For your consideration and commentary, here’s more re-writing I did at that retreat.
Here’s the original “Ashes“…and here’s the new version.
———————
I drop my kitbag to the floor. I can’t help it. Outside the sterile window the moon is hiding behind street light. Inside, my guts are crumbling to dust and ash.
She doesn’t move when I creep up to her bed. She smells like mouthwash and bleach - her eyes sunken and dark, lips cracked and bloody, her once lovely hair is awful, dark hay. Her urine, like rusty brown molasses, drips into a plastic bag by my knee. Someone walks past the door with crepe soled shoes.
“Justin, the doctor says I have-” I can hear her choke and sob over the sat phone. Ten thousand miles of sand crackles between us.
“It’s OK, Dee. I’m here. What does the doctor say?” She takes a deep breath and tries to pull herself together.
“She says it’s cervical cancer. Justin! We’ll never be able to have kids because they’re going to cut out my uterus and give me radiation and chemo! Now you’ll never want to get married and I’ll lose you forever!”Half the world away, she starts to cry again. She is desolate. I am desolate for her.
“No, Dee. No no no no. I’m not going anywhere. You’ll never lose me. Never ever.” I try to sound calm and loving and reassuring. My anger at the injustice wars with love and pity at the back of my throat.
I feel like I’m trying to breathe under water. I want to shake her awake, tell her I’m here. Snap out if it, Dee! Everything will be OK if you’ll just wake up and look me in the eye. I want to squeeze the fucking cancer right out of her and never let her go ever again. We’d start fresh. I’d cut my own life in half just for her to be well. I’d give ALL my life for her to be well.
But if I move any further, the air will shatter…and she’ll splinter right along with it.
My ear sweats against the sat phone as I strain to hear her across the miles.
“Justin, please come home! I need you so bad!”
“Dee, I’m trying. I’ve put through the paper work, I’ve talked to my CO and the Padre. I don’t know why it’s taking so long, but-”
“For Christ’s sake Justin, I just got told I’m stage four!”
“Stage four? What’s-”
“It means I’m fucking DEAD! I’m gonna die Justin! I don’t want to die! I want to hold you again and have babies with you and have a life where’s there’s no fucking cancer and no one’s shooting at you! When are you coming HOME?”
“Dee. I’m here. I made it.” I can hear a low conversation out by the nurse’s station. The whispering hurts my ears.
Dee doesn’t respond. Her thin, cold sheets are barely rising and falling.
“Dee, listen to me. You’re not going to die.”
She laughs bitterly over the phone. “What are you, God?”
“No, I’m not God. But…” I trail off. But what? But I know God won’t take you yet? But I know as soon as I get home everything will be A-OK because it has to be? I don’t know shit.
“But what? Justin? Are you still there?”
“I’m here, Dee.” A LAV fires up its diesel and I quickly put my free hand over my ear. “I’m not God, but you’re young and strong. Just stay positive. Stay focussed. Fight this thing, Dee! Fight it!” I know it sounds weak. But what else can I say?
“Jeez, Justin, I thought you were a big tough soldier. You sound more like a fucking cheerleader. Just singing songs from the sidelines. Waving your little plastic pompoms.” There’s a huge and painful pause. Somewhere out in space, a satellite sends static down the line.
I reach out and touch her arm, bruised and bruised by IV needles, and my eyes start burning and blurring. Not fair. Not fucking fair. No. No no no no no don’t take her from me. I’ll do anything. Anything! I mean it! Please! My heart is breaking in fucking two and it’s agony!
“I’m sorry, Justin. That was really terrible. I didn’t mean that at all.” I can hear that she’s sorry. Mostly sorry, anyway. “I’m just tired and scared. I’m scared of dying and I’m scared I’ll never see you again.” She pauses, then sort-of-laughs. “Funny how worried I was about you going off to Afghanistan and getting killed. And here it’s me that’s getting killed right here at home.”
“Dee, please. You’re not going to die. Things look bad now, but as soon as I’m home I’m gonna help you kick the shit out of this fucking cancer. We’ve beaten the odds before, we’ll do it again. Just you and me. OK? Just hang in there.” She sighs.
“I love you, Justin. You’re a good man. And you try. Sorry I’m such a bitch.”
“You’re not a bitch, Dee. Don’t worry about it. You’re under a lot of pressure.”
“Tell me about it. I think I’m going to go have a nap. This chemo makes me tired. I’ll see you in my dreams, OK?”
The door swishes open and a nurse strides in, balancing a tray of plastic, sterile things. She almost trips on my kit bag and stops short when she notices me.
“Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t see you come in. You’re…”
“Justin. Grass. Diana’s fiancé.”
“Oh.” She looks away when she sees my eyes. It’s time for her to put on her nurse hat and tread carefully. Out in the hallway, there’s a page for Doctor Neville. Code Blue.
“Well. Justin. We’re making her as comfortable as we can. I’m just here to check on her and make sure her Morphine drip hasn’t stopped or anything.”
Yes. Morphine. Your best and last friend. The last time I saw it, I was in the back of a LAV watching Doc pump Weeds full of it. Doc was tying off bleeders and screaming for choppers. He could see it was hopeless. Goddamn IEDs. The steel floor was slick with blood. It ran out the back like rain spilling from a broken gutter.
“Army uniform?” the nurse asks.
“Yes Ma’am.”
“Ah.” She turns away and presses a few green buttons on something with hoses. Beep. Sliissh. Beep. Dee is as still as stone. Lips like bloody autumn leaves. “Were you in – “
“Afghanistan. I got compassionate leave.” Big hero finally home from the sandbox. I’m a life-taker, a heart-breaker, I’m badder than the bad guys and I can splash a scumbag from a klik and a half. What fucking good does it do me? Dee’s dying and the little plastic soldier can’t do a damn thing about it.
Dee is shrieking into my ear. “What?! What do you mean they lost the paper work! When are you coming home? I’m almost done my chemo and the doctor won’t look me in the eye when I ask her if it’s working!” I desperately want to say something that will calm her. I desperately want to find the stupid cunt who lost my paperwork for leave. But there’s nothing. “You really want to stay out there and fight your stupid war, is that it? I love you like I’ve never loved anyone but that’s not good enough? It doesn’t make you as happy as shooting some poor dumb fuckers with towels on their heads?”
“Dee! No! It’s-”
“What the fuck is wrong with you, Justin?”
“It’s not me! Listen. I’ll go straight to-”
“No Justin, I’m done listening. I haven’t got time anymore. I needed you here, war or no war. But fuck your war and fuck you! Don’t even bother coming to my funeral! Just stay out in the fucking desert and play with your guns. I hate you!” There’s a click and the sat phone goes dead in my ear.
The nurse makes a show of plumping Dee’s pillow. “Has the uh, Doctor, spoken to you yet?”
“No. I just got in.” Will you fuck off already? Everyone in this room knows you aren’t doing shit except trying to look busy. She’s toast. I can see that. Quit fiddling with her sheets and fuck off! If she dies while you’re in here trying to soft petal this shit, I’ll burn this fucking hospital to the ground. With you in it.
“Ma’am, can I get a pillow and blanket?”
“Certainly. I’ll get that for you right away.” There’s relief in her voice. She can go. “I’ll send the Doctor in as soon as she starts her rounds.”
“Thanks.” She leaves in a hurry and I try concentrating on relaxing the tension in my shoulders. The spike through my heart, though, is beyond my control.
What am I going to do?
I lean over and gently kiss Dee on lips. It’s like kissing dust
