie to repair.
Naively she had thought he would return home and all would be well. How many hours had she prayed for his safe return. He came home relatively intact. For that she was eternally grateful. Some of her friends hadn't been so lucky. There were too many scars from battle wounds but physically, he seemed like her precious son, Mark. The twinkling ice blue eyes and the beautiful smile were there but he seemed so much older and wiser than when he left. That was to be expected. He had seen and done so much in service to his country. He had the medals to prove it, not that he cared for the recognition, but he was a hero in every sense of the word.
Looking at him asleep at the table, all she could see was her baby boy. If only she could hug or kiss the pain away, but she knew he would struggle with the combat fatigue for years to come. She drew a deep breath and put her hands on his shoulders.
"Mark?" she whispered lovingly. He jerked awake.
"I'll be okay, Mother," he said quietly patting her left hand on his shoulder.
"I know you will, sweetheart," she affirmed. "And I'm here whenever or however you need me."