Do you Fly in your Dreams?-I do

Jack Robinson's world is torn apart, and only the memory of his old boyhood friend J.C.Jackson a veteran of Pearl harbour can help him.

Do you fly in your Dreams

( I do )

A short Story By Will Neill

'Now I lay me down to sleep

I pray the lord my soul keep

And if I should die before I wake

I pray the lord my soul to take'

I could hear screaming in the corridor, 'For gods sake keep quiet Kate' hissed Mother 'You'll disturb Jack, She needn’t have worried, I was already awake.  Kate and I got married just after thanks giving last year My pillow smells of disinfectant and my bed of sterile plastic sheets, not like my own at home, the laundry was always fresh and clean, Mum seen to that-I guess that’s what they do, what Mothers are good at I suppose.  Memories flood back of Pine cones and Jasmine, sunlight and shade, that’s my room, it over looks the drive way at the front of the house. Some one told Dad once that the large oak tree that has grown so much that the garage doors wont fully open:; has been there since the civil war, and that our house stands on the edge of the 'The battle of Stones River' a tract of land in Tennessee.     

                                                                                                                                                                They said that the Confederate General Braxton Bragg shot deserter's against that very same tree , I never held much to that story considering I never found any musket holes in it, but Dad liked to brag about it, said they'd grown over ifin any one asked. I let it be.

By the time I had gone to high school I had read or had been explicated by my neighbour John C Jackson all about that famous engagement. John was a veteran of Pearl harbour, 'Picture the scene Jack' he would always begin opening up his arms as if they were curtains in some fancy play.

'The year is December the 31^st 1862, the ground is hard with frost'' he would act with eager animation, always kept me interested as he drew a picture in my mind.

'On one hill we have Confederate General, Braxton Bragg, and on the other for the Union, Major General William S Rosecrans. Over seventy thousand men and boys ready for war, yes sir.' at this point John would draw out his make believe sword from his belt, stand up real proud like and raise it sky ward.

He would spin that old baseball cap round on his head and narrow his ageing eyes, taking care to recollect just what he had said in his older stories to me. I guess he didn’t want to make any mistakes, he always did-but I didn’t care. He would look at me sidewards through those slats, smack his lips then begin the battle tale. The truth be known John was twenty when the Japanese dropped the first torpedo on the Nevada. He would have been a black mess cook below decks as was most of the colored crew members then, he even boasted that he fought along side Dorie Millar that day.

But of course that couldn’t be, John was on the Nevada and Dorie the USS West Virginia-I never burst his bubble when I found out, I let old John C Jackson just carry on with his stories.

'Now pay attention boy! He would smile, his teeth as white as piano keys, that seemed to Light up his old saddle bag face. 'Like I said, that old sonof'a b***h Bragg is on one side a the river and good old Rosecran's the other, its comin first light and Bragg attacks tem yankie flanks on the right'

Old John starts making explosive noises with his mouth and mimicking crowds yelling with a subdued whisper, turning his make believe sword into an imaginary musket, complete with spirited recoil 'Kaplah-take that you Johnny rep' he would gasp, 'Just like me an old Dorie Millar when we was takin out those Jap fighters, boy!-Bam! Bam! Bam!' he would shout ,then suddenly his Musket is now a Yak Yak gun mounted on the deck of the Nevada. His front porch became our midships and civil war camp on many a hot summer evening, until Mother would call me home to bed. 'Better Go now young Jack' Robinson' he would say slumping down into his old rickety rockin chair exhausted by his imaginary war. 'Old J. C. Jackson gonna have a nice nap now gonna go fly in my dreams ,yes sir,soar like an eagle, we can fight another day, that o.k wit you Jack?'

'You bet' I would agree laughing and standing straight to salute, 'See you tomorrow Major Jackson'

old John would just wave me on with a flick of his wrist and a wry ole smile-'Git'!'

Is it any wonder with all that history and old Johns stories of civil war and pearl harbour that by the time I had reached 19 I upped and joined the army, leaving school. Dad was proud but Mother was, lets say- less than enthusiastic.

It was in my first week of basic training at Fort Leonardwood that Dad made the call-my drill Sargent pulled me out of rank sending me over to the phone booth at the officers quarters. A khaki colored wooden framed building with a corrugated iron roof and 60's style windows.

The conversation wasn’t long, but for endless minutes after he had hung up I stood stunned staring into nothing, as it turns out as Dad explained ' Old J.C took a stroke ten days a go son', I'm sorry'

'What?' I asked shaking my head unable to focus on what he was telling me.

' A stroke Jack,' he repeated 'left him paralysed all down his left side',poor old b*****d'

For a moment I just sucked in air before I replied trying hard to put a positive spin on the bad news ' That ain't so bad Dad, what with all these new Drugs and stu---'

Dad cut me off sharp, and started to put me right-turns out that the same day they brought him home, he blew his brains out with his one good hand and his old Remington 6 shot service pistol he kept under his pillow.

I cried hard that night. I cried hard for a brave man, a boys hero.

I can still hear Kate out side my hospital bedroom door, and Mums still trying to calm her down. Its been hard for Mum since Dad died of cancer last spring, and now this.

God help me she doesn’t deserve this.

The ten weeks of Basic training flew by in a blur of alcohol with my buddies, and rifle preparation

in one to blot out the pain I felt over J.C and in the other to stem the anger I felt for his selfish action, I reckon I got a gold star for both. As the weeks went by we watched the news on television and kept tabs on all the news papers, the mess hall was buzzing with the talk that we were being shipped out to Iraq. On August the 2^nd Saddam Hussain had invaded Kuwait, then by mid January 1991we were on the ground. I was s**t scared to the point of being sick, not at all like old J.C had made war out to be, no sir.

Kate has just come in, her eyes are red from crying, she's smiling but a frown remains, I notice her bottom lip is trembling and she mouths a silent hello. Only then do I hear the sound of my heart beating hard in my chest, bursting with love and emotion for my young wife. In her left hand she is holding a worn out tissue, damp and ragged from hours of heartache, her month old wedding band catches an intruding splinter of sunlight as she moves closer to me, in that moment I feel the air thick and heavy.

She cannot hold back, and as she sits down at my bed I start to stoke her auburn hair, letting her muted sobs empty into the bed clothes. ' Do you ever fly when you dream' I ask her quietly.

'Wha-What?' she replies perplexed at my strange question.

''Do you fly in your dreams', I do' I say, she wipes her nose and I watch her screw up her face.

'I don't know what you mean Jack?, do I fly in my dreams?"I,I,--'

I shush her quiet, ' 'Do you remember I told you about old J.C. Jackson and how he would tell me all those old war stories when I was a boy Kate' she nods, her tender face still confused .

 ''He used to tell me  when he dreamed he would fly over the river behind our house, you know the one, the old Stones River were that famous battle was fought, he would draw me a mental picture when I was a kid of how he felt the air beneath his arms , the feeling of speed in his face as he would swoop across the hill and follow the river; flying just feet above the swirling spray. ''I soared high like an eagle Jack'' he would laugh -mimicking his dream on the porch with his arms out stretched like wings and his old baseball hat pulled down over his eyes like that eagles bill .'

A salty tear forced its way to the corner of my eye as I paused for breath, 'He said only then did he feel truly free'

Kate squeezed my hand, ' I had my dream Kate, last night- I flew, I felt the air in my face and the wind on my legs I could even hear the river it was so vivid, - I flew Kate, Just like old J.C.'

'Did they tell you how it happened Jack' Kate eventually breathed.

I reached over and cupped her face in my hand ' You know I love you don’t you' I said trying hard to push away the the flashback that was pregnant in my head-then like a lighting bolt it struck me, sucking me in-I was flying again. I knew that sensation just like in my dream, but this time it was different. I could hear the thunderous sound of helicopter blades and men shouting, I could taste the sweetness of blood in my throat, dust on my lips, feel sweat on my face. Gunfire echoed in the cockpit-'He's gone!' someone screamed above the noise ' There's too much blood!' and then I saw the river, and was aware of the stillness around me and the rush of air at my face, I felt the sense of freedom just like ole J.C had described to me when I was just a boy on his porch . I wanted to stay there, stay in that place of exemption. I'd stepped on a land mine while we were on a shout to clear out some insurgents from a house -it blew off my two legs and right arm at the joints.

I began to cry, the first I'd done since dad told me about J.C. ' I remember now' I said to Kate, then in that moment the reality of my future became apparent. Endless physio and artificial limbs, a ticker tape home coming for a disabled hero, followed by anger and depression. Topped up with compassion, then forgotten.

It was to much to bare, I couldn’t stand it, I was no hero-J.C Jackson was a hero.

' Do you recall when I told you about J.C Kate and how when he had his stroke' I could feel her anxiety tighten in her grip. ' And about how he used his old pistol to -, well you know!'

' please Jack, no' she began to cry.

' I want to fly in my dreams Kate, just one last time-you can help me'

' I can't Jack, please not that,'- I motioned to the heart and pain killing regulating machine in the the corner of the room with my eye's.

' Be my Remington Kate, set me free to fly, all you have to do is just switch it off, don’t be afraid it wont hurt'

Moments blended in to an hour, I brushed Kate's auburn hair one last time and let her sobs melt into the covers, after a while she stood up and kissed me tenderly.

I watched her turn to face me just as she reached for the machine, 'I love you Jack Robinson' she mouthed silently again.

I closed my eyes- 'Now I lay me down to sleep'

I pray the lord my soul to keep'

'And if I should die before I wake'

'I pray the lord my soul to take'

I began to fly, 'I'm coming Jc-wait for me.'.

A short story by Will Neill. 2013

'Dedicated to all those brave men and women who fight and die for our freedom-may they soar like eagles in their dreams'

Author's Note

This one is gonna make you cry.

Reviews

[Ashleigh Nicole Evans]

Hi Will,

I really liked the poignancy of this short story. It was bitter-sweet and heartfelt but not so much so that it bordered on being overtly maudlin. Very well done with regard to that. Also, I really liked the consistency of the thematic representation you were going for. You introduced the theme very well in the beginning and the progression throughout the story was very nicely done. Just a few suggestions though....

..."god sake..." - It should be, "for God's sake", as in for the sake of God. Also, there should be a comma after the word sake, before the words, "keep quiet Kate"

"...My pillow smells of disinfectant and my bed of sterile plastic sheets, not like my own at home, the laundry was always fresh and clean, Mum seen to that-I guess that’s what they do, what Mothers are good at I suppose...." - you kept changing tenses here (going from present to past to present). Also, this sentence is much too long and should be two sentences (one sentence addressing the subject of laundry and another addressing the attributes with respect to his mother). Also, a sentence should always end when a thought is finished. A new sentence then starts with a new, albeit related, thought.

"...my room, it over looks..." - perhaps substitute the comma with the word, "which". Also, in this instance, overlooks is one word.

I notice that you are having a little difficulty being consistent with your tenses and with the "one thought for one sentence" rule, so I am not going to delve into nitty-gritty corrections with those. However, when you edit this piece, please keep them in mind because it can be quite disconcerting for the reader to be jumping around sentence structure, you know?

There also seem to be a lot of silly grammatical and spelling errors but that may be because you were so excited to get this down on paper that you inadvertently overlooked them. Again, focus on correcting any typos and spelling errors, it will definitely enhance the flow of your writing.

"...high school I had read or had been explicated by my neighbour..." - the structure of this sentence needs to be adjusted because, as it stands, it does not make much sense. If you had to read it as it is written, you are actually saying that your neighbour is explaining YOU (as a person), not that he had explicated (explained) something TO you. Perhaps try re-arranging the subject/object of the sentence.

I must say that I really liked your story-telling (via the dialogue). I could actually picture someone like my grandfather relating a story to me in just that fashion. However, if you want to give your character an accent, you have to be consistent with it. For example, you dropped off the "th" sound in the following sentence (...attacks tem yankie flanks...." But that means that, for consistency, you have to drop off the sound for all other "th" sounds including "they"; "this", etc.

Okay, I am sure you get the gist of the specific suggestions that I have for this story so I am not going to correct any more sentences (in terms of structure, grammar etc.). Hopefully, that which was already addressed in this review will be helpful.

Overall though, a very nice story with a wonderfully poignant message attached. Enjoyed reading it.

Take care,
Lubaina

[Will Neill]

Thank you so for your indepth review Lubiana, I don't get excited when I am writing, I suppose I just sometimes overlook my spelling and gramma, but you are of course right-its only when it is pointed out do mistakes become apparent. Thank you kindly and I will endeavor to change all errors.
Regards Will

[Shane Mohamed]

Bytheway Will I must commend you on the dialogue; it was right on the mark.

[Will Neill]

Thanks Shane. I try to get it right as much as possible.
Will

[Shane Mohamed]

A masterpiece of poignancy. The historical facts are spot-on. The imagery is beautiful so are the metaphors-I loved the metaphor of J.C's teeth being as bright as piano keys. You drew me in and kept me there the entire time. Excellent work Will. Thank you for sharing.

[Will Neill]

Once again thanks Shane, a humbling review.
Will

[Marie]

Well yeah, it kind of did...

May all our heroes fly proud and well...

[Will Neill]

Thanks Marie, maybe I should slush it up a bit more?
Will

[Marie]

No, no. It just escapes being too slushy--and that only because you're a good writer.

[Shane Mohamed]

What do you mean by slush it up?

[Will Neill]

I was just joking.
Will