Hopscotch: Lost Loved Ones, Page 2

all black, with a trench-coat and dark sunglasses.

  His short black hair is slicked back.

  He flings the object of interest kept in the officer’s top pocket. Strangely it flies right to me. With my free hand I catch it.

  Questioning the jewelry’s authenticity I compare it to the one given to me by Jim, still on my key ring. The two match.

  When I glance back up the dark-clothed stranger is gone.

  02: A Creature Behind the Eyes, Pt 2

  Reminiscing on the surroundings of my academic quarters brings a sense of false comfort.

  It’s difficult to make the transition as I force myself to accept that the life I once had is gone.

  Fear coaxes me to run the opposite way, and yet I find myself picking up my pace.

  I want to appear before our CMSAF (Chief Master Sergeant of the Air Force,) or “General.”

  It’s my honorable duty to inform him I’ll be leaving.

  Looking at the time, it is 21:15.

  I have thirty minutes to complete what takes forty-five minutes at a jogging pace to the academy.

  At 22:00 the General will be making his rounds for lights out.

  I want to catch him while he’s still in his study, so I don’t interfere with his routine.

  Chill bursts in my lungs from the night’s winter air as I push myself to hurry back.

  It feels good to put distance between me and the train-station bathroom.

  I maintain control of my adrenalin to pace myself for the two and a half mile run.

  In my mind I dread the notion of spending the rest of my life running, always looking over my shoulder, suspecting someone knows who I am, and worrying about being shot and possibly killed by authorities who recognize me as the suspect in a fellow officer’s murder investigation.

  I haven’t planned where to go from here, as I race up the long driveway to Abigail Manor.

  Cadets Hathaway and Miller have watch tonight. They stand and salute as I hurry past them.

  The two cadets at the door hold it open for me and raise their hands to salute as well.

  I shoot them a highball, toss my bags and gear into my room, and hurry to the General’s office.

  My stomach sinks as I find his door closed. I can hear him speaking.

  Why did I come back here? He’s not going to let me leave.

  I catch his stern southern voice answering, “I see…

  “Yes Sir, I understand. I will see to it immediately.”

  The phone chimes lightly as the receiver is set down.

  I’m about to knock when the door opens.

  He punctually addresses, “Cadet Garrison;” promptly I salute.

  His scowl pierces my heart as he informs me, “You are to be assigned to another prospectus. We will make arrangements for your personal belongings. Follow me at once.”

  Fighting back the fear threatening to show on my face, I imagine that I’m a cold sculpture,

  “Sir, Yes Sir!” I answer.

  My world is spinning. I breathe in dry stuffy air as we walk through the long academic hallway.

  We’re heading to the back of the academy. From outside chopper blades thump.

  I’m assuming the worst. I’ll be taken to military prison. They know what’s happened and now they’re gonna lock me away forever. I consider the alternative.

  Giving up the decision to run and hide for the rest of my life, I accept my fate.

  I’m airlifted off to an undisclosed location, with a bitter winter climate.

  The facility and grounds are bleak. It looks like a Russian prison camp.

  My punishment is to endure their training. I’m sentenced to 12 years of service for my country.

  The instructors drive me into the ground, forcing me day and night like a machine.

  When I’m not being trained I’m sent on “routine” operations.

  With the objective complete I return to challenge the soldiers who would replace me.

  I drill them with valuable experiences fresh in my recollection.

  My drill exercises never end in preparing for future assignments.

  It is part of an endless cycle. For some this is Hell on earth. For me it’s character building.

  I gain many of life’s lessons while serving. Training gives you the knowledge to prepare you. Practice helps you to transition the information into skills. And the courage gained is not just a virtue, but the result of every virtue refined through its testing point.

  Finding reward in self challenge keeps me mentally motivated. It’s what keeps me going beyond the point when my body should have shut down from fatigue and exhaustion.

  A classmate and I were at a stateside facility after completing three weeks of parachute training.

  We have one day of R&R before the core tasks we’ve learned will be vigorously challenged.

  There’s a giant outdoor parking lot where servicemen store their motor homes.

  He and I are both dressed in civilian clothing, standing toward the back of the parking lot.

  Casually reaching into my pant pocket I unexpectedly find rolling papers with loose marijuana.

  An MP dressed in whites walks by as I’m staring at the contents with confused thoughts.

  I fumble to get the contraband back in my pocket without him noticing.

  He backtracks and says to us, “Do either of you have anything on you I should know about? If I’ve found out later you do I’ll have to write a report about it.”

  He has an encouraging presence, as though insisting everything will be forgotten if I confess.

  But he doesn’t press the question.

  It takes him a moment to recognize us, maybe because we’re in casual attire.

  But I recognize him. He went with us on a few drops while we were training this last week.

  “Oh, hey, I know you guys! I was just about to get off work. You guys wanna hang out?”

  Sure, we shrug. He goes into one of the trailers and changes out of his military police uniform.

  When he returns he has a football for us to toss around.

  All the while, as we‘re playing catch I’m looking for places to get rid of this stuff in my pocket.

  Finally, as we’re goofing off, I ditch the junk into a surrounding edge of bushes that encircle the vast perimeter of the parking lot. I can’t be certain if I got away with getting rid of it.

  Heading back for dinner one of my officers approaches me and says sternly, “There’s something we need to discuss.” But he doesn’t tell me anything more, he just walks away.

  I don’t have much of an appetite for dinner as I force the food down.

  Later that evening I’m brought into my commanding officer’s office and put through a tough series of questions, making me feel even more nauseous.

  He admits he arranged the situation and asks why I didn’t bring the discovered substance to him.

  All the while I was being graded on what I would do with it. I should have known better.

  During the initial training courses involving endless physical trials we’re instructed not to help our teammates in the next exercise.

  Our objective is to make it through a dark and swampy rainforest.

  Halfway through the challenge one of my classmates calls for help as I pass.

  Sometime later I learn I did the right thing by making sure he wasn’t critically injured.

  Then I told him to stay put after noting his location.

  I informed medical personal once I got through the rest of the course.

  This is the only life I know now. My past disappears from my thoughts.

  Each grueling struggle leads to an accomplishment, becoming the only joy in my life.

  When you are at your lowest you find something of value and take pride in it.

  There is a piece of my life that I will always hold dear. That is my Faith.

  We have a daily motto. From it I am reminded of the Lord, being my deep motivation.


  “Round here” our instructor sounds out, and we answer back at the top of our lungs,

  “Motivation never takes a day off…Hoo Yah!”

  If I were to share with you the details of my missions, you would label me an assassin.

  I’m to ensure the safety of the men I am in command over. This means pulling the trigger first.

  There is something different about the look in my enemies’ eyes.

  Their face is void of compassion, as if something is controlling them from behind their eyes.

  I see myself as a guardian angel. Not just to my brothers in arms, but to the entire free world.

  I go to areas oppressed by heartless evildoers.

  I weed out the wicked by digging deep into the soil of this earth and uproot them.

  I keep terrorists in check, so that their power, numbers, and influence do not overwhelm.

  Some may ask, “Where do you draw the line? What separates you from your enemies?”

  The difference is I’m in this fight to protect the defenseless.

  I don’t threaten the lives of innocent men, women, and children.

  My enemies do not follow rules. They fight with different principles.

  Most importantly I believe in Him, and so does the nation I fight for, with God on our side.

  At times my thoughts may be troubled, but my heart is at peace with my role in this world.

  Later I look up the events of that night in the train station, to find the murders were covered up. And just as this life began in a moment, so does the next one which I seem destined to live.

  I like to think that one day I will find a rural place to settle down and relax.

  My hope is that this dream happens at the end of my military journey.

  That dream is far from becoming real, though.

  As promised by the General my possessions are returned to me when I am honorably discharged.

  I’ve waited for what seems a lifetime for the day to receive the gift passed down from Mom.

  It’s hard to believe my life has brought me to