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Authors: Robyn Carr
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friend.
“Where were you living before that?” Cooper asked.
“Here and there.” Cooper decided to wait him out. He sipped his coffee, excellent coffee, and just didn’t speak for a couple of the longest minutes of his life. “I didn’t get on with people so much after the war,” Rawley said. “It wasn’t like now—folks didn’t celebrate Vietnam soldiers too much. Made a person want to disappear. That, and bombs going off while you sleep—makes a man just want to be alone.”
PTSD issues, Mac had said. “Understandable,” Cooper said.
“I stopped by to see my dad sometimes. Just for a day or so, every few years or so, but not for long. I had burdens. You know.”
“I know,” Cooper said. And he thought, there are so many of us. Men without strong attachments who just wander. Cooper didn’t have PTSD issues that he was aware of, but he still felt like a loner often enough. And, like Rawley, after leaving the service he hadn’t gone home to his family. He’d kept moving.
“My dad used to fish off Ben’s dock,” Rawley said. “He’d have a shot of Wild Turkey sometimes before heading home. Ben found me. I hung out with a couple of vets around Eureka, not too far from the VA. Sometimes if we needed something, like food or money to eat, the VA was as good a place as any. Used clothes, too. Then Ben said my dad was doing poorly. He hadn’t been fishing in so long, Ben checked on him and my dad couldn’t get himself upstairs to go to bed most nights so he slept in the chair. Ben said my dad needed help. He said he’d give me a part-time job if it could be worked out.”
“So you came home to help your dad,” Cooper said.
“It’s different coming home because you’re needed than coming home because you’re needy,” Rawley said.
Cooper lifted his coffee cup to his lips. “Exactly right,” he agreed.
They drank their coffee in silence for a while.
“So, you have a house here,” Cooper said. “Place to live and a job. I guess that means you’ll be staying.”
“It’s almost habit now,” Rawley said.
“You keep this place real nice, Rawley,” Cooper said. “It must have made your dad real proud to leave it to you.”
“Like I said, it’s just us. Buried my mother some thirty-eight years ago. The Red Cross brought me home from Vietnam. Since I was an only son.”
“And then you went back?”
“Yeah. But that was okay at the time. I knew how to act over there. I wasn’t real sure over here. Times were different. Soldiers weren’t heroes back in those days. It was hard times here.”
“I’m glad you told me this, Rawley,” Cooper said.
“Why?”
“It’s not easy to work side by side with a man you don’t know anything about,” Cooper said. “I realize sometimes a man’s private.”
“I ain’t all that private,” he said. “Sometimes you get to know a person and you’re sorry.”
Cooper laughed. “I guess that’s true, too.” He drained his cup and stood up. “You order a box for your old man yet?”
“Yup,” Rawley said, standing.
“No funeral, huh?”
“A graveside prayer. A prayer for soldiers, that’s all he wanted. He was real specific. He was in the Army, too. But I think he ordered it up more for me. He was that kind of man.”
“Where is the service?” Cooper asked.
“Why?”
“I thought I’d come.”
“Why?”
“You’re my friend.” Cooper remembered the day Rawley handed him the envelope with Ben’s will and a key without a word and then just high-tailed it out of there. “In fact, one of my first friends since I’ve been here, even if you did leave me to deal with that shithole of a befouled bait shop alone.”
And at that, Rawley grinned. He had a good pair of dentures. “Stank up real bad, didn’t she?”
“Real bad,” Cooper agreed. “But that’s rotten septic over the dam. Now, I’d like to take care of that casket for you, Rawley. I think if Ben were alive, he’d want to do that.”
“Charity
“Where were you living before that?” Cooper asked.
“Here and there.” Cooper decided to wait him out. He sipped his coffee, excellent coffee, and just didn’t speak for a couple of the longest minutes of his life. “I didn’t get on with people so much after the war,” Rawley said. “It wasn’t like now—folks didn’t celebrate Vietnam soldiers too much. Made a person want to disappear. That, and bombs going off while you sleep—makes a man just want to be alone.”
PTSD issues, Mac had said. “Understandable,” Cooper said.
“I stopped by to see my dad sometimes. Just for a day or so, every few years or so, but not for long. I had burdens. You know.”
“I know,” Cooper said. And he thought, there are so many of us. Men without strong attachments who just wander. Cooper didn’t have PTSD issues that he was aware of, but he still felt like a loner often enough. And, like Rawley, after leaving the service he hadn’t gone home to his family. He’d kept moving.
“My dad used to fish off Ben’s dock,” Rawley said. “He’d have a shot of Wild Turkey sometimes before heading home. Ben found me. I hung out with a couple of vets around Eureka, not too far from the VA. Sometimes if we needed something, like food or money to eat, the VA was as good a place as any. Used clothes, too. Then Ben said my dad was doing poorly. He hadn’t been fishing in so long, Ben checked on him and my dad couldn’t get himself upstairs to go to bed most nights so he slept in the chair. Ben said my dad needed help. He said he’d give me a part-time job if it could be worked out.”
“So you came home to help your dad,” Cooper said.
“It’s different coming home because you’re needed than coming home because you’re needy,” Rawley said.
Cooper lifted his coffee cup to his lips. “Exactly right,” he agreed.
They drank their coffee in silence for a while.
“So, you have a house here,” Cooper said. “Place to live and a job. I guess that means you’ll be staying.”
“It’s almost habit now,” Rawley said.
“You keep this place real nice, Rawley,” Cooper said. “It must have made your dad real proud to leave it to you.”
“Like I said, it’s just us. Buried my mother some thirty-eight years ago. The Red Cross brought me home from Vietnam. Since I was an only son.”
“And then you went back?”
“Yeah. But that was okay at the time. I knew how to act over there. I wasn’t real sure over here. Times were different. Soldiers weren’t heroes back in those days. It was hard times here.”
“I’m glad you told me this, Rawley,” Cooper said.
“Why?”
“It’s not easy to work side by side with a man you don’t know anything about,” Cooper said. “I realize sometimes a man’s private.”
“I ain’t all that private,” he said. “Sometimes you get to know a person and you’re sorry.”
Cooper laughed. “I guess that’s true, too.” He drained his cup and stood up. “You order a box for your old man yet?”
“Yup,” Rawley said, standing.
“No funeral, huh?”
“A graveside prayer. A prayer for soldiers, that’s all he wanted. He was real specific. He was in the Army, too. But I think he ordered it up more for me. He was that kind of man.”
“Where is the service?” Cooper asked.
“Why?”
“I thought I’d come.”
“Why?”
“You’re my friend.” Cooper remembered the day Rawley handed him the envelope with Ben’s will and a key without a word and then just high-tailed it out of there. “In fact, one of my first friends since I’ve been here, even if you did leave me to deal with that shithole of a befouled bait shop alone.”
And at that, Rawley grinned. He had a good pair of dentures. “Stank up real bad, didn’t she?”
“Real bad,” Cooper agreed. “But that’s rotten septic over the dam. Now, I’d like to take care of that casket for you, Rawley. I think if Ben were alive, he’d want to do that.”
“Charity
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