The seatbelts sign on the ceiling above Frank turned on with a ding, and the captain came over the intercom to say, “Please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts. We’re experiencing a bit of turbulence.” The bumping of the plane startled Frank out of his sleep. He put his seatbelt back on and opened the window. Nothing but clouds. He closed the window again and sat impatiently.
He was flying to Maryland to visit his brother, sister-in-law, and two nieces. He had been anticipating the trip for years, because it took him so long to raise the funds to pay for the plane ticket. His only income was from welfare and the generosity of strangers. He could never land a job because his only skill he had learned was to kill, and there wasn’t a market for that.
Frank was a relic of times being slowly forgotten. He had fought in the Vietnam War from 1964 to 1970, only being pulled out when he lost half of his left arm to an enemy grenade. He was one of the lucky ones. More then two thirds of his platoon had been annihilated on that day.
He took a book out of his backpack and tried his best to read. It wasn’t really that great of a book, nor was it even of a genre Frank enjoyed, but there was nothing else to do. He stared at the pages, reading the words but not processing them. He was lost in his own thought.
Frank didn’t even hear the captain’s announcement that they were beginning their decent into Ronald Reagan National Airport. The question of weather he could have done something to save his platoon had plagued him all his life. If only he had noticed the ambush before they had walked directly into it. He had been close to the front of the column, he should have been more watchful. But he hadn’t been, and instead he watched many of his closest friends die. It had all happened so quickly. They had been marching down the road to meet up with another regiment on the front lines. Then without warning, gunfire erupted all around them. The person behind him collapsed, dead from a bullet to the head. Frank dropped to the ground and tried to return fire, but he couldn’t see any enemy fighters. Men that had been slower to react fell in lifeless heaps. Wounded men were screaming in pain. Frank looked to the side just in time to see his closest friend, Harold, reaching to throw back a grenade the enemy had lobbed. He hadn’t gotten rid of it in time.
The plane landed with a jolt, and Frank was brought out of his reverie. He was sweating profusely, and he had a death grip on the armrests. The woman next to him patted his arm and said, “It’s ok now. We’ve landed.” He looked at her and smiled politely.
After the plane had stopped, Frank picked up his backpack, and left the plane. He made his way outside of security and looked for his brother. He spotted him standing with his family a little ways off.
He walked over and embraced his brother. “It’s good to see you again John,” said Frank, “its been too long.”
“It has been to long,” replied John. His wife Catherine came over and hugged Frank too. The two girls did their best to hide behind their mother’s legs.
“They must not remember me very well,” remarked Frank. “The last time I’ve been here… wow, seven years ago. They were both so much smaller then.”
Catherine nodded. “Allison and Renee, you may not remember him, but this is your Uncle Frank. Say hello.” The came out from behind their mother, but just slightly, avoided looking at Frank directly, and shyly mumbled what was probably a greeting.
Frank chuckled slightly. “They’re definitely your kids John. I remember you doing just the same thing whenever we had visitors at our house when we were young.”
They talked merrily as they got into John’s minivan and left the airport. Frank was distracted by the conversation and didn’t even realize that they weren’t headed to John’s home. They stopped in a parking lot and started to get out.
“Wait, what are we doing?” asked Frank. It was then that he saw the glint shining off the black, granite wall.
He walked over reverently, through the crowds down the Memorial Wall. He ran his fingers along the wall as he walked slowly along it. Before he knew it, he had arrived at the panel starting 1970. He looked through the names. Army LT Bob M. Aaron, Army PVT Timothy C. Smith, Army PVT Harold G. Watson… the names of his friends went on and on. Frank fell to his knees, leaning against the wall. It was the first time he had cried since he was young.