The Ghost of You

Revised

You didn’t want to go. You had no choice. Leaving medical school, you were going to be the doctor. The best doctor. You had a beautiful fiancé and a family who loved you. Your whole life was ahead of you, waiting for you to discover all of its wonders. You had everything you ever wanted. You had it all.

Then the letters came. We had to go to war. Our country needed us. It was our duty to fight. Our duty was terrifying. You, my shy little brother, were so scared. You had the hardest time even squashing a little bug, and they expected you to fight in a war. However, they wanted us to go. So we went.

Do you remember the day we left? I do. It was raining. Mom, Dad, your fiancé, everyone we knew was there to say good-bye. As we boarded to boat to leave, there were tears in their eyes and in our own. No one let them fall. We had to be brave, for ourselves and for each other. With forced smiles, we waved good-bye from the ship. We didn’t know when we’d be back. Or if we’d even get back at all.

It was a horrible time. Then again, I guess all wartimes are bad times. The letters from friends and family back home didn’t make matters any brighter. Letters made it harder at best, because we knew we might never see them again. That thought alone can kill your soul.

The days were hard. Gunshots and explosions rang in our ears as we watched enemies and friends alike fall to the ground. They cried for their mothers, reverting to the mental state of a young child in their last moments before death took them. I will never forget their terrified faced, their shuddering lasts breaths, before they left us forever.

Nights were just as horrible. The fear of not knowing what was lurking in the shadows drove some to insanity, even suicide. Dreams were haunted by the memories of battles and fallen soldiers. We would have given anything to be able to go back home, to sleep in our own beds. Safe and warm.

With the passing of each day, things got worse. We could see no end to this war. Behind enemy lines, we were vulnerable. They picked us off one by one. Like rabbits in a wolf’s territory. Every day more of us died. As we listened to the radio, we prayed over and over to hear those three simple words; “war is over.” They didn’t come soon enough.

The night before that dreaded day, some of the soldiers had a small party in our tent. There was a lot of music and much more drinking. What surprised me most was the laughing, a sound that had become foreign to my ears. “Gentlemen,” one of the soldiers announced as he held up a beer bottle, “raise your glass high, for tomorrow we die!” His voice was drunk and cheerful, and he had no idea of the weight his words carried. Despite the reality of his words, we all raised our glasses in a drunken happiness. You didn’t look as happy as the rest of us. I asked you what was wrong, but you shrugged it off and said it was nothing. I knew you were lying. You didn’t exactly know it, but it already had a hold on you. You could feel it.

Dark clouds above us threatened a storm. Water splashed against the sides of the boats, tossing them around in the rough current of the Channel. Our stomachs churned as the shore of Omaha Beach came into sight. The man in front of us vomited, causing a chain reaction like dominoes. I kissed the cross on my necklace before tucking it safely under my shirt, praying that we would make it out alive. You stared out at the raging water with death in your green eyes.

Then you turned to me. “Please say we’ll be okay,” you asked in a pleading, shaky voice. Of all the times we had gone into battle together, you had never asked me that before. It startled me. Your eyes were so scared. You knew something bad was going to happen.

“You know I can’t promise you a thing, Johnny,” I replied sadly. I wanted to tell you everything would be fine, I truly did. But I could never lie to you. What would I say if things went wrong?

“Promise that if I fall, you’ll remember me,” you said. You were scaring me, talking like that. You knew something was going to happen to you, as sure as we knew that blood was red.

“I could never forget you, little brother.”

“I love you, Matthew,” you whispered. “You’re a good brother.”

“I love you too.” I couldn’t find my voice to say any more. We were getting closer to the shore. I readied my gun.

The gates crashed open and immediately we were being fired upon. As bullets rained down from up ahead and bombs exploded under us, men fell around us in every direction. Already the water and sand were dyed crimson.

You were a few yards behind me. Stopping behind one of the giant metal x’s that lined the beach, you caught your breath and reloaded your gun. You pushed your glasses up your nose and straightened your helmet. Holding your breath, you began to run again.

You broke cover at the wrong time. I screamed your name, yelling for you to go back. But you didn’t hear me. I tried to run to you, shouting in anger as two of our soldiers held me back. One soldier in danger is better than two. Or, at least that’s what they tell me.

Bullets from German gunners kicked up sand around you, barely missing your body. You ran forward, firing at the opposition, like any brave soldier would.

Time seemed to slow down, almost to a stop. A bullet hit you, tearing through clothes and flesh. The murder weapon ripped through your stomach. Blood flowed, fast and thick. Dropping your gun, your hands went to the bleeding wound as shock flooded your pale face. I screamed for you still, but the soldiers refused to release me. With no more strength left in your body to support your weight, you dropped to your knees and fell onto your side. Your glasses fell from your face and into the red sand. Looking up at me sadly, you mouthed, “I’m sorry, Matthew.”

The medic did his best, but there was no saving you. You were doomed from the moment you opened your letter.

Your body went limp, the light faded from your eyes, and you were gone.

Now I sit in front of your grave, looking up at that clouds and saying all of this. I hope you can hear me in Heaven.

I have to face the fact that you’re never coming home. It’s hard, and I don’t know if I can do it. I try to tell myself that I am not afraid to keep on living and I am not afraid to walk this world alone. At least I know the ghost of you will walk with me wherever I go.

I stand up and face your grave. Removing my necklace with the cross pendant, I place it on your grave. I a salute to you, I raise my hand to my forehead and pull it away. I pick up my cane and slowly walk away. I can almost feel you beside me. I know you’re here with me, my guardian angel. I will never forget you.