"That must've been really terrible." - it was.
"I could never do what you did." - you could.
"Was it awful?" - yes.
"You're so brave." - i was only doing my job.
"You should be so proud." - i should.
"You're a hero." - i'm just a man.
"I can't imagine what that must've been like." - not anymore.
I'm sitting in a Coffee Shop right now. People are talking to each other about all kinds of different things. One man is speaking some foreign language I can't recognize. A woman blabbers on her cell phone about what her listener 'should' be doing. One man silently reads a book, another has two laptops in front of him - two.
I love places like this. I feel cut off from the world. The news of the universe can't find me here. For a moment I'm at peace.
But the moment is fleeting.
I look out the window to the street below. It could be the downtown street of any town in New England; they're basically as interchangeable as Eli Whitney's parts. Normally, this could be calming. Not anymore.
Now I look out the window, I see people window shopping, girls holding on to the arms of their boyfriends. I see a woman pushing a baby carriage. I'll assume she's a mom given the sight.
Then, suddenly, from up behind her and passing on the right is a jogger. He is lean, long, been doing this a good long time. He's not just out because the weather is finally warm. He's out regardless of the temperature. He's out on a mission.
And then I see it.
The news footage blends and twists it's way into my vision. I can't see the lines of what is real and what is not.
The hairs on the back of my neck adjust themselves as I gasp for a breath I can't find. I have to sit up and stretch my back, adjust my posture, change everything about my mannerisms.
I can feel my face flush. My jaw clenches. My hands start to tremble. My mouth becomes dry.
This is how it starts. And it's long from over.
It's like having a headache when you're watching a movie while wearing those awful 3D glasses. I pinch the bridge of my nose as though it'll somehow help.
I know it won't.
The room around me falls silent even as I look and see everyone still making noises I should be hearing. The radio overhead seems to slow it's tempo and dissipates into nothing.
An unmistakable heat overcomes my body. And I'm gone.
I'm back in a place I don't want to be. I'm wearing a uniform I no longer own. Freddy Krueger should be jumping out from behind a pipe somewhere. But he's not. I'm in my own personal nightmare.
I'm in a desert city, don't ask where, it doesn't matter. I'm watching myself for this omniscient place, but I can feel everything that's happening. The situation is bad. Worse even. For lack of a less obvious word, it's traumatic.
Hell could take a few pointers.
As soon as it's happened, it's ending. I find my way back to the chair in the coffee shop. My eyes are wide, burning, bloodshot. I realize the music is still playing. Then I hear a voice, two, three.
"Hey ... Hey ... Dude, are you okay?" My eyes focus on the man now sitting next to me. He's speaking to me. I realize he looks concerned.
I realize I must look somehow 'not okay.'
I become embarrassed; self-conscious, weak.
I can't help myself.
And it started with a man running on the street.
My mind took me to Boston.
Boston brought me back to Iraq.
Iraq was eight years ago.
This is my every day.
It's that simple for my mind to make these connections; to bridge unrelated thoughts like two sides of a river.
