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Roger
A Veteran’s Return Home
© 2018 James LaFond
FEB/19/18
Roger finally relaxed on his third beer, put a Metallica song on the jukebox and reminisced about his return from Afghanistan…
When I came back here, to the Mid-Atlantic and the Northeast, I was disgusted, met no one who I could have conceivably fought for with a clear conscience.
So, I began doing work for Charlie [1]. I decided to ride across the country through the South and there I met the people I fought for: good people who say hello and don’t assume the worst of you or at least don’t act on it. In the North, everything has been taken to such a gay level that you can’t ride with chaps on without someone thinking you’re an ass-fucker.
I get off my rice-burner—preferred for the work—at a diner, wearing my old unit cap flipped around…Yes the South also has a state without a mandatory helmet law. These young people are going out drinking but they stop to say hello and I tell them, “I don’t want you all doing any drugs. Keep it clean tonight.”
It was okay that I said it. But then when they looked at the tats and so forth, one said, “But what about you?”
I said something along the lines of not doing as I had done and they seemed openly thankful that I cared that they didn’t fuck up their life. They were such nice people—it wasn’t like all these soulless fucks up here.
Sometime later, riding through Oklahoma, a few days from getting paid, I was really ragged, only two dollars in my wallet.
I stepped up to the bar and ordered a coffee. The woman behind the counter was Native American. She asked me if I wanted any food and I told her that I’d be sticking with coffee.
She brought me a coffee and a plate of food and told me I could have more at the buffet. What a beautiful woman. That will never happen to you in New York. Starving wasn’t new to me. I’ve got no problem with a fast. But I couldn’t hide it from her that I was hungry and she couldn’t see me go without.
I had a hard time keeping it together.
When I drove back through on the way back I stopped in and gave her fifty bucks.
It had taken a while, but I eventually found the America I had fought for.
Notes
1. Attribution assumed to be understood by the author, but was not. The tone this name was spoken in suggests an organization rather than an individual.
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