Returning Hero

By J.G.P. MacAdam

“Daddy, are you a hero?”
“No, baby. Daddy knew some heroes though. C’mon, eat your yogurt.”
“I don’t like it.”
“C’mon now, it’s got good bacteria in it and stuff.”
“What happened to them?” 
“Hm? The bacteria?”
“No, the heroes you knew.”
“Oh, um…” Rodriguez looked up from his phone. “Well, baby, they—”
“They died.”
Rosa Marie, Suzie’s big sister, was old enough to remember waiting for her daddy to return home; uncertain if he ever would return. She glanced at Rodriguez over her bowl of Fruit Loops. “That’s what makes them heroes.” 
Rodriguez tried to drum up something a little less morbid for Suzie’s four-and-half-year-old brain to digest but before he could think of anything Helena called from the garage:
“Toni!”
He pointed at Suzie on his way out of the kitchen. “I want that yogurt gone by the time I get back, understand? And into your tummy, not the trash!”
Helena was already dressed for work and leaning out of the backseat of the Rav. “Goddamn this thing! What am I doing wrong?” 
“Here.”
With two snaps, a push and a yank, Rodriguez had the car seat level, strapped and ready to roll.
“You sure the army didn’t train you on installing baby seats?”
“Nope, I just read the instructions.” 
“Har, har…” She raked her fingernails across his scalp; he liked it when she did that. “But I guess that’s why I married you: you’re always just so capable.”
They kissed gently. She squeezed his ass on their way back into the kitchen.
Before he knew it Helena had the girls in the Rav—its engine started down in the garage—and Rodriguez had just a few more moments to himself before he, too, got in his truck and headed to work. He took his time finishing his coffee. He caught up on a few emails and added yogurts to their grocery app. But it was moments such as these, perhaps just a minute or two throughout the week, when he didn’t have to worry about what the girls were doing, or Helena, or chores around the house, or much of anything. It was these moments when he could just sit back and—
“Toni!”
Something in Helena’s voice made Rodriguez move a little faster down the stairs into the garage.
“What is it?”
“There’s someone at the end of our driveway.”
Suzie was in the car seat, craning her neck to see out the back of the Rav. Rosa Marie had turned all the way around. Rodriguez, too, saw what they were looking at through the windowpanes in the garage door.
“Looks like a homeless guy.”
Helena turned off the Rav. “Why’s he staring at the house like that?”
“I don’t know.”
“Should I call the cops?”
“No, lemme see if I can handle this.”
Rodriguez hurried back up the stairs. This was a nice neighborhood. Everyone had nice houses and even nicer cars. Everyone kept up on their lawns. What was some homeless guy doing here? Rodriguez marched out the front door and down the driveway—somewhat conscious of his post-service paunch jiggling with each step.
“Hey! Can I help you?”
The guy just stood there, slightly hunched. He wore a beard and tattered camouflage pants. A duffel bag sagged to the ground behind his unlaced boots.
“Hey, you hear me? Are you looking for someone? I’m gonna have to ask you t—”
Rodriguez stopped in his tracks.
It was in the man’s eyes—in their bloodshot intensity, in the dark circles under their lids, in the raspy contours of his voice: “Hey, sarnt…”
Before Rodriguez could even think the man’s name, it blew out past his lips: “Hero?” 

Helena texted back: What do u mean hes staying?
He says he doesn’t know who else to go to
U told me when I left u were jus going to find out what he wanted then drive him to the VA or wherever but now hes staying??? How did he even get our address???
Idk but he’s here and it’s pretty obvious he needs help, the VA can’t help im… plus I think he’s drunk
More like high on god knows what kinda drugs ur letting into OUR HOME! I don’t want someone like THAT any were near our girls!
Someone like that? I’m a veteran too you know
Not all veterans are created equal… Who is he again?
Hero. He was in my squad on my 2nd deployment, I’ve told you about im like a thousand times, he didn’t make it all the way through, he was wounded
I dont remember any hero… babe, this is NOT okay… I thought ur military days were behind u…
Rodriguez’s thumbs hesitated over the face of his phone. He decided to wait till Helena got home before reminding her that it was her younger brother who had stayed with them for over three months when he was between jobs and cities.
It’ll only be a couple of days, then ill get im a ticket so he can go wherever it is he needs to go… but right now I can’t just kick an old soldier of mine back out onto the street…
CALL ME. ASAP.
Can’t, he’s in the living room, hell hear…

“You gotta nice house, sarnt.”
“You don’t have to call me sergeant anymore. It’s Toni.”
“Right, right… Toni… Nah! I juss can’t do it, sarnt.” Hero glanced at the coffee set out for him, untouched. “Sorry, some habits juss die hard, I guess…” He sat on the edge of the couch cushion, clutching his duffel bag to his chest; his deployment info—name, social, unit—still spray-painted to the bottom but long since faded to illegibility. “You gotta real nice setup here, sarnt. Wife. Kids. House. Hmph… How d’you do it?”
“Do what?” 
Hero motioned around. “Put it all together? Then wear it around? I can’t never see misself like this… like you… but I know I got all kindsa… problems.”
Rodriguez nodded, wondering just what his responsibilities towards Hero were, if any, anymore. He remembered Hero and Ledowski and Topf and Nunez and the others. He had always looked after his soldiers—correcting them when they didn’t tuck their bootlaces in, ensuring their weapons were clean before the next patrol, shouting commands in the middle of a firefight, and that one time, when he told Ledowski not to fire, then, to his left, hearing the shot out of Hero’s rifle instead…
“Look, my wife’s pretty upset, but I think she’ll be okay with you staying a day or—”
“I can go.” Hero stood, clutching his duffel bag. “I don’t wanna be burden. You already done enough, sarnt.”
“No, no, it’s alright… I wouldn’t offer help if I didn’t want to.”
Hero inched back down onto the couch cushion, his eyes darting around at everything else in the living room except ol’ Sarnt Rod’s face. “Sorry sarnt, I—I guess I juss don’t know what to do with misself half the time.”
Rodriguez sighed and braided his fingers, unsure what exactly to do with Hero. He recalled feeling this same way, once before.
“Do you need any sorta… medical attention?” Though what he really wanted to ask was: “Are you suicidal, engaging in substance abuse or thinking about hurting yourself or others?”
“Nah, sarnt… but I got a bottle a’ Midol right here in my duffel if you want some.”
Rodriguez smiled out of habit, but he didn’t think jokes like that were funny anymore.
Hero leaned forwards. “Honestly, sarnt, I ain’t told ya even half of it. I’ve done a lotta travelin’… a lotta juss… walkin’ around.”
Despite Hero’s stench, Rodriguez made a point not to draw back. (He made a mental note show Hero the guest bathroom as soon as their conversation was over, especially the shower.)
“I don’t need to know about it. All I need to know is that you’re in need. I can’t let one of my own just walk back out onto the street.”
Hero leaned back. “You’re a good man, sarnt.” His eyes dropped and stared into space, as though at a faraway place. “You always were.”

Rodriguez tried to concentrate on work but couldn’t; his eyes kept sliding across the floor to the crack under the door. A slip of daylight came through, from the window in the girls’ room across the hall. He had shown Hero the guest bathroom downstairs; got him a towel; offered him a change of clothes though he refused; told Hero he’d be upstairs working in the office for an hour or two, in case he needed anything else. For a moment, Rodriguez had worried that Hero would want to crack open a few brewskies and shoot the shit out on the deck, catch up with an ol’ army buddy, or something akin to that, but Hero seemed occupied with in his own worries.
A shadow shifted under the door.
“Hero?”
But when Rodriguez opened the door, no one was there.
He went downstairs.
“Hero?”
A subtle flicking noise reached his ears. A small click followed by a swifter louder one: click-Click… click-Click… It was coming from the kitchen. Rodriguez passed the guest bathroom; it looked unused; the old towel he set out was still folded up. As he stepped into the kitchen, hearing the click-Click one last time, he was suddenly reminded of Afghanistan. Even while bullshitting or pranking other soldiers, anything to keep themselves occupied during the long boring hours between missions, Hero had always carried a knife and flicked it endlessly, reflexively, as though always needing something to do with his hands. Even after ordering lights-out, some nights, Rodriguez would lay in his bunk and hear down at the end of the tent: … click-Click… click-Click…
He found Hero sitting on the stool Rosa Marie always sat on.
“Hey.”
“Sup, sarnt?” Hero’s hand shot into his pocket.
“You doing alright?”
Hero’s hand reemerged empty. “Juss countin’ the days till a wakeup.”
“Can I get you anything?”

Hero seemed to have an answer to that question but wasn’t giving it.
“Look…” Rodriguez crossed his arms; it was so easy to fall back into the role of leader, of discipliner. “I don’t know what you’re loo—”
“I didn’t come here by accident, sarnt. You ever… wonder what his name was?”
“What? Whose name?”
“The one diggin’ in the road…”
Instantly Rodriguez knew what Hero was talking about. “No, I don’t think about it.”
“Neither do I, really.” Hero sneered; Rodriguez counted the gaps in his teeth. “I mean, who gives a fuck, right?” His sneer vanished. “What’s one more dead haj anyways?”

Rodriguez was at the front door when Rosa Marie got off the bus. He saw her inside to the kitchen table and helped her with her homework. “I’m gonna run upstairs real quick and check some emails…” His work emails took longer than expected. When he came back down he found Hero hunched over Rosa Marie and whispering, as though sharing a secret.
“Hero.” Rodriguez inserted himself between them. “Did I—show you the shower?” He swung Hero around and walked him to the bathroom. “Here it is. You should shower before dinner.” He nudged him over the threshold, then shut the door.
In the kitchen, Rosa Marie continued with her homework.
“Rosa, do me a favor: while Hero’s staying with us, don’t be alone in the same room with him.”
“Why not?”
“Just don’t.”
“O-kay.”
“What were you two talking about?”
“He was talking. He just kept saying you were right.”
“I was right? What does that mean?”
She shrugged as though to say “Why’re you asking me?” then re-plugged her earbuds.
Rodriguez texted Helena: Hero is gone. Tomorrow. I don’t care if it’s to the VA or some homeless shelter… you were right, my military days are over… it’s time he was someone else’s problem…
When Hero was in the bathroom for what seemed an hour or more, Rodriguez listened at the door. He heard the showerhead going, but also, underneath, the clicking. Throughout the remainder of the afternoon and evening, Rodriguez didn’t let Hero out of his sight. Even when Helena came home with Suzie and they began prepping dinner, he kept Hero always within range. But it had always bothered him, that one day… What if he had spoken louder? What if he had tapped Hero on the back of the helmet instead of Ledowski? What if he had done something—anything—else to slow Hero’s finger on that trigger? Then maybe there’d be one man still—
“You alright?” said Helena.
He was letting the water just run. “Yeah. I’m fine.” He turned the faucet off. “I just… I’ve got a headache. I’ll go find some aspirin.”
He didn’t have a headache but he didn’t know what else to call the hot prickly feeling washing over his entire body, the dampening in his armpits, the subtle dizziness. He used the guest bathroom downstairs to splash some cool water on his face, which helped, but he didn’t want Helena to see him doing it. He didn’t want her to see him have to sit down before he fell down and bury his face in his hands and keep taking multiple deep breaths just to chase the dizziness away. He didn’t want her to worry, not about him. He’d always been so capable.
Down in the kitchen again, Rodriguez found Helena stirring the Rice-a-Roni and facing Hero. Hero stood on the other side of the island. He had his hands in the air, as though midsentence, but when he saw Rodriguez his hands dropped to his side and he slinked out of the room. Rodriguez side-eyed Helena. She met his look and they both watched as Hero helped himself out onto the back deck and shivered in the mild spring air, squinting up at the late afternoon which had gone cloudy.
“I’m glad you’re taking him somewhere tomorrow,” said Helena.
“Where though?”
“Let’s figure it out in the morning. But it’s obvious he needs some sort of help.” She rubbed his shoulder. “Sorry I got on your shit earlier, he just creeped me out at first.”
“Nah, I’m sorry. I should’ve talked to you about it more before deciding.”  
“Still, it’s a good thing you’re doing. I just—”
“What?”
She glanced out, then nudged him in the ribs. “How’d you end up the one able to cope?”

Hero stomached Suzie’s interrogation in stride. “How long have you been growing a beard?” “Why’d you bring your bag to the dinner table?” “Do you like Adventure Time?” “Who farted? It’s stinky.” Hero even seemed to enjoy the questions after awhile and began reminiscing about how good ol’ Sarnt Rod once made him low-crawl through the sandpit because he forgot his sleeping mat for an inspection; or the time when Sarnt Rod had him running circles around the flag pole because he failed his PT test; or the time when Hero overheard Sarnt Rod talking to Sergeant Freeman about how Hero was a “lost cause” as a soldier—“Ain’t that right, sarnt?”
“Yeah…” Rodriguez nodded, meeting his daughters’ gazes across the dinner table and regretting his decision to ever allow Hero into his home.
“I used to think you never wanted me in your squad, sarnt, but then—” Hero turned back to Suzie. “—what squad leader would? I never was the brightest bulb in the box.”
Rodriguez glanced at Helena. She barely took three bites through the whole meal.

“This gonna work for you?”
“I’ve slept in worst places, sarnt.”
The guest bedroom and laundry room were one and the same. It was brightly lit and warm and a full bed sat opposite the washer and dryer. Rodriguez laid his old army-issue sleeping bag out on the bed, since it was softer and more comforting in its cocoon-like embrace than normal sheets and pillows ever could be.
“Alright, well… you know where the bathroom is if you need it. There’s food in the fridge, help yourself. I’ll say goodnight.” He made to shut the door.
“Hey, sarnt?”
“Yeah.”
Hero was crouched on the floor, his butt perched on his duffel bag as though on a nest of eggs. “You were right, that day…”
“Right?”
“I heard you tell Ledowski not to fire.”
“You—” It was like a hot bullet casing fell inside the cuff of his sleeve. “You heard me?”
“That was one long mission… wasn’t it, sarnt?”
Rodriguez rubbed his eyes. “I remember… I mean I could tell everyone was tense and… just wanted that mission to be over and done with.”
“It was twilight, ‘member? Things were finally coolin’ down. We hadn’t taken any contact for hours… and that’s when I seen ‘im in my sights, juss diggin’ in the road. God knows why those people dig out the side of the road like that! Don’t they know better than do that in front of us?” Hero’s index finger twitched once. “I never saw his face, it was blurry even in the scope, but he was a perfect E-type silhouette. Dropped juss like they do out on the range.”
“From our vantage it was like he just disappeared.”
“No one said nuthin. Even Sergeant Freeman, who you didn’t realize was standin’ right behind ya—”
“He just about-faced and walked away.”
“Right, like he didn’t see nuthin… didn’t wanna see nuthin… It was too easy, sarnt… and I… I never doubted for one second I wasn’t doin’ what my country wanted me to do.”
Rodriguez closed his eyes.
“You were right to stop Ledowski from shootin’, sarnt. You’re a good man. Always were. I think that’s what I came to tell ya… to say… after all this time.”
“Doing the right thing didn’t keep Ledowski from dying.” Rodriguez’s throat caught on that last word.
“No… it didn’t… but that’s the other half of it, sarnt: that night, a coupla missions later, when Ledowski died, and Topf, and Nunez broke his back, and my—my…” He glanced down at his unlaced boots over his feet. “That’s when I seen ‘im, sarnt. He was standin’ right behind you when you put my boot next to me. His face right over your shoulder. He didn’t look dead nor nuthin. He juss kept whisperin’ sameer… sameer… like the wind through the trees or something… you ‘member them almond trees, sarnt? In that orchard, that night?”
Rodriguez nodded, though he distrusted of his own memory.

“It was so peaceful… I didn’t hear nuthin else ‘cept him mouthin’ his name… sameer… sameer… and that’s when I realized it was his name, sarnt—his. He was there. The one I shot.”
“I never should’ve led us down that road…”
“There was only one road to take. It was the only way.”
“I should’ve radioed for route clearance, or sent out dismounts, or—”
“There was no time for that.”
Rodriguez shut his eyes and shook his head, the weight bearing down on him now more than ever, even after all this time. “It was my decision.”
“What other choice did you have? You’re not the one that put that IED in the road. Me, on the other hand…” Hero’s chin quivered, but he folded his lips in and held it back. “I had a choice and I made the wrong one. Now loogat me…” He opened his hands before him; trembling ever so slightly. “This is the price I pay.”
Rodriguez felt his gaze harden, felt his shoulders and hips and back recall how to bear this weight and carry it as far as it needed to go, and further. “A lot of things happened over there that we’re not proud of.”
“Some of us’ve got greater sins to answer for. You and I both know… all it takes is one second, one shot… one slip… and you pay for it for the rest of your days.”
Rodriguez wanted to leave; to not think about this, to just not have this conversation right now. “It’s late.” He turned to leave.
“Yeah, too late.”
“Just… try not to dwell on it too much. Goodnight, Hero.” And he shut the door.

He laid in bed next to Helena. The girls were asleep. The whole house was dark. Still, it was like he could feel Hero downstairs, a strange pulse emanating through the floors and walls.
“What did he say to you, earlier down in the kitchen?”
Helena shifted. “Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
She sighed and swallowed. “He kept saying you were right. That’s all. It was just the way he kept saying it, over and over again… what does he mean by that?”
Rodriguez did not answer.
“He didn’t take one bite of his dinner.”
“I noticed.”
“What’s wrong with him anyways? And why does he smell like that?”
“I dunno.”
“He probably needs medical attention, have you asked him?”
“Not really. And frankly, I don’t care anymore. I just want him gone. Tomorrow.”
“Are you alright? You weren’t yourself at dinner.”
“I’m fine.”
A moment passed. The air clicked on.
“Why’d you let him rattle on to the girls about how much of an asshole squad leader you used to be?”
“It didn’t sound like that.”
“Yes. It. Did.”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s behind me—behind us.” He rolled away from her. “And besides, I was just doing my job.”

Rodriguez woke sometime after midnight. A clammy sweat over his skin. He had been dreaming one of his army dreams, the ones with his old platoon leaders and sergeants in them, and his soldiers. Everyone expected him to behave in a certain way, talk a certain way, and whenever he diverged from their expectations they glowered at him; their eyes following him wherever he went, no matter how many corners he turned.
Helena snored softly.
Something pried open inside of his mind. A memory—or was it his imagination?—of darkness under almond trees. His head still ached from the blast. It’d been a close one, but one he largely emerged unharmed from. He was carrying something in his hand, holding it by the laces. A boot with a foot still in it. Sergeant Freeman, his platoon sergeant, knelt over a black body bag, blood and dirt all over the inside of it. “Found the other one,” said Sarnt Rod and he dropped the boot in the bag. “That oughta be all of ‘im,” said Sergeant Freeman and Rodriguez recognized Hero’s face as the zipper closed fast.
He got up and went downstairs for a bottle of water, still struggling to determine whether it was something he had seen, with his own eyes, or if his mind was mixing places and events, and people, up. He saw the light was still on inside the laundry room. He stepped down the hall, confident the carpet under his socks concealed his movement. He knew the doorknob wouldn’t betray him either because he’d once snuck up on Rosa Marie trying to crawl into the dryer during a game of hide-and-seek—she had squealed so ear-piercingly loud when she saw him already behind her: “Gotchya!” Rodriguez put his ear close to the door. He heard murmuring on the other side. He turned the knob and peeked in. Hero squatted on the floor, his heels touching the ground; his haunches moving back and forth; his head bobbing rhythmically; his hands splayed in front of his face as his lips repeated the same two-syllable name over and over. His head twitched as though he heard something. Rodriguez swiftly and silently eased the knob back into its socket, then tiptoed back upstairs. He didn’t wake Helena when he crawled back into bed, but neither did he sleep. His eyes remained open and watching the crack under the door all night.

Rodriguez was already on his second cup of coffee by the time Rosa Marie came down the following morning. He noted the laundry room door was still closed and the light still on inside. He was of one mind: Hero would leave today, somehow, in whatever way.
“Morning, dad.”
“Morning. Want some Fruit Loops?”
“Sure.”
Rosa Marie plopped onto her stool, turning her head towards the laundry room. “Dad?”
“Hm?”
“Did you ask Hero to come?”
“Huh? No, I haven’t seen him since—” He set the cereal box down. “Must’ve been 2009, right after our last deployment, so well over six years ago.”
“Then why’d he come?”
“I dunno… Sometimes things out of your past just pop up. Could be for no reason.”
“Morning everyone.” Helena wore her pajamas into the kitchen. “My work shirt’s in the dryer.”
He served Rosa Marie her Fruit Loops. “I’ll get it.”
“Why can’t you get it, mom?”
“I just… don’t wanna disturb—”
“But he left,” said Rosa Marie.
“What?” said both her parents.
“I saw him out my window this morning.” She scooped a mouthful of Fruit Loops. “He wamped down to da end of da dri-way, den poof.”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full.” Helena crossed her arms tighter around her chest. “What do you mean he went poof?”
“Poof. He just vanished.” Another scoop.
Rodriguez checked the laundry room. Only his sleeping bag—never unzipped—and field pillow were on the bed. And Hero’s duffel bag. Rodriguez hesitated to open it, but it laid right in the middle of the floor like a gift, as though expecting to be opened. He noticed the first spot of blood as he unclipped the top clasp. Something black and rubbery was crumpled inside. Then lifting it most of the way out he recognized it for what it was: a body bag. Just like—
The blood was still wet, the smell of dirt yet fresh.
Before Helena or Rosa Marie could see, he stuffed it back into the duffel bag, marched out of the laundry room and down the steps to the garage. “Toni?” Helena called but he didn’t answer. He walked outside, opened the garbage lid and threw Hero’s bag in. Then he wheeled everything out to the curb and thanked his luck it was garbage day.

The months went by. Things by and large went back to normal for the Rodriguez household. But one thing continued to nag Rodriguez, like a gnat in his mind in the middle of the night, and eventually he convinced the rest of his family that it was a good idea to take a trip to Washington, D.C. “The girls oughta see the museums, and you’ve never been, Helena. It’d be great to take a trip just before school starts back up, don’t you think?”
They flew in on a Sunday and on Monday morning, Rodriguez nudged Helena awake. “I’m gonna head out for a run.”
Helena pulled the pillow off of her head. “What time is it?”
“Early.” He kissed her on the cheek. “I’ll only go as far as the Washington Monument, then circle back, take me an hour tops.” When she still stared at him, he added: “I gotta do something about this spare tire of mine.”
Helena plopped the pillow back over her head. “Don’t forget the door key.”
The sun was just rising as Rodriguez stepped outside. The hotel was pretty close to the Lincoln Memorial; he recognized Honest Abe as he jogged past. But instead of continuing down to the Mall, Rodriguez instead turned right and ran across the Arlington Memorial Bridge. He made it to the front gates just as they opened for the day. Rows of white tombstones stretched in every direction, one-by-one, dress-right-dress for eternity. He headed towards the southeastern side of the cemetery, where all of the more recent graves were. It didn’t take him long to find the one he was looking for. He stood reading the name and inscription, over and over. He had to see it with his own eyes. He had to be sure.

LAWRENCE D HERO

PFC USA

OCT 2 1984

AUG 10 2009

PURPLE HEART

OPERATION

ENDURING FREEDOM

****

J.G.P. MacAdam is a disabled combat veteran. His brief military career was spent in the infantry and spanned two deployments to Afghanistan with the 10th Mountain Division, a tour in Korea and a spell in the Old Guard conducting Dover missions and funerals in Arlington National Cemetery. His fiction has appeared in Bewildering Stories, Apeiron Review and Passengers Journal. You can find him wandering the wilds of the Pacific Northwest with his wife and son, or otherwise at jgpmacadam.blogspot.com