Chapter One: Gotham Blue
Weren’t nothing since, won’t ever be something again, lost that something you need inside to be something, don’t care none no more.
Being nothing is fine, now my something is nothing.
That man his name was Roger, that man he was my best friend.
Roger, he said he was from Houston but, you know, every time he wrote down the name of his hometown, he spelled it wrong, I paid no never-mind to it, a man’s secret his secret you know.
Roger used to say, “Don’t matter none where I come from what matters is where I’m going.”
All he going to be was going to be dead.
It was July 4th. small recon…
…not a full ass RIF, just weed out and DH5 or DH10 planted about, then...
...fire from somewhere, Tommy went left, I stayed at point and motioned Roger to the right.
I waved him to his death, to this day I don’t know why I did that, did that you know, that on me, that be all over me, stick to me like a mid-week stink.
When I got to him, I told him he going to be ok, but he weren’t, parts of him all over the place, all over the place, some hanging from a tree you know, I did my best to keep him looking at me, no need for him to see that you know.
I kissed his forehead, whispered I loved him, I did…
He smiled.
Mouthed something.
Then he died.
Me too, I died then, his body died that day in that muck…
…took my soul that day…
…I held him, rocked him…
…those minutes holding him, rocking him until the medivac came, heard Tommy yell out MFW, MFW one casualty…
…but in truth, there were two…
That war long ago for some, for some, hard to move on for some, for some, I did my best, played the piano before I went over, became a somebody on the keys, came back, still play, play for my bar tab and the nightly special for eats.
Give it a go best I can, hands getting old, hurt on the wide stretch keys, hurt on the old songs by Jerry Lee, lots of pounding, my knuckles you know, I played great before being over there, play good now, enough to get by, barely.