I was still tired and feeling awkward being back home. The last mission was a lot. It is like waking up after an intense dream. I am happy to be back amongst family and friends, but the first couple of days and even weeks, I prefer to just sit on the porch. It was just a coincidence that the annual awards ceremony was happening this evening, and I felt obligated to head back up the hill to the hotel and theater to pay my respects to those being honored.
I crept in the side-door, and up along the south side of the building through the back hallway to the theater in the back. I knew there wouldn’t be anyone in this hallway, and I showed up 10 minutes late knowing I could sneak into the back row of the theater after everything had begun. I would make my presence known afterward as I made my way out the door to go home. I didn’t recognize anyone in the back row as I made my way in and spotted a seat in the middle of the aisle.
The awards ceremony was exactly like the hundreds I had been to before. They recognized soldiers for the most mundane yet meaningful contributions to humanity. It was less the deed, and more about the moment in which the deed was delivered. Of course, Constance got showcased for feeding people during catastrophes and war zones—it was her style. I will have to make it to her house for dinner someday, she had a way of nourishing your soul with both food and stories.
I don’t ever find the ceremonies dull. I love the softness of the deeds. I love the situations my fellow soldiers were in. I love how they can always find themselves in these trying moments. I find them nourishing. It always makes you feel like you are in good company. You are where you should be. It is always a packed house in the theater too. I think others feel the same way. It really isn’t the award and recognition, it is about the celebration of what matters, and the good that is in all of us.
The ceremony was winding down, but the master of ceremonies said they had one more last minute entry. On snap, I knew it immediately would be me. I was too tired for this. It was all still too raw. But, OK. It was for a moment I had narrowly escaped being arrested in downtown Portland after scoring some dope. I had run 12 blocks and been hiding behind a trash can for 20 minutes until I was sure nobody was following me. My buddy Nick was snatched up, and I’d later learn he ended up in the hospital after the beating he took.
I didn’t know where I would go. I still had some dope stuff in the crack of my ass, but I had no gear. I just began wandering out the back-side of the alley and there was an older dude sitting on the bench clearly not feeling well, and clearly houseless. I sat next to him, and asked him what he needed. He was hungry and thirsty. We were right next to the famous food trucks and while I didn’t have any money left I knew one of the vendors and quickly acquired some tacos and lemonade for him, and sat down back with him.
He ate like he hadn’t had a real meal in days. I stayed with him. I wanted to hear his story. He said his wife had divorced him and didn’t let him see the kids. It had been five years since he lost his job and apartment. He was just tired. He was ready to go. I put my arm over his shoulder and squeezed. He shuddered as if he hadn’t been touched in a while. I was jones’n bad, but he clearly needed me more. I just held him. He began to cry. I just held him more. There was nothing else to do. There was nothing else needed at that moment.
I sat there for two hours holding him. I took off my coat and gave it to him. I knew a house I could go and find some gear and a couch to get high. I didn’t say anything when I left. I went and got high for the last time. That shit in my ass crack ended up being loaded with Fentanyl. When I got to the house Timmy told me about Nick being in the hospital, and I said I’d go check on him later, after I got high. There was no after. There was only home. I had carried enough pain and suffering for a lifetime. It was time to go.
I was getting an award for this. Apparently the guy I fed was another soldier, and he’d go on to do some amazing work. While my tour was worthy, and carried an honorable load, his tour had a much wider impact on humanity. I am good at being the buttress to other soldiers’ success. It is my style. I’d rather carry the load, than be known for the work. I felt the whole auditorium look at me, and felt their love surge through me. I am not sure I could leave through the front door, but here we go—-it is good to be home.
