Beautiful Raven
Bleuzette La Feir
Head held high, with a deliberate
gait, Janie made her way into the large ballroom decked out in red, white, and
blue bunting and balloons. The festive decorations brought a small smile to her
face. She didn’t mind that her leg showed from beneath her dress. She
absolutely adored this dress. It fit her like a glove. It had been handmade
especially for her. She loved the soft material that hugged her body and how
the hand stitching around the waist caused the deep royal blue, almost black
fabric to slightly flow. She thought the deepness of the shade set off her
cornflower blue eyes.
Finding the placard with her name on it was easy enough, but the chairs placed around the large round tables seemed too many. As if a dozen place settings were squeezed around a table meant for ten. Janie knew hotels sometimes did that sort of thing to fit more people into an event as she’d worked as catering staff after school, prior to joining the Army. But this was an event for wounded warriors. Had anyone thought crowding people in might make it unnecessarily difficult for those about to be honored for losing limbs and sight and some much worse? Many attending had service animals with them, Janie included. She was the girl with one leg and a dog named Dance.
She’d always thought Dance was an ironic name given the circumstances, but it was by chance that she’d ended up with Dance. She was thrilled about it though, as Dance was a true champ. Never did anything wrong. Was always by her side in his golden-coated glory. He was her hero. He often anticipated her needs and was able to gracefully deal with any situation. The current conundrum was no different. He patiently waited by her side as she struggled to pull out the chair. Dance indicated forward, mouth slightly agape. Janie gently stopped him with a tacit command. A bare prong supporting one of the legs was caught on the thick carpet. A dashing young boy-haired girl in obligatory white catering jacket appeared at her side. With a brilliant smile, the girl pulled the chair out. Without a word, she helped push Janie in, gave Dance a quick scratch on the head, winked and was gone.
Having a baby-faced butch appear out of thin air and attend to her surprised Janie and sparked a blush in her cheeks. In the twenty-one months of living with only one leg, Janie had not blushed. She knew this to be fact. She fought the involuntary reaction, but the blush was stronger than she was. It gently crept up her neck, shading her face a bright rosy hue. She gave up fighting and gave in to the mild heat. It dawned on her that it was a moment she wanted to remember. It was such a human thing to blush. She’d not felt human until this night, wearing this dress and now blushing for the first time since stepping on the pressure-triggered bomb that altered everything she had ever known.
Twenty-one months, two days and twelve hours ago was the count so far. The bomb had been placed just under the dirt on a heavily used pathway on her forward operating base in Iraq. Insurgents had infiltrated the perimeter and had silently placed three devices, each geared to destroy one American soldier. She was the first of the three. She was also the only one to survive. There was no rhyme or reason why. It just was. Janie survived and had, from time to time, been wrought with guilt. But she knew guilt served no purpose to the living. The words of her mother echoed in her head. “Leave guilt for the dead; it’s probably what killed them anyway.”
That was the last time, before now, that Janie had felt human. She’d been up early that morning to meet up with a Navy buddy she’d made in-country a few weeks prior. Chief Petty Officer Raven Johns was her name and to Janie, she hung the moon. Janie hated to run, but would never bring herself to disappoint Raven. She figured it was a good way to stay in shape, not ever wanting to appear lazy in the eyes of her new friend. She was excited that morning. The warm air hit her face as she popped out of her aluminum trailer and onto the rickety wooden boardwalk that made pathways from place to place on the small dusty base in Iraq. With the first step an inch down into the powdery dirt, off the wooden planks, it happened. She could still hear the snap and the explosion, but other than auditory indicators, she remembered nothing…
…until she woke up on the table in surgery. The pain was a white-hot flame engulfing her. Her head involuntarily popped up. She strained her neck forward and tried to prop up on her elbows to see what was happening to her body. Her mouth gaped. No sound emerged, even though every fiber of her being willed a scream she wanted God Himself to hear. The medical team began to frenzy around her, yelling at one another. A moment later a searing cold rush shot up her forearm and melted across her shoulder into her neck. She flopped back down on the table struggling for her life, every muscle in her body vibrating for relief. Viewing herself from the ceiling now, like a movie, she could see herself. Simultaneously a black-and-white drawing from her sixth-grade history book, depicting Joan of Arc strapped to a burning stake, imprinted in her mind. Seconds passed as the coolness of the substance in her arm took over. Everything went dark and squishy.
Little did she know her next memory would be waking up in an Army hospital bed in Landstuhl, Germany. First thing she saw was a green scrub-clad nurse hovering, smiling down at her. In a soft, slight Southern accent she reassured Janie. “Don’t try to talk, honey, everything’s gonna be all right.” She could feel the nurse patting her arm and squeezing it gently. That felt good. Human touch just felt so good. “I’m cold.” Janie was able to squeak out. The soft, green nurse smiled brighter and nodded, then darted away to fetch two warm white cotton blankets. It was the best feeling Janie could remember ever feeling…the touch of the nurse, the warmth of the first blanket, the weight of the second. Green nurse turned the light off over her head and gently suggested to Janie, “Go on back to sleep. Everything’s gonna be all right.”
“Janie? Is everything all right?” It was a voice she’d not heard since before the accident. Tilting her head up, away from her memories, she saw the face she’d been waiting to see. The face of the one she was going to meet for a run that morning. The one she’d had a silly, girlish crush on. Statuesque, stunning, standing at her side in crisp, Naval dress-white perfection, it was Raven Johns. Janie was overcome. Wanting to leap up and hug the beautiful Raven but knowing she could do neither, Janie sat and freely allowed the tears to come. Dance got up, laid his head on her lap. She was sure of it now, more than ever. Tears, finally. She felt fully human again.
Finding the placard with her name on it was easy enough, but the chairs placed around the large round tables seemed too many. As if a dozen place settings were squeezed around a table meant for ten. Janie knew hotels sometimes did that sort of thing to fit more people into an event as she’d worked as catering staff after school, prior to joining the Army. But this was an event for wounded warriors. Had anyone thought crowding people in might make it unnecessarily difficult for those about to be honored for losing limbs and sight and some much worse? Many attending had service animals with them, Janie included. She was the girl with one leg and a dog named Dance.
She’d always thought Dance was an ironic name given the circumstances, but it was by chance that she’d ended up with Dance. She was thrilled about it though, as Dance was a true champ. Never did anything wrong. Was always by her side in his golden-coated glory. He was her hero. He often anticipated her needs and was able to gracefully deal with any situation. The current conundrum was no different. He patiently waited by her side as she struggled to pull out the chair. Dance indicated forward, mouth slightly agape. Janie gently stopped him with a tacit command. A bare prong supporting one of the legs was caught on the thick carpet. A dashing young boy-haired girl in obligatory white catering jacket appeared at her side. With a brilliant smile, the girl pulled the chair out. Without a word, she helped push Janie in, gave Dance a quick scratch on the head, winked and was gone.
Having a baby-faced butch appear out of thin air and attend to her surprised Janie and sparked a blush in her cheeks. In the twenty-one months of living with only one leg, Janie had not blushed. She knew this to be fact. She fought the involuntary reaction, but the blush was stronger than she was. It gently crept up her neck, shading her face a bright rosy hue. She gave up fighting and gave in to the mild heat. It dawned on her that it was a moment she wanted to remember. It was such a human thing to blush. She’d not felt human until this night, wearing this dress and now blushing for the first time since stepping on the pressure-triggered bomb that altered everything she had ever known.
Twenty-one months, two days and twelve hours ago was the count so far. The bomb had been placed just under the dirt on a heavily used pathway on her forward operating base in Iraq. Insurgents had infiltrated the perimeter and had silently placed three devices, each geared to destroy one American soldier. She was the first of the three. She was also the only one to survive. There was no rhyme or reason why. It just was. Janie survived and had, from time to time, been wrought with guilt. But she knew guilt served no purpose to the living. The words of her mother echoed in her head. “Leave guilt for the dead; it’s probably what killed them anyway.”
That was the last time, before now, that Janie had felt human. She’d been up early that morning to meet up with a Navy buddy she’d made in-country a few weeks prior. Chief Petty Officer Raven Johns was her name and to Janie, she hung the moon. Janie hated to run, but would never bring herself to disappoint Raven. She figured it was a good way to stay in shape, not ever wanting to appear lazy in the eyes of her new friend. She was excited that morning. The warm air hit her face as she popped out of her aluminum trailer and onto the rickety wooden boardwalk that made pathways from place to place on the small dusty base in Iraq. With the first step an inch down into the powdery dirt, off the wooden planks, it happened. She could still hear the snap and the explosion, but other than auditory indicators, she remembered nothing…
…until she woke up on the table in surgery. The pain was a white-hot flame engulfing her. Her head involuntarily popped up. She strained her neck forward and tried to prop up on her elbows to see what was happening to her body. Her mouth gaped. No sound emerged, even though every fiber of her being willed a scream she wanted God Himself to hear. The medical team began to frenzy around her, yelling at one another. A moment later a searing cold rush shot up her forearm and melted across her shoulder into her neck. She flopped back down on the table struggling for her life, every muscle in her body vibrating for relief. Viewing herself from the ceiling now, like a movie, she could see herself. Simultaneously a black-and-white drawing from her sixth-grade history book, depicting Joan of Arc strapped to a burning stake, imprinted in her mind. Seconds passed as the coolness of the substance in her arm took over. Everything went dark and squishy.
Little did she know her next memory would be waking up in an Army hospital bed in Landstuhl, Germany. First thing she saw was a green scrub-clad nurse hovering, smiling down at her. In a soft, slight Southern accent she reassured Janie. “Don’t try to talk, honey, everything’s gonna be all right.” She could feel the nurse patting her arm and squeezing it gently. That felt good. Human touch just felt so good. “I’m cold.” Janie was able to squeak out. The soft, green nurse smiled brighter and nodded, then darted away to fetch two warm white cotton blankets. It was the best feeling Janie could remember ever feeling…the touch of the nurse, the warmth of the first blanket, the weight of the second. Green nurse turned the light off over her head and gently suggested to Janie, “Go on back to sleep. Everything’s gonna be all right.”
“Janie? Is everything all right?” It was a voice she’d not heard since before the accident. Tilting her head up, away from her memories, she saw the face she’d been waiting to see. The face of the one she was going to meet for a run that morning. The one she’d had a silly, girlish crush on. Statuesque, stunning, standing at her side in crisp, Naval dress-white perfection, it was Raven Johns. Janie was overcome. Wanting to leap up and hug the beautiful Raven but knowing she could do neither, Janie sat and freely allowed the tears to come. Dance got up, laid his head on her lap. She was sure of it now, more than ever. Tears, finally. She felt fully human again.
