David's Heart

He had seen the people who had been held in camps that he had helped liberate, he had seen their blank faces and complete shutdown of character. This he had not understood, until he himself had been captured, tortured, and held in a small camp. He had been told he had been held there for a year, and now, now that he was free, he had been given a ticket home, without question.

As John walked the streets to his parent’s house, he closed his eyes and stopped on the sidewalk as he experienced what his psychiatrist called a “flashback.” They were torturing him again, asking the same questions they always asked. “Where is your camp? What is your plan to conquer our country?” He breathed had and moaned softly. Seeing them attach a battery and cords to his feet, and feeling the horrible shock of the current as it traveled through his body. He heard the screams that he uttered, and finally, the wonderful feeling of passing out. Complete and utter oblivion as he slept, only to be awoken again by a guard, to experience the whole thing over again.

John opened his eyes as the visions passed, and he looked at the state of his bag. It was on the snowy ground, and he was in a kneeling position, breathing hard. He began to breath more slowly, and stood up, looking around him as though he had just awoken from a dream, a horrible dream. He looked at his bag and smiled as at the lights that met his eyes. His face was wet with tears, and he sniffed and began to walk toward his family’s house once more. He looked at the beautiful lights, the Christmas lights that decorated every house. He cleared his throat as he remembered the Christmas he had celebrated with his family many years ago. He finally found the house. It was small, wooden, and beautiful.

He walked up the steps slowly, as though he was afraid of what might be behind that door. He smiled softly as he saw the decorations he had helped put up in years past on the door and around the front deck. He looked at the tree that was visible through the beautifully adorned window, and sighed deeply. He was home, with his parents, but he was so afraid and unready for what was behind that door. He had spent a year in rehab, and had not talked since he had been released and liberated from the camp. Not one word, except in his nightmares. He called out for his mother, so he was told by the nurses that had taken care of him in the VA hospital. But now, now he was home.

He put his fist on the door and knocked softly. He almost dreaded what he would find and what he would be forced to do in that house. He had not had personal contact with anyone, not touched anyone since he had been found in the prison camp. It was too much for him, and he feared what his family would want him to do. A simple hug would bring him back to his time in the prison camp, and he hated that idea. His heartbeat increased as he saw a shadow coming toward the door. He heard the lock switch open, and the door opened slowly. The woman behind the door revealed herself, and John found himself facing his mother. She put her hands on her mouth and wept, a sound that John wanted to silence, and went toward him, hands now outstretched. John reacted, simply out of survival, and stepped back. His mother looked at him and nodded, as though she understood something, something that she had been told by someone else, behind John’s back. John looked at his mother, wanting to hug her and be welcomed home, but his fear and experience told him to do the opposite. It told him to run, but his feet would not move. His mother, her name was Rose, John remembered, stepped back, and opened the door wide as though to welcome him in.

“Welcome home John, come in, please son.”

John lifted his bag, which had somehow ended up on the floor, and walked slowly in. The house was full of smells he recognized from his childhood. The muffins his mother had made that morning, he guessed, were still filling the air with bright and wonderful smells of baking. John looked at the decorated table that was their kitchen, and then looked at the beautifully decorated tree that was in the corner of the living room. It was huge and beautiful, full of big bulbs and decorated ornaments that John and his sister had made as children. He smiled at the memory, but looked wearily, just as though the tree was not there, as voices came from the next room, and were traveling toward him. His heart once more beat faster, and he became stiff, as though his body was ready for attack. He looked around him, knowing the voices. They were voices of family and friends, but his mind and body were not speaking to one another, and he looked at the people coming into the room as though they were coming to torture him again. He looked at his mother, but did not see her. He walked quickly toward the tree, and knelt down, ready to attack anyone who would come near him. The voices got louder, and finally, after some time, John saw the faces of family. His father, his black and white hair and wonderful smiling face looking down at him. His sister, her black hair streaming down her body. She smiled at him, but then became concerned for him.

“John, what’s wrong? Tell me, what happened to you back there?”

John’s father, Dominick, took his daughter’s shoulder and gently urged her back from the tree, where she had gone to urge John from his cowering spot on the floor. Amy looked at her father, confused. He whispered something in her ear, something John heard quite well with his training before he had been deployed.

“I’ll tell you later.”

He heard the words and nodded, knowing that she had somehow not heard that he had been tortured and kept in a camp, nearly dying there, for a year. His mother looked down at him, smiling softly.

“John, do you want to go to your old room, or the guest room?”

John shivered as he thought of the old room of his. He pointed toward the guest room, and his mother nodded, walking slowly toward the room that she had set up for him, somehow knowing, after many years of experience, that John would not want to go into his old room, somehow, she knew that the memories would be too strong.

John lifted his bag on his shoulder and followed his mother toward the room. It was spacious, and, grand and thankful to John’s eyes, a huge, king sized bed occupied the middle of the room and against the wall. He sighed in relief and put his bag down next to the bed. His mother smiled at him and spoke softly as she exited.

“Stay as long as you wish son. The towels in the bathroom are blue. They are for you, all right?”

John looked up at his mother and smiled softly, the first smiled he had given anyone in a long time. His mother wished that he would hug her, walk into her arms and tell her all the things that had happened to him, so that he could start to heal, but he just smiled and nodded, signaling her that he was ready to say good night. She smiled and closed the door. John sighed and looked at the bag, knowing that he was exhausted, and completely ready to sleep, maybe for days.