Discharge

When Sam was discharged and sent home, they had a celebration waiting for him. He got off the train and was surrounded by well-wishers and happy smiling people. He managed a small smile and mumbled a  few words of thanks before the mayor gave a speech thanking him for his service to his country. The crowd cheered and he just wished the whole thing was over so he could go home.

Finally he was in his dad's old pickup on the way home. His parents asked him how he was and he told them he was fine but very mechanically. They told him about working in the mill and the factory while he had been gone. They tried to draw him out a little, telling a few jokes and stories and he tried to respond a little but mostly he was a blank.

He got home and took a shower and for the first time in a long while he wore something other than his uniform. He stopped in front of the mirror and just stared at the stranger in front of him. He had left a young healthy boy always ready to laugh and with a gleam in his eye. What stood in front of him now was a worn down, stricken and lean man. His eyes shine anymore and his face seemed longer and more haggard.

His was not a stereotypical war experience. He hadn't been on the front or even seen combat. He was a clerk to an officer, pure administration. But that was the problem. It was the orders he had seen issued from above and on the ground. Hearing about regiments wiped out trying to keep unholdable lines. Or men sacrificed  by the hundreds to achieve impossible goals. He never saw a single act of violence but he heard the screams and moans all around him of the dead, the wounded and dying.

None of this was his fault, of course. But he couldn't shake the feeling he was somehow responsible, that if he simply failed to transmit the orders from headquarters men wouldn't needlessly be slaughtered. The guilt ate away at him and took its toll physically. He hunched over more often, slept less. Had difficulty concentrating. He'd been offered a promotion or two but turned them down. It was bad enough to reconcile himself to his job without being rewarded for it too.

But it was all over now. He had to come to terms with it and move on. Of course he didn't have it as bad as some others. But that didn't make it better. He just needed to let go of the guilt. The war was over. He needed to let go. He raised his head and left the mirror behind him. He went downstairs.It would be nice to have a hot meal and a soft bed.