The Wall

Doctor Lewis Sowder is forced to face his past when a young patient enters his office.

Lewis Sowder, in his younger years, had been a fine specimen of a man; however, as of late he had noted that his profile was looking more and more like Alfred Hitchcock's. Lewis thought this particularly ironic seeing he had been a heart surgeon for the better part of his life. His face was a kind, worn one, yet one that always wore a smile and this had always been a comfort to his patients. He pulled the next patients file out of the dark tinted plastic file holder mounted to the door. He pushed into the room as he flipped the envelope open. He entered the brightly lit room and found a small bare-chested boy sitting on the examination bed. The boy's mother sat in the gray captain's chair off to one side clutching the boys' shirt between her hands.

"Okay," Lewis began, "Let's see who we have here… Peter, is it? Peter Franklin? I'm Doctor Sowder." He held out his hand to the boy. The boy looked a little skeptical, but took his hand and shook it. He turned to his mother and shook her hand as well. Lewis thumbed through the file, "That's right you were referred by Doctor Telinger, and how are we doing today?"

“So far, so good,” said Mrs. Franklin. “He hasn’t really had a whole lot of pain this week,” she added.

“That’s good, that’s really good,” said Lewis as he pulled up the backless doctor’s chair. “Huh,” he said, “that’s odd-”

“Uh, Peter was playing with it before you came in”

“Oh, of course, I don’t get many children in my office, so…” he spun the chair back around to the desired height and sat down. “There, see not a problem. Now let’s see what’s going on.”

For the next several minutes  Lewis went through the routine physical, while inquiring about Peter’s medical history, nose, throat, and ears looked good, Peter had first felt the tightening in his chest a few weeks ago, reflexes were good, no he wasn’t taking any medication, he hurt only when running and playing hard. It was his eyes that caught Lewis’ attention. They were the deepest green he had seen and they sparkled to the point they looked like crystal. They were set against high cheekbones and Lewis felt certain that he had seen them somewhere before. “Those are some pretty exorbitant eyes you have there.” The door opened slightly and a nurse stepped in. “Let’s take a listen to your lungs.” He stood and lifted the stethoscope from around his neck, inserted the ear pieces, and placed the other end on the lower edge of Peter’s right Trapezius. “Okay Peter, can you take a deep breath for me?” Peter drew a deep breath and held it for a second, “and let it out slowly.” He did so. Lewis moved the stethoscope down to the right Latissimus dorsi, “and again.” He repeated this on the left side and then said, “Let’s take a listen to that ticker of yours.” Lewis placed the stethoscope over the left Pectorolis major, listened intently, and then did the same on the right Pectorolis major. He draped the stethoscope around his neck and checked the results of the boys blood pressure taken earlier by the nurse and once again review the previous doctors notes. “Well” he addressed Mrs. Franklin, leaning up against the countertop and folding his arms across his chest, “Doctor Telinger was right; it is angina, and it appears he is healthy enough for an angioplasty. Did Doctor Telinger explain what this procedure is?”

"Yes, but he didn't say how long it will take."

"Generally an angioplasty takes about an hour or two."

“And then he’ll be better?”

“We won’t know for sure until we’re done-”

“Will it hurt?” Peter broke in.

Lewis turned to the boy, “You’ll be sore for about a week, and you’ll be in bed for a week more, but that’s all.” He turned to the nurse, “I want a full blood workup done, schedule an x-ray, and an EKG. Thank you Allison.” The nurse nodded consent and left the room to make the arrangements as he turned back to Mrs. Franklin. “Now we’ll need to run some preliminary tests a couple days before we do the procedure,” he said, “Peter needs to start fasting the night before and no medicine what so ever. When you arrive at the hospital check in with the receptionist at the cath lab on the fourth floor, and be prepared to stay the night. The nurse will be back in a moment with the dates.” With that he gathered the file and left the room. As he headed down the hall, he took one more glance through the paper work and stopped, suddenly frozen in place for just a moment. The eyes, of course. Turning around he hurried down the hall to the room. Sticking his head back through the door he said, “Mrs. Franklin, your maiden name is Zyzzicks?”

“Yes, why?”

“Are you any relation to Joseph Zyzzicks?”

“Probably, I think we’re all related at some point; however the name doesn’t sound familiar, a friend of yours?”

“Yes, a long time ago.”

Lewis and Maggie Sowder's home sat in the suburbs of Atlanta. The home had seen many transformations, from the loud and slightly messy home for little kids, to a home that saw kids coming home late, or sneaking in early for teenagers, and finally a home for grandparents, so quiet and clean time could hear itself growing older. Lewis, couldn't stop thinking about Peter's visit. The name Zyzzicks seemed to act as a lightening rod, and the guilt of what he'd done all those years ago had quietly crept back into his life over that last few days. Lewis was in his chair attempting to read the paper. Maggie was quietly sewing in her chair and watching TV. Lewis sat there with his spectacles at the end of his nose glancing through newspaper articles, desperately trying to find one that was interesting enough to capture his attention. Lewis had segmented his life into three sections, youth, war, postwar. And up until now, he felt he had done a fairly successful job in sealing that second section of his life closed for good. He had done many things that he now regretted. He wished that he could go back and change them. Guilt started to churn within him.

When Maggie was younger she had been just a slip of a girl, but the years had transformed her into a Norman Rockwell woman. Her hair had grayed as well. Her hair was shoulder length and curly. She was the epitome of the perfect grandmotherly image. She was a reserved woman; however, when she felt strongly about something she always spoke her mind.

"You've been awfully quiet tonight," Said Maggie, not looking up from her sewing, "and you hardly touched your dinner. Is there something wrong?"

"No," he said.

"Well it must be something, or else you wouldn't be this upset."

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"It's nothing just forget about it. I'd rather not talk about it."

"Ah," she said knowingly. Lewis knew she finally understood. This is the only part of his life that he really kept from her. This was the only time in his life where he had been emotionally shaken. He had trouble talking about it and she understood. This did not make him feel any better though.

"I don't understand why you don't ever talk about the war." She said. She had put her sewing in her lap and was looking at him.

Lewis felt stunned. "What do you mean 'why don't I ever talk about it?'" he said grumpily.

"Well it just seems like you always try to avoid the subject."

"You know, you don't have the slightest idea of what you're talking about." Lewis had raised his voice.

"You're absolutely right, because you won't tell me. Maybe if you'd talk about it once in a while I'd understand." She was exasperated by this point.

"You know this part of my life is sealed and put away." He said not lowering his tone.

"Is it really? Or are you just ignoring it and pushing it away so you don't have to deal with reality."

"I don't have to put up with this type of bull crap." He said as he abruptly got to his feet and headed for the stairs.

"Yeah, run away from the situation, it's what your good at; you've been doing it all these years."

Lewis burned with anger and his step faltered as he attempted to keep himself in check. He put one hand on the banister as he said to himself ' focus, patience, diligence,' he repeated the mantra once more to himself before he stomped off upstairs.

 

They stayed at odds for several days. It was the third or fourth day after the argument and Lewis sat at his desk. He fidgeted with a pencil, slowly twirling it between the thumb and forefinger of each hand. Physically he was at work, but mentally he wasn't even sure if he had gotten out of the spare bed he'd been using. He felt the guilt of his actions from long ago. It loomed in his conscience like a nightmare that refused to leave. He also felt horrible for having such a ridiculous argument with Maggie. Maybe she was right, he thought. Maybe talking about it would make things better; maybe he had been just burying it all these years. A small voice in the back of his mind whispered to him. But that would require you to admit that you kill people, that you had no self control and endangered the lives of even your friends. He shied away from the idea of talking to Maggie. He remembered how puffy her eyes had looked the previous night and the prompting came again. Talk to Maggie, it will help-

He suddenly became aware of Allison standing before him. "Doctor Sowder!"

"Huh?" he said as he pulled himself back to reality.

"Doctor Sowder I've been calling for you for the last five minutes with no response. Are you okay?"

"Uh, yeah, I’m just a little preoccupied I guess." He said, trying to wipe the frustration off his face.

"Maybe you should start your weekend a little early, because you're not doing any good here. I'll clear your schedule for the rest of the day and see you on Monday morning."

“You know, that sounds good. I think I’ll do that,” he said with a sigh. He rose, cleared his desk, and headed home stopping briefly at the florists.

He opened the door, stepped inside and set his briefcase down. He stopped to listen, but all that greeted him was the soft ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall. He quietly ascended the stairs and made his way to the master bedroom. He stopped at the door for a moment. He could just barely make out Maggie’s sobs through the door. Had he hurt her that bad? His heart wrenched inside him. He paused for a moment, squared his shoulders. I will not be my father he thought to himself, and with flowers in hand he slipped through the door into their room.

She sat on the bed facing away from him. When he entered the room she turned and saw him. She quickly reached for a handkerchief. Lewis ached for her.

“I didn’t know you were coming home so early.” She stammered.

“Neither did I.” he managed a half smile, walked over to her and pressed the bouquet into her hands, “I’m sorry!” he said quietly.

She looked at the roses, then setting them down, and threw her arms around his neck, buried her face in his chest. He held her and they cried together. A moment later she whispered, “I just don’t understand.”

“I know,” he said, “I want to explain.” He let her go and went into the closet. He had to do some rearranging, but was finally able to reach an old brown filing box that looked like it hadn’t been touched for decades. He pulled it down off the top shelf and blew the dust off it. He brought it back into the bedroom and set it down on the bed. The lid cracked slightly as Lewis removed it. They sat on either side of it and he pulled item after item out of the box one at a time and they would discuss it at length and then move on. There were times when Lewis would get choked up at the sight of something, or emotional about what was being discussed, to which Maggie would reached out and take his hand and tell him that it was okay, and then they would move on.

This went on for hours until there was one final item in the box. It was a faded picture one edge had been badly burned. Lewis handled it with extreme care. “This,” he said, “is staff Sgt. Zyzzicks. Peter, the young boy that is scheduled to have an angioplasty, his mother's maiden name is Zyzzicks.”

"Any relation?"

"Not that she knows of."

"Maybe she'd recognize him"

"She might," he held up the photo for her to see; a young Lewis Sowder stood in fatigues, next to another man roughly the same height, but had a more mature face. Both wore helmets buckled under the chin and stood among ammunition crates. There was a glimpse of the Mekong behind them. He held the picture for Maggie to see.

“And you were close?” she inquired.

“Staff Sgt. Zyzzicks was the father that mine refused to be.” He said curtly. “He was kind and understanding, yet still had a sense of his duty. He was the one who inspired me to become a surgeon. He had been in med school when he was drafted. He placed a lot of value into his name and did his best to never tarnish it. He taught me that force rarely fixes things. He taught me the value of self control, taking my time, and never giving up. He helped me correct all the wrong things dad, God rest his soul, had instilled in me. Unfortunately I was thick headed and had to learn things the hard way. One night we were sent out to scout out some activity that had been reported on a fairly well known path. I had trench foot though and the guys on the team were giving me a bad time. They insisted that I was being lazy and just using this as an excuse. We ended up getting in to a fist fight when I got knocked backwards, I took one step back into the darkness and heard the click. I saw the glint of the metal pin from the land mine out of the corner of my eye as it jumped into the air after being triggered. I felt a force shoving me to the ground. I just had enough time to realize it was staff Sgt. Zyzzicks when the earth ripped apart and several of us cried out in pain. That's where I got the scars on my hip and thigh. The whole back part of his right leg,” Lewis indicated his own hamstring and calf for Maggie, “looked like hamburger,” he choked up at this last part. "Despite how fast we worked there was nothing we could do, he bled out there on the trail." There was an odd stillness in the air. Maggie was starting to comprehend his guilt. She peered in the now empty box.

“If he meant so much to you, why do you only have the one picture?”

“Fire bomb destroyed most everything I had,” was all he could manage. The afternoon had done much to fix their relationship, but it had agitated many feelings, opening old wounds that never healed properly.

“Lewis,” she took his hand in hers, “How about we pay our respects and say goodbye?”

He wasn’t sure what good this would do, but he trusted her and agreed.

 

It was a warm spring morning. It wasn't hot, nor was it cold. A gentle breeze glided through the park rustling the leaves as it went. Despite being surrounded by busy streets, the park was remarkably quiet. The various song birds called to each other, and when they felt disturbed by a passerby they would flit to another tree and then return when they felt it was safe. Lewis and Maggie were just two of the relatively few people in the park that day. Lewis figured it was a result of the weather man mistakenly forecasting rain.

They strolled through the park. Lewis fidgeted uncomfortably. Noticing, Maggie said, "You're going to be fine." He felt the fingers of her right hand seeking his. They found the inside of his wrist, slid down his palm, and lightly interlaced with his fingers.  "You know this is long overdue." His shoulders sagged in reluctant agreement. "Besides," she continued, "I'm here with you." He gave her hand a loving squeeze. She was right, of course, she generally was.

 Lewis had been to Washington several times, but each time had purposefully avoided the wall. Lewis still wasn’t sure if he was ready. I sealed this door a long time ago; he thought to himself, I didn’t ask for this. Even as he thought this though, the seeds of fate stirred within once more. He felt the weight of guilt rest squarely on his shoulders. He visibly attempted to shrug it off.

Lewis and Maggie continued their walk through the park.

“How is Peter doing?” Maggie asked.

“The angioplasty was a success. He's still on bed rest but other than that he should make a full recovery. Because he's so young we had quite a time getting the balloon catheter into place, but besides that it was textbook.”

“And the picture?”

“The shop was able to restore it, and made a copy. I showed it to Mrs. Franklin, but she didn't recognize him. She thought it uncanny though how much they do resemble each other."

The trees had now broken way and Lewis was feeling more and more anxiety with each step. Maggie must have recognized this because she gently squeezed his hand. Lewis wanted to turn and run. They entered the walkway leading directly to the memorial. The park seemed to quiet down here, even the birds seemed to show respect. The glistening black marble walls commanded the peace that had been earned by so many men's deaths. When they reached the sloping hill where the wall seemed to rise out of the ground it started to sprinkle just enough to be noticed. Lewis conceded that the weatherman had been right after all. He searched for the last date he knew Zyzzicks had been alive, Maggie followed with pencil and paper in hand. Finding their starting point they searched the later dates. This was no small task. Lewis finally reached his breaking point and was about ready to give up when part way down on the west wall he read the following: + Joseph I. Zyzzicks. He also noticed his own reflection in the polished black granite, and with the rain streaking the wall Lewis saw the tearful face of a surgeon staring back at him, Staff Sergeant? He was in shock, completely drawn into himself, closing out everything else. His life churned and he felt the pull of the past finally catch up with him and mix with reality, he reached out and touched the black granite. As he did, the smell of ash and smoke drifted through the air. He heard the rhythmic whipping of rotors a ways off and recognized the blood soaked ground. He knew somehow that he was back at the Mekong.

“Sowder!  Are you listening to me?” came a voice.

Lewis came to his senses and looked down to find Staff Sgt. Zyzzicks laying on a cot, with the lower right side of his body completely bandaged up. Lewis was confused. This didn't happen, he bled out on the trail, he told himself. Looking down at him, Lewis was filled with grief knowing that he had caused this. The guilt was unbearable and finally started to break him. Lewis knelt down next to him.

“Good, now that I have your attention Sowder, I want you to listen to me closely. You stay focused from now on, you be patient, and be diligent.” He reprimanded Lewis, “and you just might make it home, okay?”

This may not have happened, but Zyzzics had always told him this same thing many times. Lewis looked back at Zyzzicks and was astounded with those familiar green crystal-like eyes. Reality started mixing in and he was reminded of Peter. “I will,” he promised.

With his hand still on the wall he crumpled to the ground and wept, bitterly. His tears stained the ground. He felt the guilt weigh him down.

 Maggie came behind Lewis and laid a hand softly on his shoulder. "You okay?" she asked.

"No," he said. "It doesn't change what I did."

"Did you expect it to change the past?"

"No," he said reluctantly, "but I was hoping it would help heal the pain."

"You of all people should know that healing takes time"

"It's been thirty plus years… How long is it supposed to take?" He was exasperated.

"Yeah, you've been burying it all this time. You haven't been trying to heal it; you've been running from it."

"As much as I wanted to be like the Staff Sergeant, I couldn't stop being my father."

"You have never beaten me, or the kids, for as long as I have known you, you have been nothing like your father," she said with a matter of fact tone in her voice.

"Well…." He trailed off. She was right; he had always treated her with the utmost respect. He had been careful of his temper. He had tried to emulate the Staff Sergeant as much as he could throughout the years, but still he struggled with self control. He regretted what had happened in Vietnam, but he had set about making sure it never happened again. His sons had grown up respecting women, especially their mother. They had also grown up to be very level headed peacemakers. He could accept that this had been a good change, yet at what cost? Is there always such a hefty price that must be paid to break vicious cycles? Was it worth it? Focus, Patience, and Diligence; such simple words, and they had been instilled in their children at such an early age they accepted it with ease, but  those words  had caused him such grief and sorrow over the years. This was his wall, where each victim of his inability to focus, be patient, and be diligent was painfully etched into his heart.  These were burdens he would carry for the rest of his life and he knew that.