Coming Home

Part 2

I looked up to see a young woman. She appeared to be in her early twenties, and extremely self-conscious. Her hair was crowned in flowers, and she wore bellbottom jeans. Looking around, I noticed that my seat was one of the only ones left open, so I scooted over and allowed her to sit next to me.

She did, and introduced herself, "Thank you. I'm Abby."

"Charles."

All was quiet between us, but I could tell she was eying my uniform.

"You can ask," I encouraged her.

She looked embarrassed, but asked anyways. "Did you, um, really fight in the war?"

"Yes," I responded.

"Were there actual citizens in your firing range?"

Apparently her shyness had subsided, because she looked straight at me, but I couldn't tell if she was angry, or just curious. I contemplated lying, but I didn't want that sin on my hands, along with the others. "Yes," I replied, patiently.

Instantly, she stood up and grabbed her bags. "You are a monster," she hissed, and moved to a seat rows back.

I sat there and stared at the back of the seat in front of me. Hatred was something new to me. I had heard from a few of my buddies who had traveled home on occasion, during the war, that the US citizens were appalled by what we did in Vietnam. However, I had hoped that they would forgive us now that the war was over.

I looked out the window, and saw a sign announce Portland was only a few miles away. My stomach clenched and I hoped that Jolie wouldn't feel the same way. The feeling in the pit of my stomach only increased when I saw my favorite drug store's window painted with an anti-war slogan. The flowers were a nice touch, but it still didn't change what the window said. I bowed my head and prayed to God that Jolie wouldn't hate me for what I did across the ocean. I remained in prayer for the next half hour, until my stop, and then gathered my things and stepped into a different world.

Setting my army bag onto the bench, I looked around for the two things that kept me going after Tommy died. I looked for five minutes straight, and with every passing moment, my sick feeling became stronger. I refused to give up hope on her, but the entire situation seemed impossible. I sat down next to my bag and began to pray again.

It had been ten minutes since I exited the bus, and I felt that all hope was lost. Jolie wasn't going to show up; like the rest of the world, she hated me for my service to the country. Opening my eyes, my greatest fear was confirmed; I would never get to see my son grow, or teach him how to play baseball. The idea of losing the chance to live through those memories caused a moment of weakness, and a tear streamed down my cheek.

"Charlie?" I heard a familiar voice.

I quickly wiped the tears away, and looked up to see my blond-haired angel across the street. "Jolie!" I called to her, not caring that my voice broke from the tears.

She dropped her purse onto the sidewalk and sprinted towards me. I took off running without ever really standing, and we met in the middle of the street. When I collected her in my arms, sundress and all, I knew that everything would be okay.

*A/N

Hey to anyone willing to make it through the whole story!

I wasn't going to post this story, mostly because it's not very good, but I was listening to "Whiskey Lullaby" by Brad Paisley and Alison Krauss (the video from part one), and the song is so beautiful that I had to.