Morgan never wrote his girlfriend again. He dropped her unopened letters in odd places in ceremony, disregarding the life he’d known. The idea of the two situations existing simultaneously boggled his mind and enraged him. So, he forgot about it and accepted the fact he was involved in one of the strangest human activities imaginable—war.
Morgan looked at his watch to discover it was 5:10 a.m. Darkness covered the windows with no hint of a rising sun. After six hours of physical inactivity his body was ready to go. Not so sure about his mind, his thoughts slipped away to Crimson and a promise they’d made a year before in the jungle. The two had been away from cities, barracks, and alcohol for nearly two weeks. The friends missed alcohol almost as much as they missed home. Shaking hands, the two promised that their first day back in the United States would be one of record breaking alcohol consumption. Since Crimson didn’t make it, Morgan decided he would have to drink for two.
He tiptoed down the stairs and into the kitchen to search for the alcohol which would be his breakfast. The first place he checked was the cabinet over the magnet-covered fridge. Bingo! A half gallon of rum and a bottle of whiskey brightened his morning as he immediately turned his thoughts to a mixer. Quickly finding soda, his next task was to retrieve glasses and ice. Morgan filled two glasses with ice, one for Crimson and one for himself. Crimson’s favorite drink was rum and coke. Sitting down at the kitchen table with the two drinks in front of him, he didn’t waste any time and took a good long drink from both glasses, one after the other. A deep breath escaped his lungs as the rum ran down his throat.
Putting his hands behind his head, Morgan stretched, smiled, and let out an incredible sigh. It was a sigh of disbelief, awareness, new beginnings, and power. What will the world do with me now? I guess the real question is what will I do with the world? The last time Morgan had been in the United States he was nineteen years old. He’d graduated high school and was working in a warehouse when his country called. His life was pretty boring besides his girlfriend and his guitar, and he was certain they’d both be there on his return. And now he was back, years later with an uncertain future.
Remembering the drinks, he picked them up, one in each hand and made a toast to Crimson, wishing him well, wherever he was. Feeling his presence, he laughed as he lifted one drink to his mouth, and then the other. Morgan knew that wherever he was, Crimson was missing him just as much. Morgan knew one day their paths would cross again. If there is such a thing as soul mates, we were mates. Mates get separated at times, but they always reunite.
Finishing the two drinks, he looked at the whiskey and decided to have two more rum and cokes. The ice hadn’t had time to melt, and he played bartender again, refilling the two glasses. A tiny hint of a buzz began in his head and trickled all the way down his spine to the floor. Wiggling his feet and picking up the two glasses, he clinked them together again. “Cheers,” he said as he held the glasses up for the empty room. Morgan wondered what time his parents would be up and knew he’d be drunk.
Standing up, he walked to the window to admire God’s work as light filtered through the window and into his eyes. Gripping the cold porcelain sink a shiver moved his entire body as he heard Crimson’s laugh in his head. Crimson had laughed more than any person Morgan had ever met. He had the ability to find humor in just about any situation. He’d been clever as a master thief, yet honest as a monk. Hearing the laugh again, Morgan turned away from the window.
It was whiskey time. After finding two shot glasses, he filled them both to their limit. One of the shot glasses had Big Ben on the front with the word “London” written in dark blue. The other was the Statue of Liberty and read, “Visit New York.” Morgan designated Lady Liberty for Crimson in honor of his newfound freedom and took Big Ben for himself as a reminder of his time left on earth. He thought about how much he hated whiskey as he stared at the two glasses. His stomach shuddered. He thought of Crimson and the jungle promise of drunkenness as he tossed the shots back in succession. Breathing hard out of his nose he filled them up again and made an imaginary toast to the great cycle of life and death before draining them again.
Feeling highly awake and alive, he jumped up for more ice, soda, and rum. Before sitting back down at the kitchen table, Morgan opened the fridge and grabbed two cans of beer. As he sauntered across the room the alcohol coursed through his body and twinkled in his head like a small piece of heaven. The sun made her daily appearance. It was the same sun which beat down on him and Crimson in the jungle.
When the four drinks were finished the clock read 6:50 a.m. and Morgan’s head spun—a hurricane heading for an unsuspecting shore. Barefooted, he stumbled out of the kitchen and onto the front lawn. Looking down, Morgan admired the gorgeous green between his feet. Twitching his toes, the cold wet morning dew sent a quiver through his body all the way up to his scattered, electrified brain. Morgan’s eyes scanned the neighborhood and the houses along the street. Raising his fist he screamed, “I’ve lived more than any of you ever will. You sleep like happy babies and don’t know what you’ve put your children through. I made it back and now you have to deal with me.”