Ghosts that Linger
Guns . . . I'm plagued by guns . . . guns are the most haunting ghosts of all. Ghosts of war, of hatred, and of death. I fired guns for many years. I went to war, and fired those guns at other people. And when I was finished, I turned my tools in at the arms post. But even years later, no matter what my hands touch; my boss’s desk, my girlfriend’s cheek, the lamp on my beside table; my hands always remember the guns that I used.
I was pulling up the weeds from the flowerbed out front one evening. The sky was orange in the dusk, and the light wisps of cloud were starting to fade from view. It was a perfect summer evening to end a perfectly blue summer day.
I pulled up a particularly tough dandelion and smoothed the dirt over it. “That ought to do it for the night.” I said to myself. I stood up, brushing the dirt off my old blue jeans, and made for the open garage door, when I came across a baseball lying next to the steps of the front porch. I picked it up and tossed it up and down in my hand.
“Must have been Mike’s kid again.” I said with a grin. I looked at the baseball; it was nearly brown with dirt, but the stitching was new. Almost factory new. It was a good baseball. Probably could be thrown a long way . . .
I tossed the grenade one more time in my hand. It felt heavy, like a new baseball. I didn’t know how far I could throw it. I even thought about leaving the pin in, and returning it to my belt.
The bullets were ripping apart the air outside our fort, the explosions committing assault and battery on my ears. Jameson was crouched next to me, firing his submachine gun from behind an overturned table. Shelter from the Vietnamese Army was about all this old condo was good for.
“Get shooting Kenneth!” Jameson shouted, still taking pot shots at the enemy outside.
I nodded to him and copied his actions, firing three-round-burst at the charging soldiers. They didn’t come to dick around; these were motivated soldiers from the communist army of North Vietnam. They were on a search and destroy mission, to destroy our base. This city had been evacuated a week earlier, and we’d moved in because we thought no one would think to look here. Well, the flying led and explosions outside told a different tale.
I hefted the grenade up again, yanking the pin with my left hand. I lobbed it over my shoulder and waited for the boom, which came in a few seconds. I looked up and out of cover and was met with the flying shards of tile and plaster the blast sent up from the floor. I guess I should have listened to Sloan when he said to never look at an explosion.
“Watch how you throw those things!” Jameson said, brushing plaster off of his face as well.
“Sorry, held it a bit too long.” I said. “Won’t happen again.”
The quick exchange of words was followed by another explosion, and we both continued shooting out the large double-door of the building.
I looked around. It was my front yard, same as before, only now there were shards of glass on the ground around me. I looked up, and noticed a window of my house was broken. What happened? I was just back in Vietnam. Or at least I thought I was. Did that happen? I hadn't been in Vietnam since I was 21. The war ended 15 years ago, yet I felt like as if what I had just seen had just happened. Was I dreaming? Hallucinating?
“Did I do that?” I asked out loud.
“Yes you did!” An angry voice said. “And I said, ‘watch how you throw those things!’”
I looked to my side, and I noticed Ashe standing there with her arms crossed, looking expectantly at me. She must have gotten back from work when I wasn’t paying attention.
“Oh, right. Sorry, I’ll fix it tomorrow.” I said, snapping back into consciousness.
"Windows aren't cheap, you have to be careful." She said, still a little snippy.
"Hey, it was my fault. I made a stupid move, and I'll correct it tomorrow." I said, holding up my hands in acknowledgement.
Ashe’s annoyed face quickly took on a relieved expression. Relieved that I was still in my own head. She hugged me, laying her head against my left shoulder. “Well, I’m glad to be home after a long day of work. The second foreman at the site for the new city hall called in sick, so I had to work his shift as well as my own.” She said.
We walked inside together. Ashe went into the kitchen to start dinner, and I went to our room to take a nap.
I woke up an hour later, feeling refreshed and renewed. I went downstairs and Ashe had finished cooking. She had made tortellini pasta, one of my favorites.
“In honor of the weekend.” She said gesturing with one hand. “I know it’s your favorite.”
I smiled and kissed her cheek. “You’re too good to me, Ashe.” I said.
We made up our plates and sat down on the living room couch to eat. The pasta was cooked just right, and I must say even just eating it with Ashe was a pleasant experience.
After a minute or so, Ashe put her plate down and leaned against my shoulder. “Caleb, why’d you throw that baseball at the window earlier?” She asked me.
I stopped eating and thought back to my dream, or vision, or whatever it was. “I don’t know. Holding the baseball, it felt like a grenade. And then all of a sudden I was back in Vietnam, throwing a grenade out a window,” I said.
“Babe, your two years ended a long time ago,” she said. “The war’s been over since ’75.”
“I know, and that’s why I don’t understand it.” I put my arm around Ashe and she snuggled closer to me. "I'm sorry Ashe, my head must not have been on right. I think I'm better now, and I shouldn't have any more episodes."
"Good, because you're fixing that window in the next few days,"she said, which made us both laugh.
We stayed on the sofa like that for a while. Our pasta stopped steaming and started getting cold, so we decided to finish and turn in for the night.
Ashe took the plates to the kitchen and I went to turn off the computer in my study. I walked across the hallway, tripping on the long rug with one edge folded up. It got me every time. When I got to my study, the door was closed, and the handle seemed to be stuck. I tried it multiple times, but it wouldn’t turn. I must have been locked from the inside somehow . . .
“Okay, on my three.” Sergeant Sloan ordered. I nodded and locked sights on the door. It had been locked from the inside when the enemy operatives broke in. They’d locked us out of our own tactics room.
Sloan took his position next to the door. “Ready . . . one . . . two . . . three!” We both swung around from the sides and kicked in the door. Sloan held up his M16, looking around, while I spotted one lone soldier diving for his gun that rested on the large table in the center of the room. Like lightning, I lunged at him and knocked him to the floor. “Sloan, stay back!” I shouted, still fighting the invader. He managed to get up, and we got into a scuffle, knocking all around the room, into filing cabinets and desks, sending papers and pens all over the room. Sloan didn’t shoot for fear of hitting me. I didn’t need him to.
After a minute or so, I managed to grab hold of him and subdue him. He was shaking as my knee pinned his chest to the ground.
“Surrender, and I won’t hurt you. Put your hands on your head if you understand.” I ordered.
He immediately put both his hands on his head, hyperventilating and mouthing silent words to himself. Maybe he was praying. Good, he would need some divine grace.
I snapped back into consciousness. My study was ruined. Papers and pens and pencils were scattered all over the floor, drawers were hanging out, my filing cabinet was in disarray, and the surface of my desk no longer looked anything like a workspace.
“Whoa, take it easy man! I’m sorry, I promise I’ll leave!” Someone said.
I looked down and noticed that I had a young man pinned to the ground under my right knee. His hands were on his head, and he was sweating heavily, and bleeding from a cut on his cheek.
I took my cell phone from my pocket and made a quick call to the police. After a few minutes, I heard the sirens outside and saw the lights. An officer came inside to take the guy off my hands. After the police left, I noticed the open window through which the man must have entered. Evidently, he thought Ashe and I were asleep.
Ashe! I thought. Was she okay? I ran out the broken study door, and Ashe was standing in the hallway, fraught with fear.
“Caleb, you’re okay!” She said when she saw me. She threw her arms around me and buried her face in my shoulder. “Oh my god, oh my god.” She said.
I held her close. “It’s okay, Ashe. I’m fine, I promise.” I said in a soothing voice. "He didn't hurt me, I got him before he could make a move."
She looked up at me, her eyes tearing up. “You kicked in the door. Did you know the guy was in there?” She asked.
I shook my head. “Honestly, it was another one of those flashbacks from Vietnam.” I said.
Ashe hugged me tighter and kissed me. “I’m just so glad you’re okay.” She said. She didn’t want to think about my flashbacks from my days in the army. I remembered the two days I’d seen perfectly. They’d happened exactly as I’d seen them. Why now? Why today? Why at all?
Saturday morning was my 36th birthday. I went out to breakfast with Ashe, and since I felt I needed to do something nice for her in light of Friday’s events, I went out for a bit in the afternoon and I came back with the Labrador puppy that she’d fallen in love with at the pet store two weeks ago.
“Oh my god!” She said, when I set him down. “Did you really?”
I smiled and nodded. “I know how much you loved him when we saw him at the pet store.” I sat down next to her on the ground. She was already holding the puppy and petting him while he chewed on the sleeve of her shirt.
“It’s a present for me too.” I said. “We have a new puppy, and I made my girlfriend very happy.”
Ashe smiled at me and we kissed. “You are the sweetest!” She said. The lab pup jumped up and stood on my chest, pinning me to the ground. I laughed, petting his soft puppy fur. Ashe laid down with me, and the dog proceeded to play with her long black hair.
“What should we name him?” I asked.
“Hmm . . . how about Tyson?” Ashe suggested, laughing as the dog pulled on her long braid.
“That’s perfect!" I said, laughing. "A great name for a puppy."
We laughed together and we played with Tyson for hours. He was full of energy, and Ashe and I were lying together on the couch before he even started panting. He hopped up and licked Ashe’s face and then mine. Then he curled up on my lap and fell asleep.
Ashe smiled and petted the little dog softly. “He’s so cute.” She said.
I put my hand over hers. “Yeah. He is, isn’t he?”
Ashe snuggled into my arms and fell asleep as well, and I followed soon afterwards, exhausted, and happy that my flashbacks had stopped.
Sunday morning was just as nice as Saturday. The sun was out, and a thin layer of cloud dusted over the sky. I let Ashe and Tyson sleep and decided to go out for a drive. I got dressed, brushed my teeth, and hopped into the driver seat of my Ford Escape.
Driving down the road was very relaxing. The sun was out, there was a pleasant breeze, I could hear birds; it was an all-around good day. I accidentally honked the horn after I turned on the radio. It was a pretty deep sound. Deep, but high at the same time . . .
I honked the horn as I jammed the gas pedal of the jeep to the floor. No matter how fast we were going, it wasn’t fast enough. The commies behind us were keeping up and holding their own. Sloan and Jameson were firing back on them from the back of the jeep, but it wasn’t doing much to aid us.
“Can’t this thing go any faster?” Jameson called, reloading his gun.
“I’m pushing the pedal to the metal, but this is all the speed we’re getting!” I shouted.
“Well, improvise then!” Sloan shouted back.
I nodded and set my sights on a thinning part of the tree line to the left of the road. “Hang on guys, we’re going four-wheeling!” I shouted. I jammed the wheel to the left and the jeep punched through the foliage into the thick of the woods. We bumped and bashed along for a minute or two, then I lost control when one tire blew out. To make matters worse, I could smell oil beginning to leak out of the engine. Any more stress and our ride would get real hot, real fast.
“Bail out! Bail out!” I shouted.
We all jumped out of the jeep and rolled just as it skidded another 20 feet or so, slammed into a tree and exploded.
I was laying on the ground on the side of the road. I could see a thin streak of blood leading away from where my left arm lay, but that seemed to be the worst of it, because I didn't hurt anywhere else. I looked around and saw my car smashed into a large tree on the side of the road. One of the tires was blown out as well. I’d also managed to knock another car off the road with me, and the driver was yelling at me as he surveyed the damage. It was only a matter of time before I was facing a lawsuit. I cursed myself and got up off the ground to call Ashe. She’d be mortified, but I had to get her to come pick me up. I tried to ignore the sting of the long scrape on my forearm as I dialed the number and waited for an answer. At least it probably wouldn't need a doctor's attention.
After Ashe finished bandaging my arm, she gave me a hug and went upstairs to read. I stayed downstairs, with Tyson laying on my lap and reading a book myself. I didn’t finish two chapters before I fell asleep.
When I woke up, I realized it was my turn to cook dinner. Ashe told me I shouldn't, that my arm wasn't up to it, but I insisted I had to make up for my behavior of late. So I went into the kitchen to find something to make. I decided to cook the steak that I had been marinating. Ashe loved steak, so I figured that it would be a nice treat.
I took the three cuts of meat out of the container with the marinade and began trimming the fat off with my chef’s knife. It sliced through the meat with clean ease; it was a sharp knife after all. I wondered how bad I would cut myself if I were to slip up . . .
“Okay. Just go in and interrogate the prisoner.” Sloan ordered me. I nodded and he led me to the door of the holding cell. It was open, and our captive, a lieutenant from the communist army, was seated at a table. I walked over and asked him a simple question. “Where is your base?”
He looked at me like I was insane. “What are you talking about?” He asked. His voice was not heavy with the Vietnamese accent that most of the prisoners had.
“You heard the damn question. Where is the base that you’re chartered to located at?” I repeated, more forcefully this time.
“I have no clue what you’re saying.” He said.
I got angry and grabbed him by the shirt, throwing him against the wall. “Answer the damn question!” I shouted. I raised the combat knife in my hand and held it close to his face. “I don’t want to hurt you, so tell me what I want to know and this’ll be easy for both of us.”
He struggled in my grip, both of his hands trying to pull away my strong arm. “Let me go! Let me go! Please!” He begged me, his eyes tearing up.
“Answer the question!” I shouted again, holding the knife so close that it almost touched his neck.
“Stop! Let me go! You’re hurting me! Please!” He was crying now, scared to death of me and the knife I was holding.
I growled at him and inched the knife closer extremely slowly. He squirmed and writhed and rocked in my grip, clawing at my hand, begging for mercy. Eventually, I touched the steel blade to his neck and he stopped moving. He only looked at me, his eyes red with tears, silently pleading with me to let him go.
It was the absolute worst moment of my entire life. My arms went weak, and my knees felt like sand. My heart split open, and my head felt like it was filled with razors. I lowered the knife and dropped in to the ground. Ashe was in my grip, both hands on my arm, crying like the world had just ended. I, Caleb Kenneth, had just held the woman I loved at knifepoint.
“Caleb, what’s happening to you? This isn’t you!” Ashe yanked my arm off of her, crying her eyes out.
I waited. I waited for her to take her car keys, take Tyson, and drive away from me, the insane war veteran. I waited for her to turn on me, punch me and claw me. I waited for her to run upstairs and lock herself in the bedroom. But she did none of those things. What she did was a thousand times worse that any of those. She hugged me. She threw her arms around my neck and hugged me like I’d just come home from war again. Her face was pressed to my chest, the fear and grief and love of her tears going through my shirt, through my skin, and dripping into my heart. I didn’t hug back. I couldn’t take the emotional hammer I’d just been hit with.
I put my hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes. Her beautiful blue eyes that I’d fallen in love with when I first met her. They were tinged red from all her crying. “Ashe . . .” I said. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I’ve put you through all this in the past few days.” I was crying too as I talked to her. “I love you more than anything in the whole world. These flashbacks aren’t natural. You’re right, it isn’t me.”
Ashe was boring right into me with her gaze. She put a hand on my cheek, and her skin felt hot with grief and love. It made what I did next all the more painful.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t stay with you right now. I’m going to leave for a bit, and then I’ll come back when I’ve made peace with myself.” I kissed her softly on the lips. Then I brushed her hair over her ear and ran out the front door. Ashe was calling to me, begging me to stay, but I couldn’t put her through any more of this. I slowed to a slow walk when I was about a hundred yards away from the house. After a minute or so, I heard sirens behind me. Ashe must have called the police to bring me back. They were going to take me, but I was going to go quietly . . .
I was alone, walking through the woods. I’d just come out for some air. It was stuffy as hell inside those barracks. I should have taken a buddy or two, but I didn’t want to disturb the intense game of chinaso that the rest of the guys were playing. I only had my gun with me for protection.
It was a boneheaded move, going out alone. For when I was about a hundred yards away from the base, I was jumped. Three Vietnamese soldiers had disarmed me and were now holding me at gunpoint. I cursed myself for being so stupid and put my hands on my head. They were going to take me, but I was going to go quietly.
Once they’d handcuffed me, thrown me in the back of their car and carted me back to their base, they escorted me to a jail cell near the back. I was officially a POW. I had no idea how I was going to get out of this, and no way of knowing if the rest of my friends knew I’d been captured. All I could do now was wait until they decided what to do with me.
I was in jail. I’d been taken to the police station and put in a jail cell. I was guilty of armed assault and domestic violence. Not to mention a likely obvious traffic violation of running my car and another man off the road for no reason. I was sure Ashe had told them about that too.
I felt like I should have died in the enemy camp all those years ago. I put Ashe, the woman I loved even more than myself, through three of the worst days of her life. I deserved to be here in jail. I'd committed war crimes without ever going to war.
I pleaded for a mental health evaluation during my trial. I was quite positive that I was insane. Maybe it was a stroke of luck, my lawyer’s persuasive skills, or some higher power in the universe, but the judge bought it, and I was sent to a psyche-ward for treatment. The doctors there were actually very nice. Nothing like what you see on TV or read about in the books. My primary psychiatrist, Dr. Mendez was very accommodating and very kind during our sessions. We were able to discuss much of my army experience and the effects of my visions very openly, and according to him, with good results.
The Rotunno Psychiatric Hospital wasn’t bad at all. The patients weren’t bad people, but they had definitely seen better days. I was one of the least . . . needy patients. In fact, Dr. Mendez said that my head was completely screwed on right, minus the strange flashbacks.
Ashe agreed to answer questions about my recent behavior and medical history for them. It melted me to see that even after all I had put her through, she loved me enough to stick with me through this process of working with the doctors, receiving medicine for my headaches, and making peace with myself. I loved her so much. More than anything I had ever loved (no offense to mom and dad and my brothers, if you’re reading this).
Ashe came to visit me often. And Dr. Mendez went against policy to let me bring Tyson into my cell every once in a while. Tyson was still a hyper puppy, just like when I had brought him home from the pet store. He still ran around me in circles and he still licked my face with his little sandpaper tongue. I’d remember hearing someone say once, ‘I’d like to be the man my dog thinks I am.’ I can see what they meant.
One day in particular, Ashe came to my room with a skip in her step. She must have had good news.
“Good news, Caleb!” She said, hugging me tightly. “Dr. Mendez said that your mental state has greatly improved, and that you should be ready to come home in about a month after they’ve gotten you down to a weekly medication!”
For the first time in two months, since I’d been checked in here at the hospital, I hugged Ashe back. My world was in this woman, not in some far eastern war-torn country. I wanted to be with her for the rest of my life.
“That’s great.” I kissed her cheek and brushed a stray strand of hair from in her face. “But, before we go, I have a feeling I'm not fully cured yet. I might have another flashback. Will you stay with me?” I asked her.
Ashe smiled and snuggled into my arms. “I’d stay with you forever,” she said. "I love you."
I was back at the pentagon, where the commanding officer of the U.S forces in Vietnam had finished presenting decorations about an hour ago. I was spending time with my friends from my unit in one of the sitting rooms in the banquet wing.
Sloan and Jameson, my friends who had led the successful operation to break me from my prison were next to me on the sofa. We were talking, laughing, and enjoying stories from our war journals. It was the perfect end to the perfect party for the end of the war.
“So, will I be seeing you two again next year?” Sloan asked me and Jameson.
“Hell yeah!” Jameson said, pounding a fist into his open palm. “This unit is where the action is! I wouldn’t miss anything for the world.”
“What about you, Kenneth?” Sloan asked me, patting me on the back.
I’d known what I was going to say to answer this question. Even before I’d put on my tux and come to this party. I knew exactly what I was going to do next year.
“Sloan, Jameson, you guys are like my brothers, and I love you both. I’ll always keep in touch with you, but I’m done with my service in the army. When this party is over, I’m sending in my resignation.”
“So, Dr. Mendez, what exactly was the cause of these flashbacks?” Ashe asked my doctor after she’d left my room.
“It’s actually quite simple. Common even.” Dr. Mendez said, clearing his desk a little. “Mr. Caleb Kenneth is a war veteran. He served active duty in the Vietnam War. The events of this war are partially to blame for his recent mental instability.”
“He wasn’t exposed to Agent Orange or anything, was he?” Ashe asked.
“No no, nothing like that. He's been fighting the affliction that many veterans are still at war with. Caleb has had an extreme case of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder," Dr. Mendez said.
"That's why he's been having flashbacks?" Ashe asked.
“Yes. He's been reliving the traumatic memories of his time in the army,” Dr. Mendez explained. “The casual actions performed in his daily life reminded him of things he did during the war, and the memories are so dominant in his head that he believed they were real. As for his actions, it’s like the proverbial ‘sleepwalking.’”
“So he has no idea that he’s doing it until he snaps back to real time?” Ashe questioned.
“That is correct.” Dr. Mendez said. “Anyway, I believe that Caleb has revisited these memories quite enough. Once we have successfully brought his medications down to a small weekly pill, he will be free to return home.”
Ashe nodded and stood up from her chair. “Thank you doctor,” she said, shaking his hand. “You’ve been good to us.”
“It’s part of my job,” the good doctor said.
“One more question though: why is his war memory still so dominant if he’s had 15 years of memories since?” Ashe inquired.
Dr. Mendez shrugged. “There are a multitude of possible reasons, but I believe that he just hasn’t had anything significant enough to top it.”
The first thing I did when I finally went home was buy a wedding ring. I knew that I wanted Ashe to be my wife, and for us to spend the rest of our lives together. She was even more excited than the day I surprised her with Tyson. I’m happy to say that she eagerly accepted.
We were married, and we now have a son and a daughter, Elliott and Sapphire, and another son on the way. Tyson is a big golden lab now, but still a puppy on the inside. We have a big house in Syracuse, New York, and we’re leading a very happy life together as a family.
If you’re reading this memoir, know that I, Caleb Kenneth, am no longer insane, or broken up, or living in the past. My war service is over, and I’ve left Vietnam, and the Communists, and the prison cell behind. I can’t forget them, because they are parts of me, but they will no longer run with me, because I turned in my rifle at the armory years ago, with all of my lingering ghosts.
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