Part 7


Arlington National Cemetery
February 23, 1970

JC squinted against the glare of the sun shining brightly against the rows of headstones. It was an overwhelming sight. Precisely measured and lined-up, the markers stood in silent honor of the fallen dead. JC walked gently over the grass to the marker he’d been searching for, brushing a stray leaf off the pristine marble. He couldn’t believe that twenty-five years had passed. It seemed like only yesterday…

***

“I’m okay, JC. And I’m coming home.”

Those words sustained JC through the next month. He realized there was a war on, and mail from overseas was erratic at best, so not hearing from Justin right away after JC wrote him wasn’t a surprise. If he got stressed, JC would just read the letter again when he got down.

By the second month, JC was beginning to get anxious. Not at Justin, but at the Marines. After all, Justin was just over in Hawaii—how hard was it to get mail from Hawaii to San Francisco?

By the third month with no additional word, JC was angry. And he was back at the Marine office every day, this time demanding to know what was going on, where Justin was, how Justin was. Major Kincaid had been promoted and transferred out of the San Francisco Marine’s office, and his replacement, a Captain Shields, wasn’t quite as understanding.

“I don’t care if you’re ‘next of kin’ to Eisenhower, boy,” he told JC sarcastically. “You’re not getting any information about that Marine! Now get out of this office!”

JC ignored the captain’s words and again sat in the office, hour after hour. Day after day. Week after week.

JC was resting in his chair, his eyes closed and head back when he felt a presence beside him. He blinked away the sleepiness at the sight of Colonel Kincaid standing next to him. “Major…Colonel Kincaid…sir,” he said, struggling to rise to his feet.

The Colonel gently pushed him back down and took a chair next to him. “It’s good to see you again, JC,” said, holding out his hand.

JC shook the proffered hand. “How…why are you here? I heard you were transferred to Washington.”

Colonel Kincaid nodded. “I was, but the girls contacted me when you showed back up.” He waved slightly at the two women behind the counter. “What’s going on?”

JC fished into his pocket, withdrawing Justin’s letter. “This is the only letter I’ve received from Justin, sir,” he told the Colonel. “It’s been almost four months since I got it. I’ve written Justin, I’ve written the hospital, I’ve tried everything, but so far, no one will tell me anything.”

The Colonel nodded. “Let me see what I can find out,” he told JC, rising from the chair and indicating for JC to do the same. They walked behind the counter to Captain Shields’ office, opening the door without knocking.

Captain Shields started at the intrusion but quickly recovered and saluted his superior officer. “Sir. Colonel. I did not know you were returning to this office.”

Colonel Kincaid pulled the door shut. “I was notified that Mr. Chasez wasn’t receiving the assistance he needed, Captain,” he said, walking around the desk, thereby forcing Captain Shields to move out of the way.

Captain Shields glared quickly at JC, then turned to Colonel Kincaid. “Sir, forgive me, but I gave Mr. Chasez all the help he was entitled to.” He moved back closer to the desk. “Sir, you do know that they’re…I mean, it’s obvious…regulations…”

Colonel Kincaid held up a hand, halting Captain Shields’ words. “What I know is that Mr. Chasez is listed as the next of kin of a Marine who was wounded in action on Iwo Jima. I expect to treat Mr. Chasez no differently than any other next of kin of a Marine.” Colonel Kincaid waved JC to a chair and flipped the intercom button. “Betty, start a call through to the hospital at Pearl, please,” he said. He flipped the button off and looked squarely at Captain Sheilds. “You’re dismissed, Captain,” he said, sitting down at the desk.

Captain Sheilds glared at both men before snapping a salute and leaving the office.

JC was awestruck by the Colonel’s actions. “Colonel…sir…thank you.”

Colonel Kincaid shook his head. “As I said, it’s nothing more than I would expect for anyone’s next of kin.” He was about to say more but was stalled by buzz of the intercom, signaling the call to Pearl was connected.

The conversation on Colonel Kincaid’s side was short and precise. He inquired for information regarding Private Timberlake. A short pause, then the colonel thanked whoever was on the line and hung up the receiver gently. “He’s alive, JC,” Major Kincaid said.

JC slumped in his chair, releasing his held breath with relief. “Why hasn’t he written? What’s wrong with him? When is he coming home?’

The colonel held up a hand. “He made it to Pearl just fine, JC. He was lucid enough to dictate this letter,” Kincaid told JC, handing the letter back to JC. “But then…”

“What?”

“He’s in a coma, JC. They don’t expect him to regain consciousness.”

***

JC walked slowly down the empty corridor, his brace tapping heavily with each step. He was tired, and sore, and dirty, but refused to go clean up, insisting on being taken to the hospital after the flight to Hawaii. Colonel Kincaid had pulled some strings…some huge strings, and had gotten JC on a cargo flight from San Francisco to see Justin. He’d also arranged for JC to have a driver, and reserved a room for him on the base. JC was again overwhelmed by Colonel Kincaid’s action and kindness, and had left for Hawaii that afternoon.

He paused at the door to Justin’s ward, the dim light from the windows illuminating the men in the beds. Some were awake, some asleep. JC’s eyes were searching the room for Justin as a nurse approached.

“You must be Mr. Chasez,” she said, smiling. JC nodded. “Colonel Kincaid called ahead, asking us to give you whatever courtesies we can.” She turned to the ward. “I’ll take you to Private Timberlake now.” JC followed her across the ward when they stopped at a curtained bed. She pulled the curtain a bit, allowing JC to peak inside.

Justin was there. He looked…asleep to JC, until he saw the tube in his nose and the ones in his arms. “Has there…what happened?”

The nursed sighed. “He came in with a head wound,” she said, going to Justin and checking the tubes and wires. “But he was awake and lucid. Asked me to write a letter to someone, since his hands were burned.” She must have seen JC start at her words and quickly explained. “They’re better now, but reports have him pulling out men who were shot with flamethrowers, so his hands…” She lifted one, showing the new pink skin. “So I wrote a letter for him, and the next day, he just…didn’t wake up.”

“Is he…in there?” JC asked, moving toward the bed and reaching for Justin’s arm. The boy was warm to the touch, despite his stillness. JC slid his fingers down to feel his pulse.

“The doctors say there are brainwaves, yes,” she told him. “But they don’t understand the coma, and frankly, Mr. Chasez, they don’t think he’ll come out of it.”

JC gave her a fierce look. “Oh yes, he will.”

JC sat down in the chair next to Justin, holding his hand, ready for however long it took to bring Justin back.

However long….

***

JC knelt down in the grass, his brace underneath him making it uncomfortable, but he felt he should do this. He ran a finger over the carving on the marker, smiling slightly as he saw the inscription.

Colonel Thomas Kincaid
Born 17 June 1899
Died 24 July 1965

WWI WWII

Purple Heart Bronze Star

“I had to come and thank you,” JC said. “For everything you did for me, and for Justin.” He heard a crunch of leaves and looked over his shoulder, smiling at Justin’s approach. “The doctors told me that it was me, that my presence, must have helped Justin come back. And I couldn’t have done it, wouldn’t have been there, without you.” He touched the marker again. “So, from me, from Justin, thank you.”

JC felt Justin next to him, grasping the hand extended. “This is him?” Justin asked, looking at the marker.

JC nodded, holding Justin’s hand, letting him have a moment with Colonel Kincaid.

The doctors had indeed told JC that his presence must have done something, must have sparked something inside Justin, because after a week of JC being there, talking to Justin, touching him, moving his arms and legs in therapy, Justin began to respond. First, he only opened his eyes for a short time, spoke a few words, smiled…then disappeared again into his own mind.

But one day, as if a bolt of lightening had struck him, Justin opened his eyes forever.

After Justin got out of the hospital, and out of the Marines, the two men decided to stay in Hawaii, allowing Justin to attend college on the GI Bill while JC worked tending bar at hotels. After he’d received his degree, Justin took a teaching job at a local school, instructing the health classes, but first and foremost, coaching. Helping boys and girls who might just need a friend.

They bought a small bungalow and had, for the most part, enjoyed their lives together in the islands, never missing the mainland.

Until Justin, after reading of the 25th Anniversary of the raising of the flag on Iwo Jima planned in Washington, suggested they go. JC had doubts, but for Justin, he’d do just about anything.

And then there was Colonel Kincaid. JC wrote to Marine Corps, asking for information about the Colonel. JC wanted to thank him in person. When they wrote back and informed JC that Colonel Kincaid had died five years ago, it was a disappointment, but JC vowed to make the most of it by visiting his grave.

Music sounded from another area of the cemetery, signaling the start of the Anniversary ceremonies. “We should go,” JC said.

Justin nodded. He let go of JC’s hand and stood at attention next to the grave, firing off a smart salute to the colonel’s marker.

JC smiled at Justin. “I love you,” he said, kissing the younger man quickly, looking around the area.

Justin ignored JC’s protest and pulled him closer, covering his mouth and kissing him long. “I love you, too,” he said, holding JC close. “And thank you, as well.”

Their eyes locked, and JC nodded. “Let’s go,” JC said, grasping Justin’s hand again as they walked away.

A faint breeze rustled the leaves as they walked across the grass to join the celebration.

The End



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