Ambush Night

“Canada was never a better place to start with war against the U.S.A. in 1975. The strong sweet smell of cold beer fills the airy night after a long and fierce cold day. The grass is wet and the sweet smell of pine is distinct outside the bar. You can hear the boys outside their platoons howling at the moon over a victory. We were just off the border between Canada and the U.S. and we were just two days away from going home. Some are in the bar singing their lungs out to Frankie Valli’s “Oh What A Night,” or having warm shots of whiskey within the light brown wooden walls of the bar cabin. We haven’t lost any men yet, and we were lucky that the air-strikers came just in time to demolish the enemy over the mountains. With no man lost, I am looking at the signs on the walls of the bar cabin. Some of the signs are colorful paintings of pin-up girls with a navy blue sign that says “Route 66” on the placard. I notice that the bartender is staring at me. I  told him as thoughts raced through my head. “You?” He scoffs accusingly. I was so drunk I couldn’t even tell whether he was scoffing or yelling at me but I know it was an accusation. “You shouldn’t be in the arms. You’re in the army and you’re a woman? “No.” I started slurring a ridiculous sounding British accent; my senses almost gnawing at my eyes blurring. As I looked at the bartender, my senses started becoming more and more aware. I could’ve sworn to God I heard the pounding of either his or my own heart. “Gee. What a Canadian. ” I thought. “I am but a man now.” I continue. “But I am quite the lieutenant.” Some of the boys in the bar are snickering. The sergeant laughs out loud and pats me firmly on my back. “Have a good day ma’am and die a legend.” He was saying as he walked away from me. He headed for the door silently walking out. His footsteps slowly dying as he disappeared outside. “Maybe he had said that because it was my third year in the armed forces, or maybe he said it cause he might miss me when there will come a time when it’ll be the enemy’s tum to pull the trigger on my sorry ass. I was a pretty laidback soldier doing whatever I wanted and for some odd reason, I earned two golden medals and I beat thee odds by going the extra mile ensuring that I took these men home safely alongside the female cadets. ” My therapist was jotting down notes silently as I watched his smooth hands pace across the paper. I look back at the signs on the bar cabin’s walls. I tum my head, take another sip of whiskey and head to go outside. As I look over at the platoons, there were two boys fighting over a porno magazine. It seemed like I was the only one having a cold beer as the dark starry night rolls on by. The sober boys are somewhere in their platoons boxing. Their sweat beading down over their faces and chests with their shirts off and their army jeans on. lt is the freaking weekend and we have this night all to ourselves and after we knew we’d have a long day ahead of us after tonight. Suddenly, as I was staring off into the distance, gunshots like loud Christmas poppers start tearing into the night air. We are under attack and all I remembered while on the bus the next day was me cocking my pistol and pulling the trigger.

***

My therapist looked at me. “Certeza, M. Do you know why you’re here.” I nodded my head left to right, right to left. “Sir no sir.” I answered. “Certz, you’re here because you have failed to remember anything the night before.” I stared into the distance like I did that night in the bar.

***

I am in the bus the next day. Some of our men were wounded with bloody but not gory handkerchiefs over our heads and bloody wounds. I figured I shot the enemy that night. But the funny thing was, I didn’t remember a goddamned thing. Whether it was cocking the gun or pulling the trigger; my memory was like a roaring flame of fiery hatred; then disappearing into the lonely hot sun and opening itself to a brand new day on the field. The battle field was my basketball court, and my next goal was to join the air force completing two more years in the military. I looked down and saw a shoe with crimson red blood. The foul stench of something that had died filled the bus. Immediately, I had begun to panic. I am now taking water out of my cantina and pouring rubbing alcohol on gauze and cleaning up the soldier’s wounds with astringent while he is moaning in agonizing pain. “Certz? The Sergeant is coming. Now do you remember? ‘No.” I replied. The sergeant started crying as he stood by the door. I could hear the soft pattering of footsteps as he silently went sobbing out of the building. ‘·Goodbye Certz.” After that, the last of my sanity had gone.