My uncle, aunt and cousin and I weren’t exactly close,
mainly because of the distance between our homes. They lived in Indianapolis,
Indiana while I lived in tiny, little Ironton, Ohio. Growing up, if we saw each
other more than twice a year it was out of the ordinary. The times we saw each
other my cousin and I always did hang out with each other though. Regardless,
we were family and they had offered to feed me and let me get away from the
post for a few hours. The thought of it all brimmed with the excited aura of what
seemed like normal life from before I had joined the military and was engulfed into
their way of doing things. So still, I stood waiting in front of the barracks.
After a time doubts began to slip into my brain, after all,
my cousin should have been here by now. To counter those thoughts I came up
with possible reasons for the delay. Perhaps traffic was excessively bad or
maybe he had to work late. Maybe they really didn’t want to see me. Wait, no, I
couldn’t think like that. He was now more than an half an hour overdue so I
went inside and tried to call their house to see if the plans had changed.
There was no answer. I walked back outside as my anxiety level slowly ratcheted
higher and higher. Time went by. After more than an hour had passed since the
original agreed upon time, once again I went inside to attempt to call them. Once
again, no answer. I walked back outside where I stood waiting.
What a sad, pitiful sight I must have been. This lonely
scarecrow waiting and waiting as his faith in family slowed slipped away. More
than two hours had passed before I finally gave up my last shred of hope and dignity
and I slowly shuffled back inside. I tried calling one more time. The result
was the same, no answer. My classmates were asking why I hadn’t gone and all I
could do was hang my head and mumble “I don’t know.” The rest of the day I
spent by myself, withdrawn and disappointed. No longer standing out front waiting
but waiting inside my head. That’s the day I learned that the idea of extended family
was overrated and not to be trusted. I never did call them again for the rest
of my time in training at Fort Ben Harrison. As a matter of fact I never spoke
with them even at the funerals that came later. I guess I gave up waiting.
Written and Published by Don Leach. May not be used without permission from the author.
No comments:
Post a Comment