Bend in the Road

When I found the photograph, I could not believe it.  Time had suddenly become liquid as I floated back fourteen years ago to a time and a place so very different to where I was when I found the photograph.  I had promised Carter we’d keep in touch, but that promise was as empty as the other ones I made back then.

I have trouble remembering things sometimes. The doctors told me that I can blame it on the explosion, but I don’t like to think about that either. 

The photo was stuck in a book titled The Road to Kabul.  Back then the book was on the New York Times Best Seller List.  Now that the war was over, it was just another forgotten nonfiction waste of three hundred pages.  I read it.  I keep it on my bookshelf.

Carter Jenkins.  Fifth Mobile Artillery Division.  His smile was infectious as was his sense of humor. 

I Googled his name and found he lived in a small town in Georgia called Garberville.  Using a map, I found that Garberville was up hills closer to Chattanooga than Atlanta.  

Carter told me that he lived around the bend in the road.  He told me it was just a whistlestop of a town.

Carter Jenkins saved my life in Afghanistan when we were on the Khyber Pass headed toward Kabul.

There was an IED in the road that went off as our Humvee passed.  Ace Hennings was driving and was killed instantly in the inferno that left the vehicle a funeral pyre.  Somehow I was blown free of the Humvee in the blast.  Some of the jihadists began to pour automatic weapons fire down on us.  

Carter pulled my body exposed to enemy fire behind a rock.

His face was bleeding as mine.  

“You gonna be okay, Wright.” He wiped my face with some gauze in his medical bag.

“I can’t see” I answered as he applied disinfectant that stung like the Dickens, but I knew I’d be alright as long as I stuck close to him.

“Ain’t no damage.” He grunted, “You gotcha hysterical blindness.  I’ve seen it b’fore. It’ll pass with some time in the infirmary.  You one lucky son-of-a-bitch, Wright.” 

“How ‘bout you, Car?” I asked as I heard the bullets sing like birds overhead. 

“I be fine.” He sniffed as he got his radio out, “Base ops, this is Sergeant Jenkins.  We got hit by an IED.  Got two casualties and some ambulatory guys trying to stay out of the line of fire. Got a nest of ragheads up a few meters shooting down on us.” 

In five minutes two UH-1 Huey's came rumbling overhead, firing missiles at the insurgents.   One of them hovered over the wreckage of our Humvee and hoisted me up in the air in a basket.  Once on board I felt safe.  I glanced down at Carter who was helping the second victim into the basket. As soon as Corporal Ginsigetti was on board, Carter took the grappling hook and rode it on up to the helicopter. 

I heard he got a citation for a bronze star.  After his actions that afternoon, I figured he would get it, no sweat.

Detroit is a very cold place unless you reside there.  The winters are brutal especially if you live along the Detroit River in Dearborn.  I don’t know why this is the case since people who live in Chicago near Lake Michigan don’t seem to mind the lake effect. People in Dearborn get the river effect which I think is just as bad.  

Anyway, my folks live in Madison Heights, which is too rich for my blood.  My dad Joey owns a big sporting goods store with his brother Jerry.  I could have been a part owner by now, but I just never got interested like my brother Wayne.  

Me, I live in an efficiency apartment with no romantic prospects anywhere on the horizon.  It’s a bit cramped, but I’m a single guy who doesn’t need much space.  I do have a wall full of books because I’d rather read than watch television.  

I do have a problem with my vision after the blast.  Carter was either telling me something that didn’t come true or he was just trying to keep me calm.  I’ve seen some guys make their medical condition worse by panicking.  Sometimes they give themselves a heart attack and die.  I wear thick glasses and have to hold the book close to my nose so I can read the words, but it’s no biggie.  Three of the guys in that Humvee died in the blast including Lieutenant Barkley who graduated out of Notre Dame.  He was really smart, but it didn’t help him out in the end. 

“Hoser.” My boss called me while I was driving my forklift. Hoser is what he calls me. My name is really Howard, but he thinks it’s funny calling me Hoser like the other guys on the crew.

“Yeah boss.” I put the forklift into idle.

“You put in for vacation.” He flips the page on his clipboard.

“Yes, Mr. Crumbly.” I nodded.

“What for?”

“I’m goin’ to see a friend.” I answered.

“Really?  That’s amazing.” He whistled.

“What is amazing?”

“That you even have a friend.” He shook his head.  A couple of the crew began to chuckle, but I was used to his ribbing by now. "Approved.”

“Thank you, Mr. Crumbly.” I smiled.

“Don’t mention it.” He turned his head to hide his grin. 

“Hey Hoser.” One of the crew called, “Are you gonna drive or fly.” 

“If you’re gonna fly, you’d better start flapping your wings.” Another piped in which drew raucous laughter from the others.

“Funny, very funny you guys.” I tried not to let them see me laugh at my own expense. 

“So, goin’ to Georgia.” My dad pushed his glasses back in place as we passed around the dinner plates.

“Yeah.” I smiled.

“You ever been there?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Joe, you promised.” Mom chided him.

“Oh Harriett, you know how we are.” He put his hand up like a policeman at an interaction.

“I am goin’ to see a friend.” I said as I piled on the steaming roast beef on my plate. 

“Who do you know down there?” Wayne asked, putting some string beans on his plate. 

“It was when I was in the army.” I shrugged.

“I thought you didn’t keep in touch with any of them.” My father stared down through his glasses as he took the platter of roast beef.

“I didn’t, but I found this picture.” I nodded.

“What picture?” Wayne asked.

“This one.” I pulled the black and white photograph from my shirt pocket and handed it to my brother.

“Why this is a nig-” Wayne stopped when he received a glare from our mother.

“Not at this table.” She shook her finger at him.

“What’s so special about him?” Wayne did not take mother’s admonishment too seriously.

“He saved my life.” I cut into my meat.

“He did?” Wayne chuckled.

“When we was riding our Humvee on the Khyber Pass.” I explained.

“That whole war was a complete waste of time if you ask me.” Dad mumbled.  

“Nobody did, Joe.” My mom said sharply.  

“I am taking the Greyhound.” I took the picture from Wayne and showed mom and dad my bus ticket.

“Why not fly?” Dad asked as he grimaced looking at my ticket. 

“I want to see the countryside.” I explained, “He told me that it’s really rustic.” 

“Son, rustic is not always a good thing.” Dad said as he stuffed some green beans into his mouth. 

I caught the bus at the depot in Dearborn.  The bus driver seemed a bit grumpy, but once we got moving, we drove through the open country of Ohio on Interstate 75.  Rolling along the flat country, I fell asleep as we passed Dayton and Cincinnati and over the Ohio River into Kentucky.  We stopped for dinner at a roadside diner in Frankfort.  It was not as good as mama’s cooking, but I ate what I could.

“Where are you from?” One of the passengers asked me.

“Detroit.” I answered.

“You looked familiar.  I thought I might know you.” He smiled.

“I was in the war.” I don’t know why I said it, but I did.

“You look too young to have been in Vietnam, like me.” He shook his head.

“No, I was in Afghanistan.” I nodded.

“That figures.” He looked me over, “I should have known you were a veteran.  I can sense ‘em when I see them.  Maybe that’s why it seemed like I knew you.” He chuckled. 

We didn’t say much else to each other.  He got off in Lexington holding his wife’s hand talking about the grandchildren they were going to visit. 

It was dark when we passed through Knoxville, Tennessee.  Wayne told me if I breathed hard enough, I could smell the gold at Fort Knox.  I did my best, but I didn’t smell any gold.

The VA told me that the explosion also hurt my brain.  After nearly ten surgeries, I am as good as I’m going to get.  People think I am stupid, but I’m not.  I used to be very smart before the explosion.  Carter called me the professor on account of my ability to think.  I get money every month to help me with my disability, because without it, I’d never be able to pay my rent on the money I get for being a bag boy at the grocery store.  

By morning the hills are getting higher and higher and the roads are getting curvy-er and curvy-er.  Everywhere I look, I see trees that reach up to Heaven where God lives.

“Garberville, next stop.” The bus driver informs us.  I grab my backpack. I can’t wait to see Carter Jenkins and see how he is.  I can’t believe it has been fourteen years.

I get off the bus at the depot.  

“Where are y'all headed?” The man behind the counter asks.

“I’m here to visit my friend.” I tell him.

“Oh yeah and where might ya friend be?” He raises one of his black bushy eyebrows.

“Up in Pike’s Canyon.” I show him the slip of paper where I wrote Carter’s address.

“Dis it?” He picks up the paper.

“Yessir.” I nod.

“Ain’ nothin’ but Colored live up on Pike’s Canyon.” He sniffs.

“That’s him.” I continue to nod. 

“Dat a fact.” He seems like this is a bad thing. “Junior, you still runnin’ up to Pike’s Canyon?” 

A black man with no hair on top of his head comes limping up to the counter.

“This guy wants to go up there.” The man behind the counter chuckles.

“Son, y’all can go up there, bucha might not be comin’ back.” The black man saw me shaking, “You gocha a Jackson?”

“Jackson?” I wondered what he was asking.

“A twenty dollah bill?  Is ya thick?” Junior seemed agitated.

“Yes.” I whispered.

“Speak up, I is hard o’ hearing.”

I pulled out a twenty-dollar bill with the picture of Andrew Jackson on it and handed it to Junior.

“Hmm-umh.” He stuffed the money into his overall pocket, “We be leavin’ shortly. Hey, Obbie, gotta take this young’un up to the canyon.” 

“Sounds good, Junior.” Obbie smiled, “There’ll be some tidyin’ up to do when ya comes back.” 

“Figgered.” He shook his head, “C’mon, we’s goin’ to da canyon.” 

I followed him to his ancient Ford pickup truck.  I climbed into the passenger’s seat.  It startled me that where I put my feet there was a hole where I could see the ground under the truck.

“So, who is ya goin’ to visit?” He asked as he started the truck that belched a few times before the engine started.

“Carter Jenkins.” I said as the truck jolted and jerked as Junior put it into gear.

“Wha’ fo’?” 

“We were in Afghanistan together.” I answered, “He saved my life.”

“Son, Carter ain’t been right since he got home.” Junior lit a cigarette as he turned the giant steering wheel.  I was afraid he’d lose control of his truck. “He goes to the VA up in Athens. Something is not right with that boy.” 

The road to the canyon was straight up, but the road wasn’t straight at all.  On my side there was a huge drop off that was a rocky cliff with a lot of pine trees below.  It made me shudder on account the tires on my side were barely on the grave road at all.  Junior did not seem to notice, but I was afraid the truck was going to careen over the precipice at any time.

“Here is the Jenkin’s place.” Junior came to an abrupt stop and pointed to a dilapidated shack.  A skinny cow stood in the yard munching on ragweed. 

As I walked toward the door, a woman came out on the porch wiping her hands on her apron.

“Evenin’ Bessie.” Junior waved.

“Junior.” She called back, but her scowl remained. She took one look at me, “An’ who might y’all be?”

“I’m Howard Wright.” I nodded.

“Whacha want Howard Wright?” She folded her arms over her ample chest. “We ain’ got no money to buy whacha ya sellin.’” 

“No ma’am, I’m not selling nothing.” I shook my head.

“We ain’ lookin’ to find Jesus. He ain’ never come out to this canyon no way.” She tilted her head back.

“I’m a friend of Carter.” I said and her expression immediately changed from aggressive resistance to sadness. “I was in Afghanistan.  He saved my life.” 

She exhaled for a long time and then reached up to wipe a single tear from her eye, “My boy is gone.” 

I did not understand, so I asked, “Where did he go?”

“Around that bend in the road.” She wiped more tears off her cheek with her apron.

“What’s there?” I asked, straining my eyes to see what was there where she pointed.

“The arms of the angels.” She smiled in the middle of a sob. “He done took his life when them VA doctors couldn’t help him no more.” 

I puzzled over this for a minute.

“He was my oldest.” She smiled again, “He was a good man.” 

“He saved my life.” I nodded.

“Doesn’t surprise me none.  He was always helpin’ folks even as a boy.” She sat in a rocking chair on the porch, “Come sit with me.” 

I nodded and took her up on her offer.  We sat for nearly an hour talking about Carter and our memories we had of him.  I told her about how he kept his uniform looking sharp and she told me about how he spent an entire day hauling firewood up from the ravine during a snowstorm. She also told me about the night when Carter could not take it any longer and took his own life.  She told me how she tried to tell them how bad he was in the head, but no one would listen.  I was also surprised that he did not get the bronze star he was promised.  She told me she was not surprised by that.

“Dat boy was my angel.” Bessie said with her eyes sparkling from her tears.

“I have to be going.” I shrugged, “Junior said he’d come back for me.”

“Bes’ be there.  He’s a stubborn ol’ cuss, that man is.” She allowed herself a chuckle, “If’n ya ain’ there, he goes on his way.” 

“I’m sorry Carter is gone.” I put my hand on her shoulder.

“It be okay.  He’d be glad to know you come.” She nodded as she rocked in her old rocking chair.

Junior told me he’d meet me at the bend in the road where someone had hung signs about no trespassing.  When I came up to that part of the road, I saw a man sitting on a rock.

“Howdy.” He said as if he knew me.

“Hello.” I acknowledged.

“You don’t know who I am?” He seemed disappointed.

“No sir.” I shook my head.  It seemed his skin had been darkened by the sun.

“C’mon Private Wright.” He stood up.

“Carter?” 

“What you gone blind?” 

“You mama said you were dead.” 

“I am.” He nodded, “This is that bend in the road.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. 

“I came to thank you for saving my life.” I bowed my head.

“Saved it?  Sure.” He laughed, “But there was damage I could not change.”

I heard a horn and knew Junior had come like he promised.

“You take care of yourself, Private Wright.” He puffed out his chest like he used to do when he was going to do something noteworthy.

“You do the same, Carter.” I smiled,

“Is ya comin’ or am I drivin’ outta here.” Junior’s voice sounded like the crows gathered on the tree branches. 

“Be right there.” I said over my shoulder, then to Carter. “Take care of yourself.” 

“Ain’t my worry no more.” Carter began to fade until like the Cheshire Cat he was no longer visible to me.