Ten Toes Deep

It had been 148 days since I’d seen my brother, Tommy. He had been deployed twice in two different chaos-stricken countries over the past 3 years. I hadn’t really heard much from him besides a few letters back and forth, which normally took forever to get to each other because of the logistical issues. The letters’ main purpose were to keep him updated on everything that had been going on around our family, and life in general at the time. I would never fully be able understand what he had been going through, even if he had tried to explain it. The torment and trauma of war is not a feeling you can simply put into words. And to be quite honest, that isn’t something that I’d really want to hear about. My mind had already been doing enough of its own unwanted thinking. I was worrying, even though I knew I couldn’t do anything about what was truly happening. Sometimes I wanted to play God, change the world, bring my brother home, and give everyone else their family back as well. Unfortunately, life as most of us know it is much more complicated than that. You don’t get to choose what happens.

It was a regular day, in fact, it was actually a really good day. I had woken up with a positive outlook and I was looking forward to using that attitude to my advantage, especially since that had been a luxury. It wasn’t every day that I felt like I wanted to do something. Some days I would stay inside the whole day, distracting myself from life and society. Not that day though. That day, optimism had taken the spotlight. So I decided to go for a run, which if you knew me, you would know that is not an activity I would normally partake in. I had gone four miles that day, and I hadn’t even realized it.

Home once again, I grabbed some water from the refrigerator and made my way upstairs to start working on a painting. Only this time, I wanted it to be brightly colored, unlike most of my paintings; which usually reflected the dark emotions that I had been feeling while painting. Streaks and splashes of yellow, teal, and orange. It had started to become a reflective summer sunset scene. Taking on soaring seagulls in the sky with puffy pink clouds, hovering above the glistening water. But just as I was getting really involved, the doorbell rang. It had almost seemed like an alarm clock blaring, shocking me out of my chair.

I scurried down the hall to the stairs and started my way down them. As I rounded the banister at the bottom, I caught a glimpse through the front window; a sliver of sight under the window shade… Boots. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but looking back on it now, they were the start of all of this. Those God damned boots… I reached the door and opened it without a thought of what was transpiring. Two uniformed army officials, one with his arms crossed, and the other with an American flag folded in his hands. At this point it had clicked, but I had nowhere near been able to process it. And from one of the men, came this scripted piece: “On behalf of The United States Army and The United States of America, we regret to inform you that Private Thomas Ross had his life taken in battle earlier last night, fighting for his country. He will be remembered as a hero. We are terribly sorry for your loss...”

I had finally been struck by lightning. I stared blankly back at the men, and no tears were shed. No tears were ever shed. I closed the door without a word. I’m still trying to figure out a way to comprehend what happened, and maybe when I do, then I will be able to cry about it. You never truly understand how unfair this world is until you’re ten toes deep in it’s shit. I’ve been placed in a void impossible to fill. I will never have my brother back and he will never have his life back. He will never be able to retrace the bullet that tore through him. All of this because of warfare. Do we really disagree so heavily to the point where blood has to be shed? Is power so important that we’re willing to risk our lives just to taste it? We are so unable to work things out with words and reason, that we cowardly use physical force to dominate another country. Killing innocent people. Women and children’s lives taken at the feet of men who were just following orders. Yet it’s all worth it? It’s supposed to be what is best under the circumstances? I will never understand, and I have a hard time believing that my brother really understood it himself.