Two Dead American Soldiers Talk About President George W. Bush – Part One

Harold Hoey returned from Iraq with no face. It was the noon heat that made his head sweat under the heavy helmet. An itch developed over his right ear. He stopped walking, turned to the right and noticed Iraqi children in casual dress kicking a red soccer ball on the opposite side of the chest high makeshift metal fence that was erected along much of the perimeter of the highway that connected the airport with downtown Baghdad. As he watched the children, the head itch got worse. Harold took his helmet off as one Iraqi child kicked the red soccer ball over the fence in his direction. The red ball came to rest about five feet from Harold on the brown grassy patch between Harold and the fence. Harold was scratching his head and looked at the red ball. He bent down to place his helmet on the grass with the intent to retrieve the red ball for the children. As the helmet hit the grass, Harold heard a click. He looked down and in that quarter second between the click and the explosive blast from the road side bomb, Harold realized what the meaning of the click was. A quarter second is plenty of time to grasp the nature of what is about to happen, but no time to contemplate it. The blast hit Harold in the face and threw his body several feet back onto the pavement. The red ball was blasted in the opposite direction toward the fence and came to rest near a ditch that gullied under the bottom of the metal grating of the fence. An Iraqi child retrieved the red ball and the kids continued to play soccer. Harold died instantly, and now three months later he lied peacefully in an oak casket in a grave in a cemetery in northern Vermont.

Billy Brunt was lying in a casket which was above ground over an open grave pit that was immediately adjacent to Harold Hoey’s gravesite. Bill Brunt’s family and friends had left about an hour ago after a brief ceremony that was too secluded to include the customary flyover of US Air Force fighter jets. To substitute for the jets, a sixty-seven year old Vermont National Guardsman shot a blank from his pistol into the air, holstered his gun, and then handed an American flag folded into the shape of a triangle to Billy’s father who was sitting on a metal folding chair as the Guardsman said “this is from a grateful nation.” Billy’s mother, also sitting on a folding metal chair, was dressed in all black. When Billy’s mother heard the words “grateful nation,” she cried. Billy’s relatives and friends were all standing. Billy’s father lowered his head and placed the flag on his lap. Billy’s relatives cried. Billy’s friends cried. The three gravediggers leaned against nearby headstones holding shovels waiting to bury Billy. It started to rain. Billy’s parents left. Billy’s relatives and friends left. The gravediggers decided to take an extended lunch break.

Harold Hoey, below ground, and Billy Brunt, above ground, were alone, together in a northern Vermont cemetery.

“Hi,” said Harold.

“What? Who said that?” asked Billy.

To Be Continued.

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