Scars That Define

In a Victorian cottage surrounded by a dense forest with a slight frost coating the vegetation resides a family centered around a blazing fireplace…

“All I remember was an odd sort of humming… a strange buzzing of sorts. The sound of utter silence and blood pounding in your ears when fright takes full reign. No more gunshots. No more screams. No more explosions. My sweet, precious Ivy, I’ve never experienced anything like that before in my entire life.” Uncle’s eyes turned misty, the hazel hue glazing over to a darker, haunted shade. “When the S-mine exploded, almost instantly my entire life flashed before my eyes. Everything slipped away between one blink and the next… what side I was on, who I was fighting, why I was fighting.” 

    “Did I cross your mind?” I pulled the fresh linen sheets tighter over our bodies, pressing my palm flat on Uncle’s knee to cease his anxious leg thumping. 

    He turns to me, locks of rust-colored hair peppered at the roots with gray falling against his temples. “Of course you would have, my sweet, little Ivy. But you weren’t even born yet.” 

    “And Mommy?” 

    I curl into his side, breathing in his earthly pine scent. 

    Uncle chuckles, though even now, after all of these years, it still comes across as broken and fragile. “Hush now and let me finish the story.” 

    I giggle, even though such an act was not appropriate for Uncle’s tale. 

    Clearing his throat, he begins again. “Shrapnel of flying metal and globs of dirt flew thousands of feet into the air, happening so fast that when Zeke let out the warning shout-” 

    “Your friend?” 

    A few tears fell from his eyes, his lower lip trembling uncontrollably. “Y-yes, my wonderful, kind, crazy friend that I lost. He was only seventeen, while I was no more than twenty.” He shifted uncomfortably on the sofa, drumming his fingers restlessly against the mahogany wood side table. “I…I shouldn’t be alive, Ivy. The scars left behind, the blood-” His prosthetic arm came down on my shoulder, cold yet familiar. “I was the luckiest one of the bunch when all around me wreaked of death and destruction.” 

    An uncomfortable silence ebbed in between us, charging the air with static energy. Uncle hiccuped, nearly choking, as more tears tumbled down his ruddy cheeks. 

    Sympathy yanked at my heart as I shifted to my knees, pressing my forehead to Uncle’s so I could taste the briny salt of his tears. “But you were so brave. You fought till nearly the very end.” 

    His breath falls against my cheeks, smelling of the strong nutty and smoky aroma of his favorite blend of coffee. “Yes, and it haunts me every day of my life. There isn’t a day that goes by when I believe I should have-” 

    “Hush, Uncle Owen.” I reach up, pressing my fingertips to the red bulging scar along his collarbone. The fireplace’s flames appeared to burn brighter than, casting the room in illuminated shadows. “It’s all over now.” 

    “Is it?” His gaze lands on mine, searching for a type of hope that leaves a sinking pit of dread in my belly. After a heartbeat, Uncle pulls away, shaking his head. “How can six-year-old you be so wise?” 

    I smiled at him. “Because I’ve had you as an example.” 

    “Not that your Mother approves.” He pats the top of my head, that ever-present saddened frown framing his features again. “She thinks I lost my mind in that war and I’ll never retrieve the pieces.” 

    From the other room, Mommy’s shout rings out like a warning bell, “Owen, are you telling poor Ivy those war stories again? How many times do I have to tell you how traumatizing it can be for little kids?” 

10 years later….

I stare at myself in the mirror with bitter disappointment, tugging at loose strands of lush black hair. 

    My only wish had ever been to inherit Uncle’s rust-colored hue, but after five unsuccessful attempts at the hair salon, I am still, unfortunately, stuck with dark-colored strands the same shade as Mom’s. Some things, apparently, were never made to change… constant like the sun, moon and stars. 

    “If only they knew.” I press my thumb over the display case that house’s Uncle’s purple heart resting on my nightstand, a symbol of his injury during battle. “If only they all knew the sacrifices you made.” 

    Uncle’s story of his time in World War ll always came across as heroic to me, while my cousin Iris instantly broke down in tears. True, it was a sad, sad tale but it was part of my history… of how our family proved to be tough and strong and defy all odds. Uncle survived being on the front line, which was nothing short of a miracle. 

    Tears splashed down on the case, blurring my image and the tired dark circles underneath my eyes. “You can’t leave yet, Uncle Owen, I…I need you. You entrusted me with this and I-” 

    My mind fragments, dragging me back to months earlier when Uncle fell into his ‘fits.’ Claiming that ‘the enemy’ was out to get him, fearing that he would step on another S-mine and lose his other arm after spending months in rehabilitation for his right, terrified that his whole life was being watched… guarded. 

    “Ivy, hon?” Mom’s voice drifts up from the bottom of the staircase, a tired air in her tone. “We have to leave. Your Dad will be meeting us at the hospice.” 

    I flinch down to my very marrow, glancing at Uncle’s tattered photo in uniform for one last ray of hope. “Coming!” I holler but to myself, I utter a silent plea that my strong, stubborn Uncle wouldn’t let go just yet. 

***

Uncle’s room was outrageously hot and stuffy, with beads of sweat building along my hairline. Perhaps out of nerves more so than the poor ventilation.

     My parents, along with my other Uncle, Uncle Axel and Aunt Marcella left minutes ago to go find a doctor… worry lines prominent on their features. Now, I was shoulder to shoulder with my cousin Iris, who, true to her nature, hadn’t stopped crying since walking in. “Oh my God, Ive, Uncle Owen looks…” She trails off, dabbing her eyes, but the knowing still hangs thick in the air. 

    It has only been a week since I visited him, stuck studying all hours for high school’s upcoming finals, but he appeared to have gotten more ill since then. 

    “Two heart attacks close to five years apart.” Mom had said during the drive here. “My brother is just tired of fighting, hon. Remember, it was his choice to go to hospice, not ours.” 

    “You didn’t help matters any,” I argued, finally putting my foot down. “You sent him to therapy for his PTSD, knowing it wouldn’t help.” 

    She winced, clucking her tongue. “Oh, hon, it has to do with so much more than that. Going to therapy didn’t cause his attacks… it was the war still being played through his mind, a battered, lost soul, stuck in an aging body.”

     Now staring at my shallow-breathing Uncle, I fear the truth in Mom’s words. “Iris, would you mind going to find some water? He looks parched.” 

    She blew at her red-tipped nose, giving me a grateful smile. “Hold on to Uncle Owen, will you? Don’t let him slip away while I’m gone.” 

    I loop my pinkie through hers with trembling lips. “Promise.” 

    With that, she grabs the box of tissues on Uncle’s nightstand and dashes out the door. 

    I swipe at my own eyes, taking a seat on Uncle’s bed to slip my fingers into his prosthetic ones. Goodness, his skin looked feverish up close… mottled with sweat and red blotches and those patches of gray atop his head nearly took full reign now. Almost instantly his eyes fly open, a frantic yelp nearly set free until his gaze collides with mine. 

    Just as broken, just as frightened, just as shattered as I remember since childhood. 

    His chapped lips lift into a grin. “Ivy. My sweet, beautiful Ivy, you came.” 

    “Of course, Uncle. Did you think I wouldn’t?” 

    He tries to laugh, though I can clearly hear the stuck fluid in his lungs. “I would have thought you’d tire of these war stories after all these years.” 

    Sometimes… all right all the time but I want to only ever offer you comfort. I miss the old you that Mom and Uncle Axel talked about before you left for World War II- 

    “I stop the nightmares,” I whisper into his ear, snuggling closer. “You said so yourself.” 

    His hazel eyes appear to fracture. “Ivy, I’m so sorry. This is a burden you shouldn’t have to bear.” 

    “The reason you never got married?” I press, not wanting him to close off… loving the rich sound of his voice and his comforting presence, loving every aspect of my Uncle. 

    He winces, exhaling a rattling breath. “No soul on this earth deserved to get a share of all the baggage I carry. It would be too heavy, too hard to untangle.” 

    “Uncle-” 

    “Hush, Ivy. All will be well soon, all will be well.” 

    His eyes get a faraway look in them and by then, I’ve lost it, burying my face in his chest while choking on my own sobs. “Tell me about the chilling mud that you had to sludge through in those grimy trenches. Tell me about the expired canned goods that you lived on and how every night you traced the stars. Talk about whatever but don’t leave just yet, please, please Uncle you can’t leave me.” 

    I read somewhere once that talking out the trauma that caused PTSD would help to lessen the blow… that it would- 

    “Oh, my sweet Ivy,” his frail fingers lifted to tangle in my hair, knotting the strands, “What would I ever do without you?”

     I really choke, then, on words, emotions, tears. “Uncle-” 

    “You have been my rock, Ivy, all these years. You understood when the world shunned me away.” He coughs again, this time with such force the entire bed rattles. 

    My heavy heart sinks even lower, ensnared by a metal anchor drifting down into deep dark depths of utter nothingness. “I love you, Uncle Owen. I love you so, so much and all your stories and our meditation sessions to help ease your PTSD and-” 

    Uncle stretched out a shaky, bony hand, gripping my shoulder with tears in his eyes. “I love you, too, my sweet little Ivy.” A wheeze. “But I still should have never put you through all of that… I’m sorry.” 

    My lungs nearly exploded, squeezed too tightly by churning emotions. “Uncle, no. Aunt Marcella, she-she’s a licensed psychologist and I’ve been having sessions-” 

    “I know. My own sister-in-law couldn’t even help me.” He shifts on the bed, relying heavily on the pillows to sit upright and grasp my cheeks. Again, that familiar cold seeps in from his prosthetic fingers, something that once came across as foreign to me but now is a unique staple of my Uncle’s psyche. “I need you to listen very carefully, Ivy, and promise me something.” 

    Sobbing, I press my forehead to his chest, listening to the fading lull of his heartbeat. “Of course, Uncle. I’ll follow you to the ends of the world.”

     He plants a kiss on the top of my head, rubbing soothing circles into my spine. “That’s a good girl. Do you remember how I always had to cut our phone calls short?” 

    Trying to gain control of my senses once more, I slowly nod my head. “I thought you were merely busy with your therapy dog-” 

    “Ivy, please…” he leans closer, gripping me hard enough that my muscles spasm with pain. “They mustn’t know this. They must never know.” 

    “Who? Uncle Owen-” 

    “I’m not the man that you think I am, my sweet little Ivy. I…I hurt people.” 

    Confusion took full reign as I pulled back just slightly. “But the war’s over.” 

    “No, no…brawls, fights, the belief that enemies are still out there and they must be stopped.” 

    He looks deep into my eyes, willing, begging me to understand his words that make my stomach churn. 

     Bile climbs my throat, settling on the back of my tongue. “Are you saying-”

     “That therapy didn’t work? That talking it out didn’t help?” His prosthetic fingers once again find mine, squeezing and seeking comfort simultaneously. “Ivy, you know my mind has not been right since returning home… you know.” With a wobbling hand, he reaches for a chain around his neck, revealing a shining golden key. “The amount of people that I’ve severely injured, the amount of pain-” 

    His breath rattles inside his chest and those beautiful, wonderful hazel eyes lose focus altogether. 

    Panic sizes me in rapid succession. 

    “Uncle! Uncle Owen!” 

    With a final struggling gasp, he yanks me close till our foreheads touch. Don’t make me say goodbye. Don’t leave… please, please, please- “Thank you, my sweet, little Ivy. Thank you.” Using up whatever remaining strength remains in his dying body, he breaks the chain and shoves the key into my trembling palm. “Answers.” 

    With that final wish released, his entire frame goes limp and his prosthetic fingers fall away… like fluttering dandelion seeds blowing adrift to a new life. 

    All that I can hear is blood pounding in my eardrums, feel the heat of tears along my cheeks. Hysteria takes over. “Uncle Owen! No, no, no, no!” I collapsed into him, crying, ugly fat tears into his shoulder. “I…I could have helped you. I could-” 

    Suddenly remembering my promise to Iris, I stumbled backward and off the bed, nearly tripping on my shoelaces in the process. My eyelashes were sticky with a mix of sweat, tears and sorrow but somehow I still managed to let a frantic scream slip free… carrying heavy notes of strangled emotions before the world fell black all around me.

***

I swiped at my nose and shoved the paper cup of water aside, suddenly not thirsty or even hungry. My parents, along with Iris’s, were huddled around Uncle’s form, offering their final goodbyes before the nurses would come to take him away. 

    Iris stood in the doorframe, puffy-eyed and blotchy yet still-impossibly-manged to be present. 

    The same couldn’t be said for me. 

    Uncle’s rich, earthy scent still cocooned me, as well as his touch… haunting and aching like a stone brick atop my heart waiting to split it in twain from the pressure. 

    The cold bite of his key bit into my palm, a secret that Uncle carried to the very end of his life. Once again, blood pounded thick through my veins as I shifted my fingers, catching only the barest of glints from the silver item. Should I tell my family Uncle’s secret? His crime? That somehow he got away with it unnoticed? His words were not merely a threat but an omen of sorts, a plea that my lips should stay sealed shut until I made it to the grave. But why? Why the key, the secret, the terrified tremble in his voice- 

    “Ivy, hon, everything okay?” Mom turned to me, rivulets of mascara streaking down her cheeks in a macabre pattern. 

    It was at that moment that I made my final decision… Uncle’s secret would stay safeguarded as he wished. As it is the only way. 

    Tucking the key up my sleeve to keep hidden, I offer up the brightest, fakest smile to date. “Never better, Mom. Why do you ask?” 

    Her eyes narrowed in suspicion for a heartbeat before turning away. “Nothing. I-I just knew how close you were to Uncle Owen, is all.” 

    Close indeed. 

   So close that I would forever honor his memory and his last, fated breath brimmed with such utter fear that it even scared me. Ducking my head and whispering so no one can hear me, I brush my fingers across Uncles. “Don’t worry, my brave, strong, stubborn Uncle, your little secret is safe with me. I promise.”