I noticed his patches
In the backbar mirror
Before I recognized who he was
It's part of the brotherhood of the uniform
He'd taken the vacant space beside me
And ordered his drink
Letting his eyes adjust enough
From the scorched land surrounding us
Before my arm encircled his shoulders
I didn't want to trigger a reaction
That would have us busting-up the joint
And disconcerted around these spit-shined poags
His half-formed smile died
When I asked about our mutual friend
And his eyes looked right through me
As mine drifted past him toward the door
Sightlessly staring at its emptiness
Realizing doorways would evermore be vacant
But not as hollow as my heart
When I asked How? and When? and
Where?
He just turned into his drink
And my stomach heaved
As I heard him gulp
And my back humped
As that cold burned down his throat
And my legs began to tremble
As his medicine spread a soothing calm
And my guts turned queasy
As his mind blanked all unpleasantness
And my hands started to twitch
I could hear the ice rattle in his glass
All the way to the TOC
All through the SITREPs and AARs
All through the casualty reports and movement orders
He was already gone — indisputably gone
Undoubtedly long gone
Probably already buried
On some other God-forsaken camp ground
And the ice just rattled around inside me
No matter how much I drank
It still rattled
No matter how numb I became
It just got colder and wetter inside
I held an unfinished letter to him
Never to be sent
Full of banalities and trivialities
A little rough humor and nugatory news
With love between every inconsequential line
An affirmation of camaraderie
That would not embarrass either of us
That would not abash a pair of fraternal confreres
A couple of tough guys
With devil-may-care attitudes
Who dove off cliffs into rocky waters
Who chased jack-rabbits on motorcycles
Who jumped out of perfectly good airplanes
Who trained hard and played harder
Who thought going off to war was natural
Who could out-run and out-shoot and out-swear
Everyone else in our units
Who drank ourselves stupid
And still performed better than most
And no matter how loud the ice rattled inside me
Or how often I replenished their buffer
The images would not stop
Of us buying Christmas presents for a poor family
Of us puking in the swimming pool
Of us taking orphan kids on a picnic
Of us helping to put-out a brush fire
Of us talking all night under the stars
So many images — not nearly enough
So many deeds — going through the motions
So many words — saying so little
Intending so much more
Meaning more than was said or done
And the more I tried to drown that rattling ice
The more I could not forget
The more I wanted to remember
That he was sharp and smart and swift
And selfish
And insensitive
And unsympathetic
And that his laughter was too often cruel
Like the vague line between tragedy and comedy
Was something he alone shared with the gods
And he had no time for anyone who couldn't keep up
Like the time he plucked me from the crowd
And we showed them what for
There was usually a trick or a catch
somewhere
Like the time he expelled his naked girlfriend
And I had to cover her retreat
And he was quick to challenge — perhaps too quick
Challenging anything or anyone
It was his virtue
If not his strength
You could not change him
You could only accept him
Or endure him
He was not unlike an extremely capable dog
That was amazingly good
And occasionally disobedient
That caused others anxiety and inconvenience
But would always be forgiven his transgressions
And would eventually die in some misadventure
Leaving an aching void where he had been
Listening to every stray howl
Hoping to recognize his bark
Trying to catch him trotting
Out of the tail of your eye
Waiting for that crooked smile
Or jaunty expression
On his almost ugly face
Sending shivers deep inside
To rattle the ice that drinks won't melt
No matter how much things are out of focus
Those old snapshots just fade
Into emptiness
Like all the dead-soldiers littering my compartment
A chamber full of ghosts
Feeding from an empty bowl Please sir, give me more
He wasn't everything he could've been
He wasn't even what he should've been
But he was something — an especial friend
Oh God, I miss him
Or maybe I just miss what I wanted him to be
Or maybe I just miss what might've been
What can never be
I didn't want it to be this way
But it's cold and empty inside Damn that incessant rattle
Rattle of ice
Chatter of teeth
Clatter of bones
Give me more to quell that deftless din
More pictures and words to deaden the rattle
More painkiller to soften the impact
More volume for the void
Anything but that endless rattle More, please
by Viktor von Bruderkin
... who is a former Marine, a war veteran, and an amateur poet
whose work has appeared previously in this magazine.