graf #5 Things

It sits on my dresser collecting dust. The blue leather box has a governmental look to it. It obviously contains something important. Looking at is hard sometimes. I think about that day enough it. It’s similar in a way to the physical reminder of my scars. It takes me back to that pitch black night in Baghdad. God it was dark. My title in the Army had the word combat in front of it for a reason. My unit was constantly on missions. It felt like we spent more time patrolling the streets than in the safety of the base. That night in September we were once again on a particular stretch known for violence. Seemed like every time we passed this same checkpoint the bullets were flying and roadside bombs were going off. I was in the lead vehicle of the convoy and hiding my nervousness. I had no other choice. Sergeants are there to lead and install confidence. Our trucks were lit up like the fourth of July. Huge fog lights were mounted on all four corners, top and bottom. The speed was 5 mph. We were pretty much sitting ducks at this point as usual. My guys and I were rolling along laughing and talking to hide the fact that everyone was always scared shitless. It came out of the darkness. A rocket propelled grenade slammed into the front of my truck. This kind of hit had happened before and literally left a black mark on my armor. I didn’t know at the time but this was different. This particular model was equipped with a small warhead on its nose. The scene was a nightmare. The Black Hawk chopper landed in the middle of the street as an Apache gunship circled above watching for insurgents. Myself and another soldier where airlifted to a medical center for immediate surgery. I got lucky. The shrapnel had cleaned off my hip but left most of my leg specifically the arteries. I was hospitalized for a month and healed for six. It’s been two years since that night and it is still there in my mind every day. I wish I could tuck the memory away with that Purple Heart sitting in the blue box but I cannot.