I walked out of his office and looked up at the sky. “Are you there God? Do you see me?” The sun had reached it’s apex. People mowed their yards, the smell of fresh cut grass should have been strong, but I didn’t notice it.
My silver Dodge Ram 2500 sat by the curb. I bought it after things began to fall apart. It was the one thing I was proud of doing since I returned from war. Maintaining the vehicle distracted me from the magnitude of crap that was my life. Someone had keyed the entire truck in a fit of rage before I bought it.
“It might have been a jilted lover. Lord knows they’re a full-blown horror show when things go bad.”
Due to the scratches and other minor flaws, I got the truck at a reduced price. I didn’t have a problem with the scratches on the truck. The scratches reminded me of my scars. We both survived our experiences.
Large white flurries began to fall from the sky. I got in my truck and opened the large console. Yellow pill bottles littered the bottom. A bottle of whiskey lay in the floorboard. I poured a handful of pills and washed it down with whiskey.
“Time to go back to work.”
I drove through the snow to my new duty station. If you’ve seen one military posting, you’ve seen them all. I’d arrived at Colorado in December from Bayern. My transition from Germany back to the States had not been easy. Everywhere I looked, I saw signs of decay.
When I went to war, I had an idea of what America stood for. Upon my return, I didn’t recognize our society. My idea of what America stood for, for what it represented, it was gone. My illusion was as fractured as my mind.