In a Big Country

Invested in this hyped stock with everything he’s got. Money, possessions, bodily organs and hope all down on the idea he had a few years back, developed over some serious unmet needs pertaining to relevance. How could he manage to somehow matter in this life? The inspiration began showing up in newspapers, television and was overheard several times around town, discussed by adults he looked up to; passionately like nothing he’d heard before, these words coming out of these heads that hadn’t shown him a hint of anything close to what they were absolutely certain of now. Some he figured hadn’t voted once in their lives, suddenly all political and full of proclamations. Heroic thoughts sprouted from all this lofty widespread agreement raining down, as the dim glow of promise in what surrounded him seemed to grow smaller by the day. A few of the fellas talked about going somewhere far away, getting the band some gigs around the county, maybe a couple of regular nights each week at one of the bars, but as the weeks went by he figured it would never happen. Couldn’t play anything complicated on his guitar, hadn’t written any songs, and the urge to talk like that, think like that, dream like that had to be the smoke talking more than anything else.

I never seen you look like this without a reason
Another promise fallen through, another season passes by you

The adults all had these important topics to toss about with seemingly little effort. A battle for the future of everything was about to be on, and the excitement over all this was electric at times. This mechanic named Jim had the boss going one day about revenge and how somebody had to straighten these people out before they moved right in on us. The boss agreed with everything and opened up like he never had before, getting to how glad he was about who the President was, thankful it wasn’t the one who lost. That other guy wouldn’t have the balls to nip this problem in the butt, so while we’ve got them on the run and scared, the leader in charge now wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to straighten things up in all those countries over there. Sometimes it would get real serious and the men would lower their voices even when nobody was there to hear them anyway, pop off with something like, “…the last one hada focused less on getting his dick sucked, it probably wouldn’t have happened in the first place.” Will takes it all in, but doesn’t understand any of the background as far as the names are concerned. What he does know is there are two sides in elections, and one is cowardly, so he wants to make sure he’s not one of them. Well aware that he’s just a nobody at the moment, unable to hang or even belong in a conversation like these, he decides at once one night that when these people talk about him a couple years from now, they’ll know for sure that he had the balls.

I thought that pain and truth were things that really mattered
But you can’t stay here with every single hope you had shattered

So Will signed the contract, pissed in the cup, filled out the forms, allowed them to inspect his body inside and out, walked like a duck with five other guys in their underwear, chose a job in the infantry 11-Mike, felt smart for not choosing 11-Bravo since his brand got to ride in a vehicle while the other had to march everywhere on foot. Made the rounds after it was official and felt respected for the first time in his life by everyone he ran into, then got his ticket and a ride to the airport from the man in uniform who greeted him that day he walked into the recruiting station. Three months of dizzy living in Fort Benning, Georgia made him hard as a rock and ready to kill. Drooling patriotism and a sense of hallowed brotherhood, his new fellas got drunk and played music loud, talked crazy and arrogant all the time, worked like dogs most days and were proud of it, got tattoos of grenades, barbed wire, rifles, Kevlar helmets, unit patches, initials, words and Japanese characters. He knew in his heart these were all great things leading up to his day in the spotlight, which came down one afternoon, announced at an impromptu batalion formation. His possessions were locked up, gear counted again and again, insurance forms filled out, dog tags verified for accuracy, US flag patches stitched to his BDUs, vaccines injected, testes jingled, bags packed.

I’m not expecting to grow flowers in the desert
But I can live and breathe and see the sun in wintertime

The Bradley is picking up speed on the smooth pavement they’ve been traveling on for ten minutes already, about a half mile from the neighborhood in Fallujah they’re about to conduct house to house searches through. Inside the troop compartment in the back was where Will preferred to be on the way to somewhere, without the visual of these things all around he worked on ignoring for the first few weeks. A couple days with these jarheads and so many other units making like an ant colony all over this now hollowed out city has everyone excited, knowing that behind one of those doors could be a kill, some enemy remnants to sort through. What a couple of his boys have said in the rear is how they can’t stand the smell, or like Beekman driving the Bradley says about the shit on the sides of these roads still there from the white phosphorous shells 1st ID shelled the hell out of this place with before the sweeps started. Will figured Beekman would piss his pants in the shit once it went down, maybe retching at something his head can’t handle, hunched over and soft, not doing his job. All this sympathy bullshit heard once in a while got him angry in times like these, and angry was what got him to that level he preferred to be at once the back of that Bradley went down and it was time to put some work in. These stupid raghead fuckwits didn’t get out when we told them, so they’re learning something now. What Beekman sees as excess, Will sees as progress, knowing that the next city they take will get the point and understand what we bring. Hang Americans with half their bodies hacked off in the city and celebrate, this is what happens.

So take that look out of here, it doesn’t fit you
Because it’s happened doesn’t mean you’ve been discarded

Back home for a few weeks getting the hero’s welcome at the airport, then on back to the regular spots, the fellas here and there, cravings for the perfect slice of pizza from the place he’d been thinking about for over a year satisfied, and time to sit and do nothing in the home he grew up in. The novelty lasting no more than those first couple days, Will understands more about all he sees than everyone else according to the lines scribbled in his latest journal, realizing so much it seems, but after a week he doubts that the ideas he’s having are relevant at all or that he’s any more capable of making sense of anything than his mother or father or these idiots on the television talking about politics and the war. He sleeps for about 15 hours a day, enjoying the work-week most and having the house all to himself, with no need to worry about what anyone thinks about anything. And by the end of the second week he’s unsure of the stories he’s been telling, and how he’s pitching them different depending on the audience. All the sincere handshakes and expressions of gratitude happen just as he’d imagined they would, but he doesn’t at all feel like he thought he would hearing it as often as he does. It feeds a sadness, fills up pages of words he’ll look back on and consider worthless in short time. As twice he’s done this very same thing right here, and no doubt he’s up for a third trip into Iraq soon enough. Two of his boys hit their ETS date without orders, are still on the job, no word on when they can get out. Will’s own ETS date is in four months.

Pull up your head off the floor, come up screaming
Cry out for everything you ever might have wanted

“Where the fuck are they?” Sergeant Hale saying this for the third time in a minute. Unable to move on like they knew they had to, it was the Iraqi unit’s operation to run and they weren’t where they were supposed to be. Six buildings on the east side of the road were cleared by Hale’s squad and now there were shots ringing out from somewhere close to the position they’d already held in an alley for too long. No response over the radio, and no sign of the clowns they were attached to. Will figured they hadn’t finished sorting through the swag in the first or second building out of the six they were supposed have cleared already. “Fuck this, we’re crossing over. Two blocks down, once everyone’s across, we beat it to the next road, make it across there and catch up with the company.” The decision was made and everyone was ready, crouched with their backs to the wall a sniper was fixed on. Moving on was always a better idea than staying put Will thought, always in the back of his mind a creeping fear that the neighborhood itself was closing in on him, ready to swallow him whole if he stayed put for too long. He’s second to cross, covered by a splattering of lead from behind, making it to the alley untouched. One look back across and he gets low, back against the wall again, with the first already in the prone position popping off rounds into the building they ran from. Another starts across hunched over, wild eyes, six steps away. A round blows through the soldier’s jaw. Blood, teeth and bone fragments splatter all over Will’s face, only two yards away from where the body fell.

In a big country dreams stay with you
Like a lover’s voice fires the mountainside
Stay alive