The guy said he’d tried to take his own life, but the weapon jammed. After he’d failed at suicide, he took off on a two-year odyssey to try to drown the memories of the life he’d had with the man. He said, in the end, it hadn’t done anything except cost him time with his family and wiped out his savings.
Been there. Done that. Just for a different reason.
My paper cup was empty, and the stale donut I’d had earlier sat in my gut like a rock. I glanced at my watch to see that it was three in the afternoon, and I had an hour drive back to Davidsonville.
When I got home, I had a day’s worth of chores and sixteen horses waiting to be fed and exercised before being put to bed. The life of a horse trainer didn’t come with downtime.
Before I left the meeting room, I tossed the brown paper cup in the trash, grabbed a bottle of water off the table, and walked toward the hallway that led out of the administration building at Walter Reed National Military Medical Center. I’d gone to the campus to get my prosthetic adjusted because I’d been thrown from a rank horse the previous week and landed wrong to the point that my prosthetic foot wouldn’t bend properly.
Since I was going to be there anyway, I’d made an appointment to see my shrink, who suggested I sit in on a group therapy session that day because there was a guest speaker he thought I could relate to. I’d figured it couldn’t hurt anything, so I’d gone.
One year of sobriety was coming in June, and whilelivingsober wasn’t hard for me, getting sober had been a nightmare.Letting down my walls to accept that I couldn’t do something on my own was hard to admit.
Without alcohol as a crutch, I’d had to accept some things I hadn’t known if I was strong enough to make peace with. Being rejected, just because my physical appearance was less than perfect, had really been a mind fuck.
And, of course, acknowledging that I wasn’t the free-wheeling Special Forces cowboy I’d been since I’d enlisted at eighteen had been a huge pill to swallow. I had to stop feeling sorry for myself, so I didn’t fall back into the bottle. I finally recognized that only I could do what was necessary to stay sober. I had to choose to do the maintenance—attend meetings and take my life one day at a time.
“Sergeant Hess!”
I hadn’t been addressed that way in a long time, so I turned to see a sight for sore eyes. First Sergeant Henry Schatz was coming toward me at a slow jog from a nearby bench. My reflex was to snap to attention, but he was dressed in civvies, so I was pretty sure he wasn’t active any longer.
“First Sergeant Schatz, sir, it’s good to see you.” I shifted the repaired prosthetic under my left arm so I could shake his hand.
“Just Hank, Jericho. How’ve you been?” He glanced at the prosthetic I was holding. “You okay?”
I chuckled. “Yeah. Three years into it. We were scouting along the border with North Korea because of their stupid nuke launches, and I got caught in a homemade snare that looked like a damn bear trap. Took my foot clean off. Thankfully, they got me to Camp Humphreys before I lost too much blood, so they only had to take off four inches above the ankle. I can still ride horses, sir.”
Hank gave me a good-natured slap on the arm. “Yeah, if I remember right, nothing could keep you out of the saddle. I’m waiting for my brother, but do you wanna go get a beer?”
A tall guy walked up and put Hank in a headlock. I noticed he was the speaker at the meeting I’d just left. “Hank, what have we talked about? Don’t try to pick up handsome men or I’ll tell your husband. He’ll kick your ass.”
That was something I hadn’t known. The first sergeant was a member of the rainbow army. My gut relaxed a bit at the news.
It was always a crap shoot when I ran into folks I’d served with or knew through military channels. Some didn’t think those of us in the LGBTQIA+ community should serve. It never made sense to me. I had as much to fight for as any other person in the US.
I stuck out my hand to shake the speaker’s. “Jericho Hess. I met your brother when we were both assigned to a training op. He was our team leader. Nice talk you gave in there.”
“Lawry Schatz. I noticed you at the back of the room. It’s kinda hard not to notice a guy carrying an extra leg.”
I cracked up. “Yeah, I’d reckon so. Anyway, I’d like to take you up on that drink, but I need to get home. I live in Davidsonville, and I’ve got some horses waitin’ on me. Are you here on Army business?”
“I’m on the East Coast to be a godfather for a buddy of mine. He and his husband are adopting a little girl,” Lawry said.
“That’s nice. You got any kids?” I glanced at Hank, who smiled.
“Got a boy. He and my husband are waiting for me in North Carolina with the rest of the crew. My former CO, Dr. Ramona Hawkins, asked if my brother would come give that talk to... uh...” Hank’s face flushed.
“To us drunks?” I chuckled.
I was sure people who didn’t have problems with liquor like Lawry and me were steppin’ on their tongues when they talked about alcoholism. It was nobody’s fault we tried to solve our problems with liquor. Nobody to blame but us.
I appreciated hearing about Lawry’s experiences. I went through something similar, though I pretty much hid in the mountains of Pennsylvania in a buddy’s cabin for two years, trying to drink myself to death after I got outta the hospital.
“Look, I went through something similar to your brother. My mom got a message to me through my shrink at Walter Reed that my dad was sick, so I figured the time for pouting was over and took my sorry ass home. My father died a week before I got to Davidsonville, and after we buried him, Mom talked me into going to rehab because someone had to take over the business since every penny they had was tied up in it.”
And here I was sharing my dirty laundry in front of the administration building of the hospital where I did my four months of rehab. I no longer had an issue with sharing at the AA meetings I attended at the Faith Lutheran Church in Davidsonville on Tuesday nights. I’d made mistakes. If telling the details to strangers helped someone else, I’d never be ashamed of my past.
Lawry clapped me on the shoulder. “Good for you. Anyway, what did you do in the Army, if you don’t mind telling me?”
