The Cost of a Cup

Sonny sat there quietly on the bristling bench. The dark wood had once been sealed for outdoor use, but the coating had long since worn off. Little bundles of slivers reached up from the deteriorating seat to grab at his pants. He hunched forward, his arms bent sharply at the elbow, creating a bipod of support with his left arm leaning on his knee and supporting his chin while his right arm held a deep, rich cup of thick hot chocolate. The gentle steam wafted off the crest of the mug’s brim and sailed into the dense atmosphere. As it rose, it dissipated into the palpable darkness of the beach. He stared out into the tenebrosity of the night; only at the whiteness of the waves as they rose and then fell against the shore was it revealed where the ocean began. Far out in the darkness of the view, it merged in complex gradience with the expanding night sky. The twinkling of stars shouted where the limits of the great sea lay.

He leaned back against the aging and somewhat decrepit pew. As he laid back, he shifted his arms and relocated the cooling brew to a resting position on his knee, his elbow resting comfortably against his aching hip. He slowly moved his elbow around the knob of his joint in circular motions, carefully massaging the inflamed mass. His left hand dug around in the pocket of his immaculately pressed slacks. The crease severely cut down the middle of each leg, protruding in a cascading peak and falling in house curtain fashion neatly abreast the eyelet of his immaculately polished and pristinely maintained dress uniform shoes. When he marched, it created the appearance of a curtain that dropped after a commendable performance.

He stretched out his legs. Under normal circumstances, he would never be seen in such a lackadaisical position. There was little chance of being noticed by anyone important in his world. If only his Soldiers could see him now. He lay there, loafing, seeing the moon reflect on his shoes that he had polished to a mirror finish. He looked up into the celestial grace of a universe concealed. His solipsistic mind wondered if this view had been created just for him and, in another moment, dashed that thought at once to remedy the potential for such naive thinking to lead to him believing his value was above others. The glistening beams of the humanly eternal fireflies reflected off the glistening surface of his eyes. He closed them for a moment and breathed in the cool sea air. He could hear the lapping of the waves against the shore as he listened to the serene balance of the ecological night.

Sonny turned his left wrist so that his palm lay face up towards the heavens, and he looked at the face of his watch that pressed gently against the inside of his wrist. She was late. He switched his beverage from his right hand to his left and reached into his right pocket. He pulled out his phone, no messages. He wondered what she looked like now. He hadn’t seen her in nearly a decade since he left. Broke his promise. He hoped she would understand. He didn’t know what to expect; he simply hoped for the best.

The moon was high in the thick black sky now. It was floating in a sea of stars swirling across the open expanse of a majestic scene created by a god unknown and unknowable. Then, his thoughts turned to his brother. That was the cross-section of the trauma, the quintessential event leading to his broken but successful life. Her, him, and his brother, they had been inseparable. His brother had been just a year older than him. After the towers had gone down, his brother had immediately enlisted. Six months later, he graduated from combat training, then infantry school three months after that, and finally to his duty station. Four months later, on a frigid and blustery morning at “zero dark thirty,” they hugged for the last time as his brother boarded a giant Lockheed C-130 Hercules, a large military transport aircraft.

When he closed his eyes, it all flooded back into his being, nearly overwhelming his senses. His brother and she had been inseparable, but so had he and his brother. The corners of his mouth turned slightly upward at the reminiscent thought of jealousy he had experienced when he first met the love of his brother’s life. The three of them became a known trio of travelers, and the odd thing was that he had never felt like a third wheel. That was mainly to the credit of his brother and her. They had not been much for public displays of affection other than some tepid hand-holding. They had genuinely been a group. Sonny had never felt like an outsider and had been just as much a part of their gang as either of them. Of course, none of that mattered anymore. That had been a long time ago, and it seemed now that it had been another life.

He glanced at his watch again. Another five minutes gone. Maybe she wouldn’t come. He set the lightly steaming mug down and turned left, then right, grabbing the back of the bench with both hands and stretching out his spine. He stood up slowly, pushing as much pressure as he dared on his right leg. His left hand firmly grasped the bench's armrest while his right hand pushed firmly down on the cane, mainly using his upper body to get himself into an upright position. He stood there for a moment. He breathed out the carbon dioxide from his body and watched as it became vapor when it hit the cool night air. He leaned back, putting his hands on his hips and resting his cane momentarily against the stout seat. His eyes took in the heavenly scenery as he stretched, and his mind wandered back to that time long ago.

“Why are you leaving?” She had asked.

“Because I can’t stay.” He had obliquely replied.

“Why?” She pressed.

“You know why.”

“These things happen.”

“He was my world!” Sonny snapped.

“He was mine too!” She had retorted.

“I know, but he was a part of me.”

“Promise me you’ll come back!”

“Why?”

“Promise!”

“Okay.”

That had been the end of it. After that, he was gone. Just like his brother. They were unique—the only two men in the world who could leave her behind. Now he stood at the exact spot, near the precise bench, where they had talked, where he had said goodbye. She had committed him to the promise, but he had no intention of keeping it. Yet, nine years later, here he was. Was there a time limit on the obligation? They had exchanged letters, and he had phoned her from his myriad of duty assignments as he elevated up the ranks. The last time he had called her had been six years ago, he thought, no! It had been seven.

He had never wanted to serve; that was his brother’s dream. He had been a gifted baseball player. The day the casualty notification officer showed up to extend the United States Army's condolences and thank him for his brother’s sacrifice, he was offered a full-ride scholarship to his father’s alma mater. He had been reading the offer when he heard the vehicle pull up, and he could feel the trepidation he had experienced as he looked up from his letter and noticed the two officers dressed not dissimilarly from how he was now. The entire exchange had taken less than five minutes, and the officers were off. They had thanked him for his brother’s sacrifice. Why? He didn’t have anything to do with it. In some ways, he had resented his brother from joining. It had caused a rift in their bond. A crevasse that hadn’t entirely mended when his brother departed.

The military was his brother’s dream, and it was cut short. There was no reason for Sonny’s choice. His brother had never asked him to do it. There was no pact between the two. His brother was dead. They had not fully mended and healed the rift. In a roundabout way, he had enlisted to honor his brother and complete his service. Maybe he had been hoping to follow his brother into the great nether.

He stood behind the bench, leaning forward over the back towards the sea. His close-cropped, dirty-blonde hair vacillated in the wind. The insects of the night came out to sing their polite melodies of delight and rock nature gently to sleep. The hum of the waves soothed his aching soul. He glanced up the beach and then down in the other direction. He was alone on an island. The sand around his shoes ground beneath the thick rubber of his soles in a glassy scraping sound. The rough specks shifted against themselves as he favored his right leg, slowly moving his feet inside the shoes and making imperceptible changes to his posture to prevent his body from stiffening up.

She wasn’t coming. He just wanted to say goodbye. He had followed his brother step-by-step through life. She had become his best friend even though he would never, could never, do that to his brother. So he had left. It was the only option and seemed a poignant way to commit. There was no coming back from an enlistment. He would follow his brother once more. He just wanted to say goodbye. He glanced again at his watch, noticing how worn the strap had become. The watch his brother had given him, the strap now nearly worn through. Like their lives, it would soon be done. Only the watch could be renewed. A fresh strap, and it was whole again. If only humans could be reduced to the components of a timepiece. They could be knocked down to a set of parts, disassembled into various components, and reassembled as if brand-new. Discarding the broken parts and making it whole.

Sonny took a deep breath of the chilly and salty air. He was inhaling as deeply as his crippled lungs would allow. He was oscillating between life and death. If only he could say goodbye. He lifted one trembling hand from the back of the bench and rubbed the scarred skin at his throat. His eyes brimmed with tears as his thoughts went back to that moment. He had already lost his brother. That had been terrible enough. But losing his surrogates, too, that was too much. He couldn’t do it again. The air tasted good on his tongue. The light brine flaking sparingly. His hand dropped ominously to his dog tags. He could feel their shape through his jacket. He rubbed the duo of identification markers. They would only be separated in passing. A quick snap of the chain and his life would be gone in vain.

His training mandated that he lived with decisive action. He took one last deep breath of the sea and picked up his cane resolutely. He began the dreadful march into eternity. The stars taunting him with their majestic serenity. One last night in the heart of the sea. He dug his cane into the sand and pushed carefully. He walked as if marching to an unheard beat, a sound ingrained through the repetition of an activity. His house curtain pants' swift and short motion now signaling an end to his spree. A final curtain call that no one would see. As he walked, step after step, his feet sinking into the increasingly moist sand, the tears grew too great and began to stream. The drops traveled freely down his cheeks, passing the clenched lips of his mouth, down the curve of his chin, and onto his immaculate jacket. They sprinkled it with dark stains.

With each step, the feeling of freedom grew. Relieved of the constraints of reality, he felt like his heart was finally set free. If only he could say goodbye to her before he took his leave. That was his one act that remained incomplete. A career served in valor was somehow in vain. In his mind’s eye, he was still lost in the fog of a false reality. No longer a Soldier, yet somehow not free. His one arm kept pushing his can into the liquid sand and pushing forward with deadly intent. With his free hand, he had begun to unbutton the jacket that said how proud he should be. A life served in honor, in defense of freedom, yet he lived in prison and pain. He slowly shed the jacket; he kept his head forward as it fell to the earth. A career of medals that had once shone in the sun now lay in the dirt, all covered in mud. He loosened his tie as the water lapped at his feet. The tie fell into the fray, and the waves ate it eagerly. He walked like a zombie, almost losing all thought. The water was at his waist now. The last button of his shirt was nearly free. He let his cane fall away and be taken by the sea. He began to swim forward, his eyes on an azimuth that only he could see.

As he swam with simple strokes, he worked off his shoes. He used the tip of one shoe to edge off the heel and then kick the encumbrance free. The second one was simple with the dexterity of his toes. He was stripped to the waist and removed his socks. He kept swimming and swimming with a force driving him forward with severe intensity. With each stroke, the sea chewed on him angrily. He struggled and strove and gasped for each breath. The strength of the water was too much to test. With earnest endeavor, he flailed for the glassy surface as the voracious appetite of the ocean welcomed him into blissful eternity.

Several hours later, on that cold and lonely beach, a second set of footprints were being molded into the clay. It was only a few hours until daylight now. She had received his letter very late and had come to the place they only knew. She prayed that it wasn’t too late. She had so much to say that she didn’t know where even to begin. She had waited for years for this moment. She knew that he had been struggling all of those years ago. She had battled, too. Neither of them had been courageous enough to admit what was only natural. The three of them shared a privileged bond; it was only natural that their feelings would grow toward each other after he had gone.

She saw the bench as it slowly appeared on the horizon she had been studying earnestly. She grabbed the front of her flowing dress in both hands and lifted the hem to move more quickly to her destination. It hadn’t changed much. The sea's steady beat had stripped the lumber, and there were a couple of areas where rot had taken hold. But it was the same bench. She came up from behind the bench. The bench was covered in spray except for two broad patches on the back. She leaned over the bench, putting her hands in those dry fields.

As she stood there, she looked around for him. She noticed a mug of hot cocoa sitting on the bench. There was no steam rising from it. She moved laterally around the bench and sat down. Her dress swirled and plumed in the tearing wind. She looked at the mug and then turned to the sea. The night air was performing a melancholy musical as if in mourning. After a few moments, she noticed the footsteps leading away from the bench toward the beach. She stood and began to follow them, walking just to the side of them so they wouldn’t be disturbed.

With each stride, her pace increased. She was nearly running, the hem of her dress held in her hands as it billowed in the thrashing wind. Then suddenly, she stopped. Just ahead of her, she noticed some foreign objects in the sand. The gravelly grains had spidered across the surface of the half-buried object. She knelt beside it and picked it up. It was a jacket. She took it by the shoulders and held it up so that it was facing her the way it would if it were being worn. It was a Soldier’s jacket. The medals, ribbons, and other garnishments were clear evidence.

She neatly folded the jacket and stuck it under her arm. She stood back up and, with one hand, picked up her skirt. She followed along more slowly now, almost terrified of what was coming. A foreboding sense penetrated her bones and froze her to the core. Step after step, she stayed parallel to the imprint in the sand. There were little pieces scattered here and there along the way. It looked as if someone had just come ultimately undone. She continued to tread softly until she spotted the shiny piece of tin lying wedged into the sand.

She bent over and picked up the miniature sheet. Identifying marks had been pressed into it. As she realized what it was, her heart burst. She fell to her knees, the jacket dropping to the ground. She clenched the single tag to her chest, and she cried out in unbearable grief. The tears didn’t flow. They burst forth from a hose! The last pieces of a life of service. The weight of honor was more than these brothers could bear. She fell into the sand, still clinging to that piece of cheap metal. She curled up fetally as the waves broke around her and the world disappeared. She was motionless as the sun began rising.