Brass and unity, p.7
Brass & Unity, page 7
The next thing I know, I grab on to something solid, and my fingers dig deeper for a hold. My head hurts, and I reach to feel for a bump, but all I touch are thick strands of hair matted with sand. I lick the salt water from my lips, open my eyes, and squint up at the sun. My head turns sharply toward the sound of water, but I’m safe on shore. My shoes are missing, my shirt is ripped, but my camera and glasses are in my hand, and I’m breathing.
Slowly, I sit up, looking in a daze at the calm shoreline, wondering how the hell I came out of the ocean alive without smashing my head on the rocks or slicing myself open on the sharp coral. Never in my life have I faced death. It’s the first time I ever felt that level of exhaustion and fear, all elements that might become the norm once I deploy.
I wipe the sand off of my legs and slowly get up. Not a scratch on me, and I know I’m lucky to be alive. My toes wrap around a shell with my first step, and I pick it up as a memento. I turn around for a moment and take one last look at the water lapping at the shore. One of my footprints has almost filled in completely, the other one entirely erased.
Next week when I’m home, I’m going to spend every precious moment with my family. And I’m going to make sure they know how much I love them, in case I don’t make it back from my tour. I laugh at the irony of it. This Cuba holiday and my family visit next week is my chance from the military to get my affairs in order in case I don’t return from my tour.
***
That thought weighs on my mind during the whole week I have with my family, and I spend as much time as I can with them. Everything seems raw somehow, right up until our last evening together.
“Are you sure you don’t want us to drive up to see you off?” Dad asks, handing me the placemats.
I look into his eyes, remembering how his face was my last vision before I went unconscious in the ocean, then shift my gaze to the table. I can’t help but notice the fading colors of the tattoos on his forearm as he sets the fork next to the plate. I’ve been soaking in every detail of him, of my home.
“I’m sure.”
“We can drive you,” Mom pipes in as she pulls a dish from the oven and sets it on the table.
“It’s fine, really.” I watch the butter melt into the rice, dig out a spoonful, and pass it to Dillon. “We’ll say our goodbyes here. It will be easier this way.”
“Well, I made your favorite meal for your last evening with us.” Mom places a chicken breast on my plate.
“Thanks, Mom. I’ll be back before you know it.”
Everyone is silent. We’ve managed to avoid talking about what happens next, and I want to keep it that way. So all through dinner I tell them about some of the funny things during my basic training to keep things light. When the guys taped me up in the cot, how Labonté kept me running with the promise of candy. But it’s when Mom clears the table and stands at the edge of the kitchen counter with her shoulders shaking that I know it’s on everyone’s mind, despite the conversation.
It’s my chocolate Lab, Houch, that comes to the rescue, nuzzling my hand as it drops to my side, his tail wagging against the chair. I look into his soft brown eyes. If only everyone could understand like he does.
I roll up the frayed edge of my placemat as Dad says, “It’s not like you’re just moving away from home or changing schools, kiddo. You’re sure you don’t want us there?”
I know how I felt when the waves were sucking me under and pounding me against the surf. I wasn’t strong enough. What makes me think saying goodbye here will be any easier than tomorrow? I want to tell him that more than anything I would like him and Mom to be there, to give me a hug before I fly to a place where people are trained to kill me. But I can’t do it. I need to drive back alone so I can think and put everything in perspective.
“I’m sure, Dad.” I walk over and give him a big hug. Part of me wants to stay here forever, with his beard on my neck and the warmth of his body keeping me safe. A bigger part of me, though, wants to go and prove I can do this. This is the career I’ve chosen, and I’ve accepted everything that it means. But I’m going to miss them. “Let’s go watch some TV,” I say, turning away from him so he can’t see the tears forming in my eyes.
We go to the couch, where Dillon is already flicking the channels, and we watch a show together. The whole time, Mom and Dad stare at me, like they’re trying to memorize my face. For a while Mom rubs my back like she did when I was a little girl, running her fingers through my hair. I feel so helpless in their sadness and lean into Houch’s brown fur with a big sigh so they can’t hear it. Everything they sacrificed all these years to get enough money for my Tae Kwon Do and nationals tournaments. My tour will likely age them.
When Dillon and Mom go to sleep, Dad gets up from the couch. “Have a beer with me, Kelsi?”
I should be in bed right now, but I find comfort in Dad’s voice alone. “Sure.”
“I’m hauling a load next week,” he says, handing me the bottle.
Houch pads behind him, then settles down with his chin on my knee, his sad brown eyes watching my every move.
“Mom’s going with you?”
“Yup.”
“That’s good.”
“Have to take the dog to the vet when we get back.”
“Something wrong?”
“He’s walking strange. Seems to favor his right leg more. Not unusual for a lab.”
I rub Houch’s velvety ears. “You better be here when I get back, buddy.”
Dad shifts in his chair, and when I look up, his eyes are misty. He starts to say something, but his voice cracks, and instead he takes a swig of beer.
We sit in silence for a long time, then start talking about the weather and sports and things that don’t really matter. I want to tell him how I really feel, but that tightness in my chest when I was sinking in the ocean comes right back to me, and my eyes start to tear up.
In the morning, I feel an overwhelming sadness as I lie in bed. Houch pads over to me, and I slide onto the floor and cuddle with him. “I’m going to miss you.” I scratch behind his ears. “I can tell you that. I can tell you everything.” I lean into his soft fur and hold him until his smooth tongue licks me. I look into his deep brown eyes. “I’m scared, you know that? Scared to leave this all behind, everything that is so good. Am I doing the right thing?”
He whimpers and licks my face.
For the rest of the morning, Houch follows me around wherever I go. When I load my bag in the truck and turn to say goodbye, he’s nervously weaving among everyone’s legs.
I start with Dillon. I stand on my tip-toes and knock the ball cap off his head. He tosses me around a bit before returning the hat to his head and giving me a long hug. “I love you, sis.”
“I love you too.”
When I reach for my big, tough dad, he starts crying, and I fight with everything in me to hold back the tears and be strong for him. Houch paws at our legs, whimpering, and Dad pulls back and looks me deep in the eyes and through his tears says, “Love you, kiddo.”
Mom is doing her best to keep it together, but when I hug her, I can feel her tears on my shoulder.
When she lets go, she forces a smile, as I do, and we say “I love you” at the same time.
I turn around and step into my truck, wave one last time, and drive away. I look in my rear-view mirror and see Dad and Dillon holding Mom as she sobs. Dillon waves, and I turn the corner.
They’re out of sight but not out of mind. I pull over to the side of the road and stare out as if in a fog. My breathing becomes heavy, a mixture of sadness and excitement, fear and wonder. But mostly my family comes back to mind. The next time they see me, I’ll no longer be their little girl.
SIX
Home, Sweet Home
March 2009
Water slides through my hair and down my back. I draw a line on the foggy glass door, reach for each drop from the showerhead, each soap bubble that floats into the air. Clean, warm, safe showers aren’t waiting for me in Afghanistan as they are here on the base. And definitely not my own private bathroom. I step onto the cold tile floor one foot at a time, savoring each step, every bit of Canada. Facing deployment is weird—everything feels heightened.
My breath quickens as I reach for the hair dryer. I look at myself squarely in the mirror and take some deep breaths to keep my nerves at bay. Leaving for Afghanistan is the moment I’ve been working toward since I first left home. Most of the night I lay awake, worried that I would sleep through my alarm and miss the flight, but I don’t even feel tired! As the heat from the hair dryer flows over my head, I close my eyes and imagine myself in the desert. I’m not sure I should feel so excited that this day is finally here, but my mind is clear, and I am ready to go.
This is the thought I focus on until I’m inside the regiment filled with soldiers saying goodbye. Every time a lump forms in my throat, I remind myself that, for the first time, I feel I’m where I am supposed to be in my life, and it is a beautiful feeling. I’m in the right place. I’m proud to serve my country.
This mantra is harder to hold onto as the room gets more crowded. To my right, an entire family hugs a sobbing mother. Nearby, a soldier kisses a young girl, holding her shaking body. Behind me I hear, “I’ll be safe, Dad. I promise.”
But right in front of me, a mother strokes her daughter’s hair, holding each strand to her face, committing it to memory. I close my eyes and hear Mom say, “You’ve got this, kiddo,” like she has for every single significant event in my entire life. I wish now that I’d asked Mom and Dad to come to see me off, but it’s too late. Why did I have to play tough? I would give anything for one of Dad’s big bear hugs right now.
I bite my tongue to stop my eyes from welling up and walk slowly toward the medical lineup. This will put me in a different headspace. Last time we got our vaccinations, I almost passed out. I cried, actually, like a small child. Then I remember something from when I was a small child. My mom used to cut out the word “can’t” from the dictionary. Anytime I said the word “can’t,” she would say: “Go get the dictionary. Is that word in there?” I would say: “I can’t find it.”
It’s time to not find my can’t.
I brace myself, but before I roll up my sleeve and take a deep breath, the guy jabs me in the back of the arm without any warning! I swing my arm forward, causing the needle to fall out.
“Hey! No countdown or anything?”
“Well, now we have to do it again, so I can count if you like.”
Ugh!
I sit as still as I can and three, two, one! It burns, but it’s over.
Afraid
Still afraid of needles?
How do you feel about vicious, murderous religious extremists?
Ah, right.
That’s what you signed up for.
The needles were a surprise.
One of these things is going to do much more harm to you than the other.
Can you guess which one?
A day later, it’s the first time I’m calling my parents from overseas, and with each number I press, the farther I feel from home. My eyes well up again, and I set down the phone till I can pull myself together. I have three days with the troops before we fly to Kandahar, and the barracks we are in right now is covert, so I can’t even tell my parents what country we are in. All I can say is I’m in a stopover place—I have to be tough.
The nine-and-a-half-hour time difference is drastic, and I know my parents won’t be awake, but I need to hear a voice from home, even if it is through the answering machine. We hit the ground running tomorrow, and I’m nervous. But I won’t tell them that.
I dial again, and my stomach sinks with the silence after each ring. Pick up. Please.
A tear starts to roll down my cheek. I just saw them a couple of days ago, but I’ve never been so far from home.
The answering machine comes on, and I close my eyes at the sound of their voices, wishing them right here with me. The beep comes all too soon. “Hi guys, it’s me. We made it here safe. Guess what? We had the whole plane to ourselves.” I grit my teeth, then continue rambling on in my usual style. “The heat is so intense, it’s like someone’s holding a blow dryer over my head, and has it on full blast. I’ll call tomorrow if I can. Love you.”
When I get back to my room, I label and categorize my clothes and boots as a distraction. It’s more like a dorm with bunk beds than a hotel, but it’s world-class compared to Farnham. I shower, and a bit of cool water feels incredible. It’s the first time I’ve stopped sweating since being here. After drying off, I am still wet and realize that I will be permanently sweating as long as I’m in this part of the world.
I crawl into my bed with the crazy awareness that tomorrow we go to war. My alarm is set for 0500, but I won’t need it. Everything seemed so far away yesterday, but now it’s sinking in that I’m actually here. I don’t expect I’ll sleep much tonight.
It was a little over two years ago that I chose this amazing career, and it has already taken me so far. I’ve been all over Canada, through the U.S., Cuba, and now I’m heading to Kandahar.
Earlier tonight, I was eating ice cream with a bunch of people I barely know, to whom I’ll soon be trusting my life in a war zone in Afghanistan. I didn’t make the close bonds during BMQ that I was promised the day I signed up for the forces, but I’m sure now that once we’re in the field it will come together. I saw during our mock battles that when we’re in the thick of it, soldiers have each other’s backs.
My chest tightens at the thought of war, and I close my eyes and burrow into the starched sheets; I really need to try and sleep.
I shift on my pillow and look at my watch: 0300. In a couple hours, the Hercules transport plane will take us from our stopover place to Afghanistan, and we’ve been briefed on what to expect. Joining me on that beast of a plane will be a whole battery of artillery soldiers. The flight will take five hours, and during the last hour, when we head into Afghan airspace, we have to put our kit on, since that’s when things become dangerous. I’m excited to get out there and put my skills to the test for the next six months.
I take a deep breath and think of my new lover. Its name is mangosteen. A lot of the local food is not exactly up my alley (camel milk is not my thing), but these juicy, white, fleshy fruits are incredible, and I can’t get enough of them. Wish I had some now to quiet my mind enough so I could get to sleep. Even more, I wish Mom were here to rub my back like she did when I was little.
0400. In a few hours, I will hand over my civilian clothes, which I won’t need until our next leave or at the end of our tour. Then I’ll make my way in line for my plates, vests, weapons, ammo, helmet, and webbing. Our gear was shipped over months ago while I was still training back in Canada. Now I have to sign for it all, because it’s mine for now, and I’m responsible for anything that goes missing on our ops. I am happy and nervous all at the same time. I try not to think about the soldier who had this kit before me and why it wasn’t needed anymore.
My alarm goes off at 0500, and I bolt out of bed to pack up my things. I chuckle to myself, thinking about how everything is jammed in my bag right now, when back in basic everything had to be folded so perfectly! I remember one of the officers telling me once, “Calm down, Burns, it’s just a game.” Soon I’ll find out if that was true.
I lace up my boots, custom-made for me because my feet are so small. Small but mighty. That’s me. But I’m ready for war. Here we go.
Welcome
Kelsi, finally you’ve made it to war.
I’ve been waiting for so long.
Right now, you think you’re “small but mighty,”
but you’re so wrong.
You’re small, yes.
But mighty? Ha.
You’re anything but.
SEVEN
Afghanistan
April 2009
My stomach reels as the plane flies in tactical motion, in case someone tries to shoot us down. I’m pulled back, squeezing the bottom of my seat as we accelerate quickly and then drop.
I lurch forward. We zoom up again, then side-to-side, then down. I might throw up, but it’s so much fun.
The new normal is that people don’t like us here. But then again, I’ve been bullied for my entire life; this time, though, the bullies happen to have access to explosives.
We make it to Kandahar and to the Kandahar Air Force (KAF) base. This base is a large “safe” area where NATO runs everything in and out of Afghanistan. The division of the Canadian Army I’m in is under NATO. In fact, this base is where more than thirty-six countries are working together to bring down the Taliban and restore peace for the civilians. And now I’m a part of this meaningful mission—to help the innocent Afghan people.
The door of the Herc opens, and we all step out. It isn’t nearly as humid here as it was where we flew in from. It’s a nice, dry, fifty-degree heat, and it’s actually quite comfortable. While we unload, others on the tarmac are loading up to leave. They’re finished their tour or are heading out for their home leave travel. They look exhausted.
“Bine! Jen!” I spot my friends minutes after getting off the bus. I have never been so happy to see two familiar faces.
“Welcome to KAF.” Jen gives me a big hug.
“How are you guys doing?” I wrap my arms around Bine and give her a squeeze. “You’ve been here a week now?”
“Yes. Waiting to get briefed to find out where we’re going. We’re sharing a room. You should stay with us tonight and we can catch up!”
