Roses & Bullets

III. Memories

ERIK

"I'm coming with you."

"Mom, I'm a thirty-year-old man, I don't need a baby sitter."

"Just let us come with you, son." My father gently speaks as if he's afraid that I might get hysterical anytime. "Your mother is so worried about you."

"What are you even going to do there? Sit with me while I talk to the shrink?"

"Please don't use that word, Erik. It's rude," my mother says in disapproval.

"We'll just wait for you outside the doctor's office," my father adds calmly.

Sitting in my parents' living room, I immediately regret telling them about my decision to see a psychiatrist. As a matter of fact, I even regret scheduling an appointment at all. What a f*****g joke.

"You know, this is exactly the reason why I would not even tell you stuff anymore. You're treating me like a child, and it's f*****g suffocating!" I tell my father, exasperated that I have to explain myself.

"Language!" my mother hisses in disgust with my choice of words.

"We are worried about you, Erik. We are your parents, so what is hard to understand about that?" My father's voice cracks, making me feel guilty.

"Dad-" I try to say in protest, but my mother cuts me off.

"Erik, we did everything you wanted us to do. We did not say a word about your decisions, we kept our distance from you, and what's worse, we watched you suffer alone! I can't let you do this by yourself, Erik."

I want to say something, but I know that it will only hurt my mother's feelings. Like the good son that I'm supposed to be, I keep my damn mouth shut.

"Please! Please, if you truly love me, let us come with you. You don't have to do this alone!" says my mother in between sobs.

And that's all it takes to change my mind. My mom, my Achilles heel. I can't bear to watch her cry because of me.

"All right, all right, fine. You can come. Just stop crying, mom, for God's sake."

"Oh, thank you. Thank you so much, sweetheart.

*****

I kiss my mother goodbye. Just like the old times.

"I'll see you on Thursday, mom. And please, try not to worry too much. You know it's not good for you."

"My sweet boy," my mother mumbles as she kisses me on the cheek. "You know how much I love you, right?"

"I know, mom. You remind me every day."

"And I will keep doing that until my last breath."

"Okay, there's no need to be dramatic, mom."

She pinches me playfully. "I'm not being dramatic," she says as she hugs me. "You are my only child. You are my life."

I don't even bother to argue anymore. I just hug her back.

My mother goes back inside the house, but my father remains at the doorstep. "See you on Thursday, son."

As I turn to walk towards my truck, my father calls out to me, "Drive safe, Erik!"

"I will."

I get in my truck, but I don't start the engine. Instead, I just sit there and stare at my parents' house. This was the house where I grew up.

I'm feeling nostalgic. I remember my childhood days. I remember how I used to sit on that doorstep while watching my father do the lawn.

I remember the look on my mother's face whenever I got off the school bus as I ran towards her to kiss her. I even remember how our house would smell of baking cookies during the weekends. I remember a lot of things, but most of all, I remember the happiness. I remember my innocence. But those are just memories now, and memories tend to fade. That scares me so much.

I'm scared that I'll be consumed by my guilt and fear one day, and that I'll forget what it is like to be happy again. My parents always told me that I was such a happy and innocent boy. But that innocent boy was gone.

He lost his innocence the day he left to join the Navy SEALs. My mother cried so much that day. Even when I close my eyes, I can still picture her contorted face.

"Why wouldn't you let us see you off?" my mother was crying so hard, I barely understood what she said.

"Because I might lose all the courage that I have and quit before I even start."

"We're very proud of you, son," my father said. "I know I don't always say that much, but you know how much I'm proud of you, right?"

"I know, dad. Jeez, don't cry now. Leave the crying to mom," I said jokingly, trying to hold back my tears, but my voice betrayed me.

"I will miss you both so much."

"We'll miss you too, son. Now you take care of yourself, Erik. It's a-"

"A dangerous world out there. I know dad, I won't forget"

My mother's sobs were drowning our voices. She couldn't speak anymore, for she would not stop crying. My father and I could not help but laugh a little.

"How can you laugh at me like that?"

I hugged my mother tightly and whispered in her ear, "I'll be thinking about you every day, mom. I love you so much, and I promise I will be back soon."

And then she cried even more. "Write to me every day, okay?"

"Uh, mom? We have this thing called a cellphone. I will call you all the time."

"Is that even allowed?"

"Maybe? Look, I will call you guys every chance I get."

"Fine. Okay, you have to leave now. You can't be late."

We spent a few more minutes of hugging and crying before I left in a cab. Inside the vehicle, I couldn't even take the risk of looking back at them, so I held back the tears that were threatening to fall once more and looked straight ahead.

I was only twenty-two at that time. After seven long years, I was finally able to come home. I came back a changed man.

Everyone welcomed me like a hero, although some people resented me. The families of my fallen brothers. I could not bring myself to talk about what really happened to me.

There's a part of me that believes I only got what I deserved. Another part believes that I died that day with my comrades. There was a debriefing, so naturally, only my superiors knew the truth.

All those written in the papers and broadcasted on the news were the incomplete version of my story. My thoughts are suddenly interrupted by the vibration of my phone. I take it out of my pocket and read the message.

This is Anna from Dr. Marshall's clinic. You have an appointment with Dr. Marshall on Thursday, July 18, at 1:00 PM. Please reply to confirm the date and time. Thank you.

I just stare at my phone. I look back at the house and think of my parents. I have to do this.

Not just for them, but for myself. I type three words on my phone.

I'll be there.