Soldier Boy

09

Cameron's POV

I don't remember much after the raid on the military base. I remember when the Iraqi army came and attacked us, and when the blindfold covered in blood was placed on my face and when one of the soldiers pulled me up from the bed I had been sleeping in and threw me onto the bus they had driven to get there to attack us.

Pretty soon afterwards, I awoke to a sudden screaming noise.

"Don't make any sounds, man. Just shut up and stay calm. Or they'll blow our brains out."

Patrick. He was still alive.

Another scream radiated through the concrete slab building and Patrick yanked on the chain attached to the wall. "The guys handcuffed us to the wall. There's no use in trying to break free. I've already tried. Only cuts you."

"Will they take the blindfolds off?" I asked.

Patrick, though I couldn't see him, huffed and shook his head. "One of the guys said, 'If you behave, we will take the blindfold off. If you do not, death.' I suggest you start behaving, Langford. I assume you want to get back home to see your wife and son. And to do that, you have to behave and stay quiet. If you don't, you'll never see the light of another day."

I gulped, feeling my throat tighten as I swallowed blood. I ran my tongue over my teeth. One of my teeth were missing. It had been knocked out, probably before I came too.

A shuffle was heard entering the room and a deep chortle echoed through the room. "Seems like the American soldiers have been stripped of any power."

Another voice echoed, "This one will be dead shortly."

The other voice said, "The negro or the white man?"

"You idiot! The negro. He cursed this land when he set foot here."

I breathed in, out, in, out. It became a mantra that I repeated until the men left and the door slammed shut around the corner.

There was no air, and the room smelled of blood and cigars.

"One of the guys took my blindfold off earlier and let me look around the room. There's a bolted door with a little hole in it so the guys can check up on us without opening the door. There's no windows, and no shower or sink. There's a bucket to put bathroom waste into that they'll dump out. And the chains and handcuffs. Nothing else. Oh, and we're the only two people in here. But from the looks of it, you'll be alone in here soon."

He got quiet and it seemed like an eternity before he spoke again. "I don't want to die, man." His voice became a whisper and I realized he was crying. "I was going to propose to my girlfriend, Leanna, when I got back home. I picked out this ring with crystal diamonds around a heart. She loves crystals and diamonds, always wears those diamond necklaces and collects those crystals from that sketchy little store up on 84th street back home. God, I wish I could turn back time and go to college like my dad had told me and not entered the military. I guess I signed up for my own death."

I didn't respond, and if I had of, what would I say? Nothing I could say could make this better. His upcoming death was inevitable and we couldn't do anything to stop it.

In the morning, or what I think was morning, the men came back into the room and shoved spoonfuls of watery rice into our mouths, then they took the bowls away and started beating Patrick.

I closed my eyes and tuned out the muffled screams from Patrick and instead focused on the memory that was playing in my mind.

It was the summer of 2001. I was 12 years old. My younger brother, Levi, had just died a few weeks before the end of May, and to deal with her grief on her own that didn't involve drinking till sunrise, Mom sent Julie, only 5 years old, and I to our grandparents lake house in Washington.

Grandpa and Grandma Cooper hadn't been a part of our lives in several years. They didn't even attend Levi's funeral. I couldn't understand why Mom was sending us off to family members who we barely knew.

"You'll have fun, I promise," Mom reassured me the night before our flight to Washington.

I zipped up my suitcase and nodded slightly. "Seems you've been planning this, though. When was the last I even saw them? Maybe once at my first birthday party?"

Mom scoffed. "We visited the lake house after your brother was born. I'm surprised you don't remember, as obsessed with their tire swing as you were."

"No, I don't remember. If you haven't noticed, I've blocked some parts of my childhood from my memory," I said.

Mom crossed the room and placed her hands on my shoulders, forcing me to look at her.

"I know that it hasn't been easy with Levi being gone. But this will be a fresh start, something that you and Julie both need. Cameron, promise me you'll have fun. Okay?"

Julie stood in the hall, watching our conversation with a wide-eyed expression on her face. She had her hands tightly clasped around her bookbag straps, her ballerina doll in the pocket of the bag. Tears were welling up in her eyes. That's when I understood that Mom wasn't sending us off for the summer. It was going to be temporary until she could get back on her feet.

"Fine, I'll have fun. Take care of yourself, yeah?" I said to her.

Mom smiled and kissed my cheek. Turning to Julie, she kissed her head. "You mind your brother. When you two come back home, I'll be better. I just need time."

Mom watched as the taxi drove off. She waved goodbye as it drove away. Julie and I didn't bother looking back. If we had, it would have made saying goodbye all that much harder.

Grandma Cooper smiled uneasily at us as we walked up the driveway. Julie had her hand grasped in mine, her bookbag swinging on her shoulders.

"Hello," she greeted. I smiled softly at her while Julie walked past her and up the stairs to her new bedroom.

"She's a quiet girl," she said.

I nodded and looked around the downstairs of the lake house before heading upstairs myself.

"This room is pink. I don't like pink. Can I request a color change?" Julie said as she mopped around the room.

Her bag and doll were on the bed, and she was putting her clothes away in the flower-patterned dresser.

"I'm not sure you could. These people don't seem all that friendly."

Julie sighed. "When can we go back home to Mom and the apartment?"

I sat on the end of her bed so I could watch her. "Mom has to get sober firstly. CPS moved us here so she could get better. We can't go home until she cleans up. This might be a permanent stay," I said.

She grimaced. "Better get used to the crabby old people and the smelly lake, then."

I laughed and hugged her. "We will be okay."

Three years later, we went to court over custody. Thankfully Mom won her rights back so we didn't have to live with Grandpa and Grandma Cooper anymore. We never liked them anyway.

~~~

The men had left. There was no more screaming. Patrick was alive; they wouldn't kill him yet. He was probably still handcuffed to the wall. He was curled into a ball, his hands covering his head, at least that's what I imagined he was doing. In high school, that was his defense mechanism against bullies. I could hear him crying softly.

"We'll be okay," I said out loud, mostly to myself.

After a while, he stopped crying and started laughing hysterically.

"We'll be okay," he echoed.