Six Levels Deep
I heard a song on the radio. It was a sad song and I ended up crying. I didn’t cry because I understood the song. I cried because I was happy I didn’t. Then I made a mistake. I went and found the song on Youtube.
I watched it several times. Then I made another mistake. I dug down deep into the directories on my computer. About six levels deep I found what I was looking for. Six levels deep is too deep for a chance encounter. You have to want to go there to find those files. Those are the files that contain the things I don’t want to see or remember but can’t delete. The file I was looking for sat there. It has an unassuming name. It’s the same as the first name of my uncle. Mike.
Mike is my uncle because he fell in love with my mom’s sister. They married and the rest is history. My childhood memories are ones of a tough guy, a Vietnam vet, and a heavy drinker. I know him now as a tough guy with a huge heart, a Vietnam and Iraq vet, and a former heavy drinker that knows better.
I opened the file and read the first few e-mails. They were light hearted and up-beat. Here’s one I sent him.
10-29-2004 Since I figured you wouldn’t send me a list of things you needed, even under threat of camel attack, I had [my husband] ask some people over there what they would want. They came up with quite an interesting list. After removing everything that was illegal or immoral I narrowed it down to one thing. It is on it’s way with a full box of snacks and such. I hope you get it soon.
From his e-mails I read about the dust and dirt. He described sandstorms and gave me links to pictures for the girls. We joked about camels and goats. My youngest warned him not to get sand in his underwear. My oldest started her first of many warnings about camel spit.
Shortly after that the war and the tone of his emails changed. I stopped watching the news.
we can not tell where we are over the web. you would not believe how poor the people are here. it`s really sad. i hope we do some good for this country.
we have move back down the country and it is not too happy a place. we have been getting hit off and on but that’s part of the job. i will be glad when the job is over haha
this is going to be short but we have been catching some stuff here
the wound in my hand is better. a piece of shrapnel went thru it. It’s hard to believe that i walked away from it. it hit 40 ft from me. my pants had holes in them and my soft cap had a hole thru it and the only thing hit was my hand
I read through those e-mails as fast as I could. Later I read about the attack on the mess hall. He described the service for the men that had died. I remembered how badly I wanted him home.
It was a few more months before he came home. They were long months. Months where everyone worried and obsessed and tried not to watch the news. I tried not to think about what I’d tell the girls if anything happened. I tried not to think about his mother at his funeral. I tried just at hard not to think about him being over there for hers.
Just before he left we had a party. His mother was there. She was not well but as fiesty as ever. She scolded him for being too old to fight in war. He grinned like grown men do when they are scolded by their mom. Then he went out and jumped on the trampoline with the kids.
“When he left for Vietnam I gave him some coins. I told him to call me. I never thought I’d have to go through this again. He better get his behind home in one piece or I’m gonna kill him” she said shaking her cane.
We all laughed. It was a sad kind of laugh.
He was over there for Thanksgiving. Then Christmas. Then finally, he came home. The last e-mail in my file tells it’s own story.
Dear Uncle Mike, I am glad that you are back home almost, even if it is in New Jersey. Are you glad that you are back in the United States? Did you see Aunt Deborah yet? Grandma is glad you are back home. I can’t wait to have Christmas with you. It will be so fun. The camels can’t get you now as long as you don’t go to the Zoo! Ha ha Hurry Home Love [my oldest]
Dear Uncle Mike, I have a new best friend her name is Marla and she is my age. She is really nice and a little sister like me. She is going to visit tommorrow. Her uncle is going to Afghanistan near Iraq. I told her about the camels and goats so she will tell him to watch out. I am glad you are home. Love [my youngest]
It always makes me sad in so many different ways.
4 June 2007
After the storm, my mind cleared.
And a high wind arose and blew the tropics north.
running quartz crystals through a blender.
sand through your engines.
bubbles in your bays.
estuaries reaching out toward forbidden seas…
sand through your eyes.
5 June 2007
Calm as baby’s breath
as peaceful as the storm’s eye
Clouds spread and drawn with rough strokes of stratospheric winds
a warm and windy tropical day.
7 June 2007
Black water at dusk.
Lighting on the horizon.
Warm winds coming in across the darkening waters.
A flash of white wings as an egret takes flight.
And Thunder like God clearing his throat.
8 June 2007
Morning star in the still of the clear, dark waters.
a sky as clear eyed as a young girl.
bruised and tattered storm remnants limp off in the gathering light.
9 June 2007
Tickled her fancy.
giggling all the day long.
pretty good for a Saturday.
Clouds on the lake floating aimlessly by.
She smiled big–grinned really.
12 JUne 2007
A silver sky
ripe for the mirror.
you can not see yourself in this mirror
you can only see others
moreover, you can only see what others choose to expose.
Their houses, their boats, their sea-doos.
Birds skimming low over the water could
like as not
see them selves if they were to look down
as they skim low over the water
but they never do.
Rather they allow their reflections to chase them
quick and sharp over the still, glistening waters
while the bird’s mind remains ever fixed on
food, or other birds, or escaping those damn noisy humans.
>Birds skimming low over the water could
>
>like as not
>
>see them selves if they were to look down
If they looked down they would crash into the water. The birds have to look ahead and chase the fish. Fight the breeze. There is not time to look at oneself when you are soaring.
I have seen them at the shore, after their bellies are full and the wind is not to strong, the young have been feed. They preen themselves in the light of a setting sun. I think that is when they take the time to see themselves. at least I hope they do. And I hope they see how beautiful they really are.