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Even with everything I’ve done to assist Marcy, I still feel as though I've disappointed Matthew. Even if I knew what he meant when he told me to take care of her, the guilt of him dying in my arms has kept me from initiating anything with her. He should have been the one that came back from war, not me. Survivors' guilt is a real and ever-present cloud hanging over my head. I down the rest of my whiskey then place the glass back on the bar debating on refilling it. Alcohol numbs the pain and memories. It keeps me going on most days.
Matthew would probably argue that I haven't been caring for myself, yet I've been giving it my all. Unfortunately, the VA doesn't consistently provide aid to those in need, regardless of their circumstances. I’m basically a soldier left to my own devices. A twinge of anger rises when I think about the soldiers that need more help than me and aren’t getting it. An idea sparks in my mind growing brighter and brighter. I jog to my computer to write it all down before I forget.
An overwhelming need to help those soldiers rises in my chest. With the resources I have available at my fingertips, I can come up with a way to help those soldiers that get out of the military and don’t receive the help they deserve. I want to be there for them instead of letting them fall into the cracks as I did.
Once in my office, I login to my computer and begin putting together a proposal that I can pitch to different agencies in order to get the right professionals involved. My fingers fly across the keyboard explaining my personal situation and mental condition when I got back to the states and how it’s so similar to many others. I have comrades that couldn’t handle civilian life and so they took their own. It doesn’t get easier to attend these funerals that could have been avoided. I haven’t been this excited about a project in a long time and I think I have what it takes to get it off the ground. To be honest, being a Knight opens many doors for me as well. Miles and Sebastian are bound to want to back this passion project because they have seen firsthand the toll the military can take on a person. Men and women are suffering and I have the means to do something about it. I know I can’t help everyone but if I can help someone, that means more to me than anything at this point.
I finish my statement using examples and first-person accounts of the mental state I was in and still struggle with since becoming a civilian. The writing process was actually cathartic because I got out all the emotions that clog my mind every day. After shedding a few tears over the specifics surrounding Matthew’s death, I breathe a sigh of relief. It filters through my body and I feel as though a weight has been lifted from me. Of course I will still continue to have mental problems but I think I tackled a huge milestone with putting it into writing.
Once I got started, it was like word vomit and I couldn’t have stopped it if I tried. My fingers play over the keyboard explaining specific hardships I face to this day. Once I take a step back and look at the document I’m stunned that all this came out of me. I knew I kept things close to my heart but I never knew that this was all bottled up inside me, waiting for the right conditions to explode. I need to send this to my therapist since she has been urging me to write about my experiences. She said getting them out onto paper would aid in personal growth and emotional healing. I have to admit that she was onto something.
I glance at my watch and realize my driver has probably been waiting for a while since the party is about to begin. I spent so much time in front of the computer coming up with this plan for fellow soldiers to get the help they so desperately need that time ran away from me. Rubbing the tears from the corner of my eyes, I save my project and run out of my office toward the front door. Grabbing my jacket off the hook, I head out and down the elevator. There is a lightness to my step that wasn’t there before. As I descend the floors, I can’t help but think about this new project and all the possibilities that could arise from it.
“Mr. Knight, good evening. I was beginning to worry,” Thomas explains as he opens the door for me.
“Thank you. I’m sorry to keep you waiting. I lost track of time.” I slide into the plush Bently, remembering a time when this was the norm.
“Not to worry. It’s good to see you, sir.” He closes the door then rounds the car to his door. Thomas pulls out into the city traffic heading toward the venue.
For the first time, I’m not dreading this event but excited about what tonight can hold. Getting that shit out of my head cleared a way for new possibilities to grow.
Chapter 5
September 11, 2001
13 years old
Marcy
It started out like every other Tuesday since the beginning of eighth grade. Matt, my brother, and Sam, his best friend, dropped me off at school while on their way to classes at a local community college. There was no way to know the horrors that awaited the United States.
As I make my way through the crowded halls, Jenny walks up beside me telling me about the latest scoop with her ex-boyfriend, Ben.
“He called me over and over last night. My mom finally told him to stop calling the house. I don’t know why he would think I would answer after seeing him with Anna at the dance on Saturday.” Jenny sighs looking down at her books. She’s trying to come off as indifferent but I know how much it hurt her to see him kissing someone else.
“Listen, he knows he messed up by losing you and now he’s trying to get you back. Keep ignoring him. He will get the message eventually.” I give her a little bump with my shoulder.
“You’re right. I’m not interested in his excuses. I need to focus on school anyway. Especially this class.” She gestures as we enter Advanced English. We take our seats next to each other while taking out our notebooks. The rest of the class files in along with Mrs. Hammond. “Did Matt and Sam drop you off this morning?” she asks.
“Yep.” Is all I respond.
“Did he notice you dressed up for him? I know you. This isn’t your usual style.” Jenny smiles as she looks me over.
My cheeks heat as I ignore Jenny by opening The Great Gatsby to the chapter we are covering today in class.
“Marcy, he’ll notice you eventually. He would be a fool not to.” I look up at her. “Trust me. Eventually your age won’t be such a problem.” She smiles as I nod my head. Before I can comment, Mrs. Hammond instructs us to open our books and leads us in a discussion that lasts through class.
As we are waiting for the bell to dismiss us from class, an alert comes over the intercom for all teachers to turn on the TVs in their classrooms. Everyone looks around wondering what’s going on. When the TV comes to life, we see a plane crashing into one of the World Trade Centers in Lower Manhattan. Both have been hit at this point and dozens of alerts fly across the screen for people to stay in their homes and not travel to Manhattan. Fire and smoke are the background for the people of the city as they flee from surrounding buildings. The screen suddenly changes to President George Bush as he delivers a haunting speech that will go down in history. His speech is brief and the lingering line that leaves me speechless is “This was an apparent terrorist attack on our country.”
Everything seems to happen in slow motion after that. The news switches back to live footage of the Twin Towers. I stare in shock as fear builds up in my system. In a matter of minutes, students are getting called for dismissal. Mrs. Hammond stands there watching the screen with her hand covering her mouth. The students are in an uproar, some crying, some shooting out of their seats to get closer to the television, and some in shock.
The intercom sounds again, “Mrs. Hammond, Marcy Hillary for dismissal.” I jump from my seat gathering my things as I go. I look at Jenny who has tears in her eyes.
“I’ll call you later,” I say before I rush from the room and down the hall to the main office. Matthew and Samuel are there waiting for me as I approach. Sam takes my books and Matt leans down giving me a hug.
“Mom called and wanted me to come get you. She can’t leave her students but she wants to know that we’re safe at home.” I nod my head not knowing what to say. Just before we walk out of the school, the T.V. over our head shows a plane crashing into the Pentagon. The three of us stand there in shocked silence as we watch the building burning. Shrieks and cries come from the people in the mass pandemonium.
“Come on, let's go!” Matt takes my hand as we rush through the doors. The only thing I remember about the ride home is Sam holding my hand from the front seat and telling me that I was safe and that everything was going to be okay.
