Dust

The air was stale, dust drifted through, eyes pointed straight ahead. It had been days since he had last heard from Rick. Things felt upside down. There would always be some message on his Skype or sitting in his inbox when he got back from class. Something must have gone wrong. It’s not natural. It’s not how it was supposed to be. It was nearly the end of his tour. It had been months since he had last gotten a chance to see him and he was still a couple away from the next opportunity. He counted the days until June 8^th would arrive.

            He sat in the middle of the class, eyes shifted to the corner of his desk. Sunlight reflected off his pupils but he sat unwavering. Tears tried to form in the corner of his eyes, prompting a blink, but would dry up before any such relief would occur.

            “Josh, you alright there son” the teacher called from the front of the room.

In unison, as if given an order, the class turned, staring at him. He slowly shifted his eyes up, making contact with everyone but no one.

            “You don’t look so good, is everything alright?”

A slow nod was the only response the professor got. He was a good kid. Solid grades, sociable, respectful. He was captain of two varsity sports teams, teachers’ favorite student. Not cocky or convoluted, but grounded and rooted in life, going places. Why this sudden defiance? Josh wasn’t really sitting in class but instead, there sat an empty shell, one ready to crumble and disintegrate onto the floor, quietly, unnoticed by anyone.

            Why did he have to join the Army? While Josh sat in an intro level history course, he sat in a turret of an APC, praying to not have his face splattered on a passing wall. Not to say that’s how they talk over there, but it is in the back of their minds. Why was he there? He had no purpose there. He said he wanted to see action, to be able to fight people, shoot a gun. He had no right being there. Who was he? Surely not someone who deserved to be running around in another country, chastising and abusing its people. He had heard all the stories, the rocks on cats, the herds of wild dogs being shot at, the power of the laser pointer, the late night sessions with PSP’s in the bathroom. Nothing shocked him anymore. Nothing mattered until he was home, with him.

            “I’m tired sir” Josh numbly mumbled.

            “I see that, well, lucky for you, we are watching a video in today’s class”

            The professor takes a seat in the corner of the room as he shuts the lights off. The projector hurls light onto the screen at the front of the room. Josh stares ahead at the screen. A frown deeply burrows itself in his brow. Colors can be seen dancing in the dust lingering in the air, but the screen is blank. Taking his gaze off the screen, his lips purse.

            The room is empty, no one around him. The desks are vacant, seats in the exact places they were a moment ago, unmoved. Suddenly, the sound of the video kicks in. Great blasts shake the speaker system in the room. Particles shake loose from the ceiling, floating slowly to the carpet. In the distance, machine guns can be heard carrying a conversation on with one another. The rapid busts talk back and forth, clearly discussing death and suffering.

            Suddenly, Josh is on the ground. Looking to his left and right, the desks and chairs of his classmates are gone. Dust blows by his face, finding his mouth and eyes, making him cough and gag. His ears ring as searing hot metal whizzes by his face.

            “Ahhhh” Josh jumps on his stomach, hands on his head. Ahead of him, out of the smoke rolls a tank, ominous and foreboding. As its tracks near Josh’s puny body, an American flag emerges from the swirling dust. Confused, Josh stands, waving his arms at the tank as it rolls to a stop in front of him.

            “Hello…” sneaks out of his mouth as he takes a step towards the armored vehicle.

            Without warning, a cone comes flying out of the smoke, twisting and twirling wildly towards the tank, finding its target. The side of the tank ruptures, spewing flame and shrapnel across the sun-baked earth. Pieces of smoldering metal stick out of the ground inches from Josh’s toes. Out of the side of the tank crawls a body, flames lurching at its back as it struggles to free itself from the wreckage. The camouflage fatigues are no longer visible, only a bare back, darkening with each passing second and each licking flame. The body’s mouth opens but all that comes out is a gurgling whimper. Recoiling, Josh trips, falling hard onto the ground. In front of him is a smoldering G.I. helmet. A half burnt picture of a little girl is held to its front by an elastic band.

            Standing, he realizes that he is back in the classroom. The baked earth is no more and the swirling the dust is gone. All that is left is the glowing projector screen and the empty desks and chairs around him. Walking to the front of the room, Josh peers out the window in the door. Rather than a hallway, he sees a destroyed city street. Cars lay burning, walls are scattered in pieces; a pair of legs is clearly visible under a pile of rubble. Through the haze of the street, figures begin running down the street towards the window. Erupting from the smoke, guns at their sides, they begin firing at Josh. The glass buckles and shatters before Josh’s face as the bullets tear into the window. He stumbles back from the door, knocking into desks and chairs. Catching his breath, the window is again pristine; the other side is once again a hallway rather than a war zone.

            Slowly Josh walks back down the empty rows of desks to his seat, pausing when he reaches it. The room is silent. He slowly takes his seat.

            Josh’s eyes scan the room quickly; sweat is beginning to form on his brow. As a large explosion echoes in the room, the video begins playing on the screen. Images of war flash up. Not World War II, Vietnam, or Korea, but modern war, through the eyes of our current soldiers. Josh’s mouth hangs open as he realizes it is a first person view of someone. As the video continues, he face fades to white; it is clear by the scars on the back of their left hand, Rick is the portal through which Josh is gazing. Men dressed in street clothes appear ahead of Rick’s vision, AK-47’s poised at their hips, opening fire as they reach the middle of the street. The men around Rick spin and tumble in a ballet of death. Some men find their partners, while others finish the dance alone. One man runs forward, turning into a building on his left. Kicking open the door, he stands in its frame, shrieking. Raising his arms above his head, his fists become clenched into balls. A wire runs from his fists down his arm, into his sleeve. In an instant, he disintegrates along with the front half of the building. Through the falling debris a woman stumbles into the street, clenching her left shoulder. Bending down, she scoops up her arm and continues shambling down the road crying.

            The screen shakes as the retort of a few shots is heard. Gazing down, the faded digital camouflage, issued by the United States is slowly soaking with blood. Dropping to his knees, a rifle comes into view, firing off a few quirk bursts of argument. A muzzle flash rips through the corner of the projector screen and a loud, dull “PING” is heard and the video jerks back, looking skyward.  Josh gags, holding down his breakfast, “Oh God…Rick…” He freezes. To his left there comes a noise like a leaking faucet and a deflating air bag.

            “Don’t worry, it really isn’t as bad as it looks” Rick responds from the desk next to Josh, as his left breast pocket soaks through with blood, “You can’t feel the lung filling at first.” Smoke trickles out of a black mark on his Kevlar helmet

            Josh tries to stand, but his legs are cemented to the floor, “What…what are you doing here?”

            “I’m here to tell you it is all alright.” Taking off his helmet, there is a cleanly punched red hole in Rick’s forehead above the left eye socket. “It wasn’t painful, this one finished what suffering the lung could have caused.”

            “Please tell me this isn’t true” Josh stumbles as he finds his breathe.

            “I’m sorry, but it is. Just know I’ll be with you. No matter where you are, where you go, or who you are with, I will always be there.” Rick places his helmet back atop his clean-cut head and solutes his childhood friend. “I’m here when you need me…”

            “No! Rick! This isn’t happening, I’m in class right now, you’re not here, you’re safe, at your base, on guard.”

            “Look around you Josh, you know where you are..”

            Rotating his head left and right, all around Josh’s feet lay the folded uniforms of slain infantrymen. Atop each uniform is a neatly folded American flag. Right in front of Josh is Rick’s uniform. A flag is perched on top proudly, displaying its colors in full glory. A tear streaks Josh’s face, falling through the air, landing on one of the flag’s stars. Looking up, Rick is gone.           

            “Whenever you need me Josh…”

            A hand falls clamps onto Josh’s shoulder, startling him. Looking up, it is his teacher, hovering over his desk.

            “You ok? You look extremely pale. You feeling alright,” concern clearly present in his voice.

            “Yeah, sorry, just tired.”

            “You look run down, why not make a visit to the nurse.”

            Class is over. The room is how it always was. The chairs and desks are in their proper positions. No dirt swirls over the carpet. The Sony screensaver is bouncing back and forth on the projection screen changing color upon every edge hit. The remainder of the students find their way to the door. Standing, Josh takes a few steps, legs still wobbling. Feeling warmth in his pocket, his hand glides in. Pulling it free, three still smoking bullet shells and Rick’s dog tags lay gleaming under the florescent lights of the classroom.