Ignis
The glow. A fable. A tale -twice told to those who let down their guards by its all-consuming light. It breaths and eats and grows the more you feed it. If not for this cold chill through my bones, dare I say, I wouldn’t need it.
~~~~
We all have our own personal altars of worship. Jesus had the mount, I have the army, and this woman has this office. These are our sacred places.
I hear you asking. How is the army like a sacred place? I speak of the entity it is rather than the place it is located, though, those can be altars as well.
We have rituals everyone performs like you do in your places of worship…
-You have the Apostle’s Creed
-We have the Soldier’s Creed
-You have your Call to Worship
-We have Military Cadence
-You have the Holy Trinity
-We have the Chain of Command
-You have a prayer that reminds you of your service throughout the day
-We have Bugle Calls throughout the day
And we are all sisters and brothers to each other on the field and off. All the same but very different in specific aspects.
Unfortunately, I’m not here to talk about my love and devotion to the service. I’m here for another reason and it weighs heavy on my heart. I think she can see it, I’m not making any real attempt to hide it though. I just think she might be able to see deeper than others. And if she does… God help her.
I look away from her gaze as she begins to talk and I note the fire dancing over the logs in the fireplace. Yes, I use the word dance…not as an interesting descriptor but because that’s what it’s doing…she’s doing. A flame as voluptuous as the woman of my dreams twirls on her toes across a crackling log and I can’t help but stare. She dances and twirls and beckons and I feel myself leaning toward her.
Fire has a hypnotic quality about it and if you’re not careful it will consume you and everything around you.
I break the trance I feel threatening to drag me in as it did to my buddy, Evans. I’ve never wanted to speak about this to another human being, it’s just one of the many things soldiers keep amongst themselves until we are forced to in a psychiatrist’s office. The horrors of war begin way before you set foot on the battlefield and for some of us, we carry that shit around with us, unable to let it go or break free of it.
Which is why I’m here…
I sit in her office of polished wood and expensive taste, surveying my surroundings. Clearly, the army is paying her a mint. I mark my escape route should shit go wrong and make sure to place my seat facing the door rather than back to it. That’s how people get got. You may call it paranoia, I call it preparedness and good training. She didn’t seem to care and I know why. Too many of us do it I suppose and she’s used to this particular quirk.
She seats herself, careful to flatten her skirt beneath her before sitting. I’ve watched my mother do that action a million times with a church pew on Wednesday nights at Bible Study, Friday night choir practice, and Sunday Service. Yeah, I was that kid.
I smile and tell her she carries herself well. She responds, “As to?” With a quick head tilt.
“I mean… you’re not like a regular civilian woman. Very lady like.”
Now would be a good time for me to shut the fuck up instead of coming off like a misogynistic douche.
“Ah…” she says. And that’s all she says while scribbling something on her paper tablet that’s resting on my file. Shit! A whole file! I drop my head low.
“Are you alright?”
“Yeah.” I run a hand over my face and offer up an apology. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound so…so…rude. My mother raised me better than that. Forgive me.”
“Forgiven, Mr. Caplan. Now, shall we begin?”
“Sure.”
“Are you aware of why you’re here?”
“Yes. This is umm… grief counseling.”
“Yes. Why don’t you tell me a little bit about the relationship between you and Sgt Evans?”
“Okay.” I breathe out. “Not much to tell. We became fast friends during basic. He even dated my sister for a spell. I considered him a brother and I miss him a great deal.”
“Did the two of you have a rivalry of some sort?”
I can feel my face scrunching. “No. We were friends. There was only friendly competition and the occasional chewing out when one of us didn’t perform to standard.”
“To whose standard Mr. Caplan?”
“The service, miss…”
“Ignacio.”
“Miss Ignacio, I knew he had it in him to be better and he thought the same of me.”
“Interesting. On the day of his… passing. It was overheard by others that the two of you were said to have been in a pretty heated argument. Is this true?”
Fuck!
“Okay… look, whatever those people said, they were on the outside looking in and didn’t know the whole story.”
“So what is the whole story?”
“Am I on trial here? Because I answered all the questions the MPs and the commanding officer had.”
“No. You aren’t on trial but as invasive as the question sounds, it is warranted.”
“Warranted?” I feel my face scrunch again.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to come off so… I just want you to recount the ordeal in detail for our records here so that we know how to proceed with treatment for your betterment. I meant you no offense. Please forgive me.” She placed her hand over her heart in a mea culpa gesture.
I sit back in the chair and exhale. I’m getting too riled up. All of that shit is still fresh in my mind and she’s just trying to do her job. I take a moment to breathe. I look her over fully realizing that I’m giving her an untrusting look. Something about her is off. I can’t place my finger on it, but my gut doesn’t like it.
She leans over to place a hand on my knee to reassure me and I feel how warm her touch is. Yeah, I don’t like it. Her demeanor is cold but this gesture is meant to soothe me with her hot hands and ease of words. The contradiction is astounding in my mind.
I’m ready to be done here but I haven’t said much of anything and it’ll look bad if I just up and split. Dammit!
“I need a minute, please. I need the facilities.”
“Down the hall on the left.”
I calm down and pep talk myself in the restroom, staring at myself in the mirror. I bend down and splash some water on my face to aid in the calm. And to help wash away the feeling of unease. When I sit up, a few droplets of water hit my shirt. I reach for a few paper towels and dry my face and my shirt when I hear him.
“Run! Run now!”
I turn around and see no one. I check the stalls and they are empty. I turn toward the mirror and I can see Nathan Evans burned to a crisp in the reflection standing behind me. I turn quickly and there’s no one but there he is in the mirror. Smoke rose off his charred skin with eyes burned out of his sockets.
“Run! While you can!” He warns.
With my heart thumping wildly in my chest I reach for the door handle and am met with Nate’s hand over mine. Hot as ever clenching the pulp of mine.
“Leave here!” He wheezes out. “Go now!”
I leave the restroom and run out of the building toward my car. Climb in and sit behind the wheel trembling with the fear that had been stricken in me. I couldn’t go back and I swear when I looked toward the window of her office, there was a shadow dancing around in front it. Like the flame on the log, spinning, and twirling… beckoning to me. I could a whisper of RUN in my mind. I start my car and head out of the parking lot when the car stalls.
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
There’s no way I’m going back to her office to whoever or whatever she is. No. I get out of the car and walk back to the barracks. Which wasn’t very far. When I make it back, I see things resting on my bunk. Flowers, cards, trinkets, and photos of me and Nate all from other soldiers who considered us friends.
Seeing these things broke something in me. I felt a safe distance from the woman and her office and seeing the outpouring of love from others – I folded. I sunk down onto the bunk and had my cry. As soon as my eyes closed, I was tossed back into the events of that night…
The night was chill and the winds were unforgiving. Our commander had taken to warming up and drowning his sorrows with a bottle of Military Special whiskey. Not very good but it’ll get the job done, besides he’s better off in his tent contending with his own memories and demons than out where we were around the fire cursing the elements. The commander gifted us a bottle of bourbon for the evening and we drank and listened to each other talk about home, relationships, dreams… generally whatever was on our minds.
Nate was quiet, he was there but so far away. He just sat staring into the firelight, as if in a trance or something. I waved my hand in front of his face a few times and he didn’t blink. The last pass in front of his eyes, a few people chuckled but the rest of us didn’t. We could see something was wrong. I shook him and he didn’t budge. I called his name and still nothing. Bronner came over and gave him a hard slap on the shoulder then one on the jaw. That took him out of it, or so we thought.
Nate stood up and began taking his clothes off.
Bronner said, “I must’ve knocked something loose. This idiot is stripping in 30 degree weather.”
I tried to stop him but his movements were almost mechanical and he was so strong! He kept repeating the word ignis over and over …first at barely a whisper then at a full on scream. I asked if one of them spiked his drink with some shit because he doesn’t really drink and for him to behave in such a way after having a few sips was just insane.
Everyone looked at each other, then at Nate who was out of his boots and down to his tans. I stood in front of him while he stood screaming with tears in his eyes…nothing I said or did would snap him out of it. I noticed he was inching closer and closer to the fire and pulled him back. When I did that, he fought. He fought hard even clipped me on the chin. I did the only other thing I could think to do.
Put him in the dirt.
The ground was hard and he ended up biting his lip but he hadn’t even noticed. He managed a roll and got me off of him, then he stood up. I ran to get in front of him calling the others to help me. Two guys came to my aid and together we tried to hold him still.
He knocked all three of us off of him and took off running at full speed toward the fire, then jumped into it. He went up fast and then took off running toward the woods behind us, screaming Ignis over and over between screams of pain. We caught up to him before he reached the tree line where he fell and we threw a wet blanket over him.
Nate didn’t die of his injuries that night. He died because his breathing tube was disconnected while he lay in the ICU and no one knows who did it.
Our argument earlier that evening before we drank was about my sister. Apparently, they’d been seeing each other again and she revealed to him that she was pregnant. Nate said he wasn’t ready to be a father and wanted her to abort the baby. Trisha refused to do so and we argued about him accepting responsibility. Yes, it was heated and nearly came to blows. But he was and is my best friend. I let it go to be revisited at a later date.
When we sat down around the fire after the argument before the drinking ensued, Nate had confided in me that he’d been seeing the psyche to work out some of his own personal demons and that they had been doing some specialized therapy sessions. I said it was good that he was working through things.
Then he asked me if I ever noticed how fire seems to dance. Even now while I sit in the barracks, I hear alarms sounding and people yelling. I barely noticed the flames dancing around my bed, it wasn’t until I looked up to see Nate standing there with a sad expression. She was there too… dancing like she had been on that log and in her office in front of the window… Ignis…Ignacio….the fiery one.
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