Arlington

Oh how fate plays tricks on even the most reverent of us all. Without warning, a day that should have had the sharp crisp feel of winter to it suddenly warmed up, yet graying the sky in such a way as to leave you with the impression that neither day nor night was fast approaching. I have driven fifteen minutes to visit my friend. I have not seen him in some time and felt the need today. I stopped by the convenient mart and grabbed a small gift for him. In this overcast warming day snow tried to flee as fast as possible, laying bare rows and rows of white stones. It is a short walk from where I parked over a single rise and part way down a slope. The first time I came here, I memorized how many stones past a certain tree laid my friend. But now, it is almost on instinct that I look for a small Government Issue stone. Short and white I kneel before it. For the most part I am alone today and those others moving through the thin layer of snow and ice are being quiet. They do not seem to have the purpose that I have in my walk. Pulling from my bag a small flower that I hastily bought from the store and pull a bottle of Canadian Club that I brought from home. Laying the flower down I sipped my whiskey and as the sharp painful taste bit me the memories came flooding back. Images etched in time forever engraved on me. Trying as hard as I could to control my emotions with the waves of images; I close my eyes and clench my fist around the neck of the bottle. Another drink. This time the emotions surged through my body though no tears would come. None had come for years. Something much worse than tears, the reworking of the days events, looking for changes that could have been made, differences that should have happened. Each critical moment that could have changed the outcome of that days tragic events rolls through my mind. Painful and sharp the bitter taste in my mouth as I recognize all of the things that could have been done differently. What was I supposed to do, I was helpless. How was I supposed to change it, how was I supposed to make It different? Would it be better to have it been someone else or would it have been better if it was me? Another helping of whisky, and another; distant whisperings float down to where I am, others are starting to stair. They know why I am here and give me room. I push aside the memories, I am being too hard on myself or not hard enough. Either way it does not mater. The events took place so long ago that the world has moved on as I have. Except on those frost bitten days that I think back to the smiles and laughter that my friend and I shared for some lonely months in a desolate land.