From: dryad Date: Sat, 10 Dec 2005 20:53:11 GMT Subject: They Also Serve Who Stand And Wait 1/1 by Dryad Source: atxc Disclaimer: Alas, alack, they are not mine. Yadda, yadda, yadda. Title: They Also Serve Who Only Stand And Wait Author: Dryad Rating: none Spoilers: mm, none? Archive: Go ahead. Summary: He stands there and thinks, where did it all go? Note: Written for 'The Fool' Lyric Wheel http://www.hegalplace.com/xflyricwheel/wheel.htm The headstone is simple: Adam Ireland 1957 - 1995 Patriot + Beloved Son He stands there and thinks, where did it all go? ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* The wind blew something fierce, dust devils scurrying down the road, leaves both fresh and dead flying into the air, small branches spinning breaking off with quick cracks. It whooshed up under Daddy's jacket and ruffled his hair, one gust even making Daddy's car rock ever so briefly. Daddy got down on knee, making his pants dirty. He said, "You'll be okay. I'll be back before you know it. There's plenty of food in the icebox, boiled eggs and butter, bread, crackers, and jam in the cupboard," he reached out and straightened his collar, brushed his hair back from his forehead. He wore a broken smile, and the last thing he said before he got into the car and drove away was, "Be good." ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* He walks out of the small cemetary, back up the hill and onto the front porch. He can still see the family plot - he notices there's space for him when the time comes - and he can't believe how much time has passed. The field nearest the house is emerald bright with new corn, the vegetable patch far smaller than he remembers, the path to the well narrow and overgrown with blackberry and red raspberry bushes. At least he doesn't have to worry about her hauling bucket after bucket into the house for daily chores like cooking and cleaning. The swinging porch bench makes sitting down a brief experiment in embaressment, but he manages. He pushes off on one foot and tries to make the slight nausea feel like anticipation instead. It doesn't work. Next to him, right on the corner of the porch where the cool Northern breeze is strongest sits Annie, one hundred and five years old today. She looks every bit her age and then some, save for the bright sparkle in her dark brown eyes. She says, "You seen the stone?" He nodes. "Been a long time." ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* James Ireland, Jamie as he was called by those who liked him, Paddy by those who didn't, Jamie stopped by to give his Dad a wire brush for sweeping the chimney and a bucket of wet creosote for doing the pasture fencing. Jamie had swept in, looked around the room - and he had looked too, seeing the blankets on the bed still rucked up from the morning, the pan of congealed, half-burnt porridge he'd been eating for two days still on the bench because he couldn't decide whether to force the rest of it down or throw it to the hog, the empy box of Saltines on the floor - and marched him down the road. Annie and Jamie didn't live much better than he and Daddy even though there were six of them in the house. There was the big room with the stove and the sink, the scarred wooden table, the two benches and the rocking chair, the hams and herbs hanging from the rafters along with a rug beater and farm tools, kerosene lamps and candle molds, then the stairs that were more of a wide-stepped ladder leading up to the loft, which had a sleeping area on either side, one for the boys, the other for their parents. Neither of them said anything at first. Annie whisked him into a corner where he undressed and took a cold sitz bath, shivering under strong, homemade lye soap and her heavy ministrations with the wash cloth. "You shoulda seen it, the place was a mess," Jamie said, poking the coals in the stove. He added a log and opened the flue a bit, then brushed his hands on his pants and took a seat at the table. "How long the e-lectric been off, son?" He started to answer, then sputtered with indignation as Annie poured a bucket of water over his head. "Dunno." "You shoulda seen it," Jamie repeated. Annie tsked and made him stand up, scrubbed him dry fiercely with a thin towel. They pulled it out of him slow, like he was a wild dog to be gentled, how the food in the ice-box had gone rotten with the electricity off and the weather so hot and sultry, how he'd scraped the mold off the top of the jam and eaten it on the crackers, why he'd stayed home waiting for Daddy when he could have come to them, or over to the Rowes, Sarah and Johnny, or the Stanleys in the North valley, Cary and Jessie and their eight kids, which he thought was fairly self-explanatory. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* "He always asked after you," Annie said, glancing at the cemetary. He's vaguely, but not really, surprised. After that last, awful fight, when words were spoken to wound and cut in the manner of lovers, close friends, and family, they had never reconciled. Well, not in way that mattered. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Adam was the youngest, Samuel the oldest, Matthew and Gideon in between. Maybe it was because he and Adam were of similar character that they became the fastest of friends. Of all the kids, Adam was the one Annie frequently called his missing twin. Two peas in a pod. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* "You'll bury me proper, with the preacher and all?" "Of course," he says. He'll do whatever she wants. Annie sniffs and rubs her eyes with a hand gnarled by an eternity of hard labor and spotted with liver-marks. "Never thought you and me would be the last ones." "Me neither." ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* It wasn't until he landed in-country that he realized that the relationship he had with Adam wasn't exactly normal. Acceptable. He ruthlessly removed the Southern twang from his accent - he didn't want to stand out even more, or, god forbid, be found by some enterprising 'gentleman' with secrets to spill and very deep pockets. Strange shit happened in the jungle. Bonds were formed, bonds of loot, rape, pillage. And that was just on their fellow soldiers. What happened in the field...he wished he could forget the finer details. Funny, but the spoils of war turned out to be the hearts and souls of men rather than the gold and the ground gained. Adam joined the Peace Corps, had been sent first to the Phillipines, then Colombia, Uruguay, and Ghana. He joined the Marines and was sent to Con Thien and Khe Sanh and the DMZ and a thousand other no-name villages. Saigon fell and he was sent home, except home wasn't 'home' anymore, but a collection of strangers he had known. He spent a year on the road, up to Madison, down to Taos. Over to Willamette, back to Lincoln, down to Kissimee, north to Atlanta. Tired of odd jobs, he found a roommate and started community college, only to be enraptured by an FBI recruitment agent a month in to his history and economics courses. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* "I miss Sharon," he suddenly says, surprising himself. "You're alright. I miss Jamie something fierce, but we'll meet again soon," Annie eyes him sidelong. "You loved her." He knows what she's asking. Time was when he didn't. "I did. I do." And he truly does. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* He'd been propositioned from time to time by the queers, that much was true, but he'd never - he'd never. Yeah, sure, he was curious, but they weren't Adam, and Adam was the only man he'd ever want to do that to him. First to be born, first to die, Samuel was a hit by a skidding truck on a wet March morning. Gideon committed suicide by cop. Matthew had a stroke. Jamie died in his sleep Christmas Eve. Adam was shipped home in a refridgerated crate from North Africa, his monstrously swollen body evidence of a reaction to snakebite, or bee sting, or infected wound. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* WALTER STOP FEMA STOP WHY YEMEN STOP NEED HELP STO ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* "How long can you stay?" For the first time, he smiles. "As long as you want." Annie smiles back and reaches out and they hold hands until it's time for dinner. Note: I've never been to the South (specifically W.Virginia, S. Carolina, Georgia) and can only imagine how the rhythm of the speech sounds. I like to think it's not completely off, but, y'know, I grew up in Vermont. And, ditto for the finer details of the Vietnam War. If I recall correctly, Skinner was a Marine, so I focussed on those later battles of the war in particular. Any errors are so my fault it's not even funny. I'm not sure how this story relates to the song, but it's the story that poured forth when I began writing! Lyrics courtesy of A Rae "Simon" by Lifehouse Catch your breath hit the wall Scream out loud As you start to crawl Back in your cage The only place Where they will Leave you alone Cause the weak will seek the weaker until they've broken them Could you get it back again Would it be the same Fulfillment to their lack of strength at your expense Left you with no defense They tore it down And I have felt the same as you I've felt the same as you I've felt the same Locked inside The only place Where you feel sheltered Where you feel safe You lost yourself In your search to find Something else to hide behind The fearful always preyed upon your confidence Did they see the consequence When they pushed you around The arrogant build kingdoms made of the different ones Breaking them 'til they've become Just another crown Refuse to feel Anything at all Refuse to slip, Refuse to fall Can't be weak Can't stand still You watch your back, 'Cause no one will You don't know why they had to go This far traded your worth for these scars For your only company Don't believe the lies that they told to you Not one word was true You're alright You're alright