The Haunting Past of Tall Grass: A Memorial Day Dedication

My good friend is no longer moving. Blood is dripping from the left side of his head, and his ear is detached and dangling downward by a strip of pink skin. The tall grass cradles him as it sways in the wind. He stares past me but I pound on his chest anyway to revive him until I finally resign to the reality that he's gone. How can this be? We've been together since the beginning of this war. Sobs from deep in my gut cause me to fall onto him and suddenly I don't give a shit about the chaos that surrounds me anymore. I'm not going to get out of Vietnam alive anyway. Everyone can go to hell.

Hands grab at my feet and pull me backward until I fall into the brown and red-swirled water of a long and narrow trench. Blood, rotting flesh and human waste thickens the water that's covering my legs, making me wrench. I look down the line. There's no words or emotions from the other soldiers firing at the unseen. Their stares are different than my friend's. Fierce. Strong. Alive. 

A soldier hits me in the back with his elbow and pushes me against the muddy wall. A bullet pings the top of the helmet next to me and flies off into the distance, leaving the soldier's head unscathed. I don't know him, and I don't want to. All I want is my family who are counting on me to get home. I hope they will forgive me for not being able to write.

I lift up my gun and start firing with the same ferocity as my neighbor not out of want but out of need. We have to win this war. After all, everyone home is counting on us. Supporting us. They care about us. We can't let them down. Despite the horror of watching my friend killed by an armored child of about eight years old, I can't let this place kill me too. So I keep firing. 

Five years later...

It's been a long, horrible road but I'm back and about to step on my home soil again. I walk down the stairs that are leading me away from all signs of the past atrocities. All I want to do is hug my family. My hat lifts up into my hand as if in glee with the wind. The mixture of asphalt and freshly cut grass permeates in the air. How I've missed these smells. 

A gooey substances hits my chest from where I don't know as we walk toward the cheering crowd. I look at the shiny, brown mush closer. More smacks me on my neck and smears across my chin. And the pungent smell makes me stop short. The closest crowd is not happy to see us. They are throwing feces at us.

I stand proud despite the odor. Family embraces are awkward as their noses wrinkle against my smell. I can't blame them. I stink. Not just of feces but of war. I was fighting for my country. My flag. Our freedom. Now, all I'll be fighting are the flashbacks and fear of seeing my friend in that tall grass again. 

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Please remember and support our soldiers. They fight the enemy during the wars and themselves afterwards.

This is dedicated to my uncle who was on the front line in Vietnam. I'm sure this will resonate, though, with anyone from any country.