
Well I went down to have my fortune told.
Well I went to see the gypsy to have my fortune told.
She said “You ain’t got no future, you ain’t never growing old,”
And the clouds keep rolling on in.
Well, how many times have I defied the cold clutches of death?
And how many times have I stopped short from taking that last step?
And every time I’ve tried to hurt you, I have only hurt hurt myself,
And the clouds keep rolling on in.
It was a warm New Years Eve, we we’re in South L.A. at a concert, waiting for David Guetta to come on. I was sipping a beer, standing with my friends, eying a guy in a wheel chair doing ‘light shows’ for people. He was wearing a mask that the Jabbawockeez had recently popularized. It was pretty trippy looking, I’ll admit. He was a young guy, built. His girlfriend was cute, she had a certain hometown appeal to her that I can’t describe; like you knew she wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed but that’s partly why she was so adorable.
“That’s a sick mask”
“Thanks, you want a light show?”
“No, I’m good. I’m not really into that…”
I pause for a second and then let my curiosity best my manners:
“But, if you don’t mind me asking, what happened to your leg?”
I said it in a nonchalant way; almost dismissively. I guess I didn’t really care much, just a conversation piece. No one was sober. I asked just to ask. Besides, a kid his age? He probably broke it playing football or hurt his back riding a motorcycle. It was probably a good story, I thought. What happened next made my stomach drop. Jarod (I’d find out later) looked right at me. I could tell he was taller than me, but he had to look up anyways because of the wheelchair. With a one-sided, hair lipped smile, he paused, and dropped it on me:
“I just got back from Iraq.”
I swallowed. My mouth went dry and I wasn’t sure how to feel. Anxious? Embarrassed? I’m not entirely ignorant, I’ve seen the news. I’ve read the stories. I’ve seen veterans missing limbs or maimed before. But never anyone my age, not in person, talking to me as another human being. This was different; this was real. This I could relate to, empathize with. This wasn’t the 60+ year old Vietnam vet who looked too old and decrepit to have ever been quick on his feet anyways, who fought in some esoteric war before I was born. This guy was my age, athletic, went to the same events I went to, liked the same music I like.
We stood there in silence while digested what had just happened.
“Fuck man… what happened?”
Sensitivity has never been my forte; but I asked in a way that he must have understood, because he smiled and grabbed the cuffs of both his jean legs and pulled up from the ankle. My stomach dropped even further. Really? both Legs? He had on normal shoes, but where his ankles should have been 2 copper poles- about a quarter’s length in diameter- protruded out of loosely hanging Fruit of the Loom socks. I put my thumb on my temple and stood there with my hand covering my forehead and my left eye, just cringing and looking like a dumbass.
“It was just a random EID on the side of the road. We weren’t even the bomb squad, I just stepped too close to it and BAM! Next thing I knew my ears we’re ringing?”
“A what?”
He went on to explain what an IED was, an “Improvised Explosive Devise”. Basically it’s a home made bomb that terrorists use, and they fill them with shards, just random shit they hope will help to mutilate people- nails, sharp rocks, Jarod caught a metal casing from a machine gun bullet in the back of his foot.
“So was you’re leg, I mean your legs, we’re they just like in pieces all over the side of the road?” (I had to know. I wanted to see this in my mind. We were past formalities- – It was like a really graphic or disturbing picture: you know its going to be seared into your memory whether you want it there or not, but you take a minute to really dissect it an appreciate all of the nasty, morbid little nuances anyways.)
“no, it wasn’t like that. This one, there was a piece of metal shrapnel through the back here. About that long”
He makes a space with his index finger and thumb about 4 inches apart, and then pulls his right leg into his lap, pointing to his calcaneus, a large bone in the back of the heel. It’s where your Achilles tendon attaches, and it basically provides the bone structure for the back of your foot. It’s pretty important.
“this was a mess, and most of the meat on my left leg was, like, just gone.”
“So will you ever walk again?”
By now I’m completely engrossed in this guy and his story. Jarod pops out of his chair, or at least he tries to, as he cocks his head to the side and raises his forearms about shoulder height, palms out, smiling:
“hell yea!?”
I told him the truth; that I’d never actually met anyone who’d been crippled fighting in Iraq, how close to home it finally felt, and how sorry I was that it’d happened. Maybe he felt the pain I felt for him and it made him uncomfortable, or maybe he just is an incredibly positive, reseliant person- I’d like to believe the latter:
“It’s not a big deal. This kind of shit happens, I’m not gonna let it get me down.”
I can only imagine how going through something like that would be like. I can only imagine looking down at where my legs should be and seeing a pool of blood form in the tan sand on the side of the road, in some foreign country thousands of miles away from where I live.
I can only imagine the thoughts going through my head lying alone in some military hospital, wondering, hoping they wouldn’t amputate. I can only imagine how it would feel to find out that yes- sorry Jarod. Both of them. From the knee down. But don’t worry, they’ve made some amazing break-throughs in prosthetics in the past decade. And the really great news is the government will pay for everything!
I can only imagine the plane ride home, having to take a commercial airline and enduring the adulations of people who didn’t really get it- – you’re a god damn war hero, son. I’d just like to shake your hand. Thank you! Fuuuck you.
I can only imagine having my mom pick me up from the airport, and having to explain to her what had happened. Having her cry and trying not to, even though not so long ago I was the one who’d cry when I was hurt; and she was the pillar of strength.
I can only imagine what something like that would do to my self esteem: never being able to carry a girl off to bed or make love on the beach, or meet anyone new without being asked or judged by the wheelchair.
I can only imagine calling my girlfriend and having to clarify why I’d be coming home sooner, and that it would be O.K. if she wanted to just break things off now, that I’d understand, and then wondering whether if deep down she really wanted to even after forced out ‘No, of course not!’ through broken sobs.
I guess I realized two things from meeting this guy. First of all, I never really worried or even thought about the war until now. I just didn’t care. I was too caught up in my own little bubble, living my own life, to actually realize that our generation, a generation that grew up with the internet, without every witnessing slavery, a generation I’d like to think is pretty enlightened an evolved, is still making home-made bombs to maim and kill people. People are still killing and maiming each other. I would never wish that on my worst enemy. I can’t even fathom the level of hate and/or ignorance it would take to do something so nauseating.
The second thing I realized is its all about your attitude, how you perceive the situation. I think if I lost my legs, that would have kind’ve been it for me: I’d probably be depressed, angry, I’d try to blame it on people and events in my life… It would have been ugly. Jarod just kind of shrugged it off- it happened, accept it, and move on. I’ll try and harbor this attitude next time I face a life challenge I feel is unfair or daunting, and be thankful I still have me legs.