Redemption

A man on the run does not have a friend or conscience—only a shadow. A shadow that clings to you like your breath.

I move through the city like a lost dog, staying in the dark alleyways with my duffel bag over my shoulder.

A police siren sounds in the night. Is it on the way to Higgins Street? My heart falls to the bottom of my stomach.

In a panic, I skulk through the back alleys toward the freeway, avoiding the traffic while escaping the city limits of Phoenix.

My plan to go to the bank and empty whatever cash is in the safe deposit box is now impossible.

I crawl over the freeway fence like a scared animal, knowing I am beyond the reach of the police for now, and time is on my side.

The morning sun shyly reveals itself as it edges alongside Superstition Mountain, giving me hope. I begin to feel like I’m in a new world, or reborn, and last night was just another horrible nightmare.

I raise my hand and stick out my thumb. A northbound freighter sounds its air horn and pulls over to offer me a lift. I quickly climb into the cab of the truck with the driver, thanking him for stopping.

My new life starts now. Every word I say to anyone will be and must be a lie from this very moment.

“Hello, I’m David Lively,” says the driver as he slides the pack of Winston cigarettes down the dashboard toward me. “Go ahead, help yourself.”

“Thanks, um, I’m Allen. Allen Paxton,” I say timidly.

“Where are you heading, Allen?”

“North, north into Wyoming.”

“You’re a long way from there. How did you end up in Phoenix?” asks the transport driver.

“It’s a long story, but after the battle at Iwo Jima and the end of the war, our battalion was relieved of duty and sent to Hawai’i. There we caught transport planes and cargo ships back to America. I just happened to hitch a ride on a cargo plane bound for Phoenix.”

“Well, Allen, I know what you mean by long stories,” says David. “I served under General Wallace in the armored division. We were lucky to get tanks onto Normandy’s beaches.

“On the third day, a German Tiger tank took us out. I was the only survivor of our crew. I broke my left leg, and my back caught a few pieces of ricocheting shrapnel. I blacked out.

“A private from the fifth infantry pulled me out of the tank. I just wish I could have shaken his hand and thanked him.”

“You were the fortunate one,” I say.

“Allen, look at the chain hanging from my belt. That is one of the pieces of shrapnel they removed from my back. My lucky charm.

“When I miss my wife, Mildred, I take the shrapnel in my hand, and it seems like she is sitting next to me,” says David as he wipes his eyes with his hand.

Quickly hiding my left hand behind my head and pretending to be stretching, I slip off my wedding ring, knowing what question is coming next.

Tears bleed from my cold heart into my empty stomach as I hide my wedding ring in my pocket. There are no written words in the Bible or dictionary that can define or describe how I feel.

“Allen, are you married?” asks David.

“No. No, I’m not married,” I say quietly, covering my guilty and embarrassed face with my hand while staring out of the passenger’s window, seeing my reflection in the glass.

“That is too bad, Allen. Nothing is sweeter than coming home to someone you love,” says David.

Choking back guilt and fighting the need to confess, I continue looking out the window. The sweat seeps from my fidgety body, and I roll the window down, allowing a breeze to cool my emotions.

In the distance, there is a small town to the east with the sun reflecting off the roof of the church steeple, reminding me this is a lonely Sunday.

The hum of the tires on the paved highway lulls me to sleep. I drift in and out of nightmares and feel that the Devil himself has slipped into my dreams.

“Wake up, Allen. Allen, wake up,” says David, shaking me with his right hand while he is driving.

I gasp for air and rub my eyes. The army dress shirt I’m wearing sticks to my body, soaked in sweat.

“What’s wrong?”

“You were screaming in your sleep. I would have sworn you were taking on the whole Jap army. I see by the colored bars on your uniform that you served in the Atlantic and Pacific.”

I grab another cigarette from David’s package and quickly suck on the Winston like it was oxygen to replenish my body.

“Yes, I was in the group that landed on the beaches of Sicily. We fought our way through the northern coast of the island, pushing the Germans back into Italy.

We boarded ships, landing craft, anything that carried men and weapons, along with the army’s big guns.

“It was my father’s birthday, September ninth, when we landed on the Italian coast, fighting our way into Salerno.

“I don’t know why we didn’t follow the Germans up the boot with half our forces, while with the other half cut them off as they marched back into Italy’s mainland.

“War is hell and can be politically driven. Some generals care more about their legacy than the men they lead.”

I light another one of David’s cigarettes as he hands me a Pepsi from the cooler on the floor.

“Wow! It tastes great. Thanks. It’s been a long time since I had a Pepsi.” I take a drag from the cigarette and ask, “How long after being wounded did it take you to get back home?”

“Well, Allen. After the private got me out of the tank, I spent a month on a hospital ship off the coast of Normandy. Lucky for me, I was back in the States before Christmas in forty-four,” says David.

“That was less than a year ago. Have you recovered from your injuries?”

“Yes, I was one of the fortunate ones. I made it home in time for my daughter’s birth, and no, I didn’t name her Shrapnel.” David smiles. “Mildred named her Barbara, and what a cutie she is.”

Hearing the name sinks my heart into my stomach, which is churning with feelings of guilt.

I visualize my wife lying on the bed, her eyes closed by my blood-covered fingers. I can’t imagine what her parents will be going through once they hear the news.

The jitters increase, causing me to shake from the inside out. My empty soul is drained of the last ounce of self-respect, wishing my life to end.

I close my eyes and say a brief prayer for Barbara. I beg God to grant her my share of Heaven—knowing that Hell waits for me.