75 comments/ 61971 views/ 38 favorites An Angel's Wish By: Tara_Neale Keisha Jackson rearranged the few brightly wrapped presents in the trunk of her old SUV to make way for her daughter's wheelchair. How could something so small be so bulky and heavy? "How was choir practice tonight, my sweet angel?" she asked as she worked to get it in around the presents that she had picked from the charity while Breanne was at church. Ironically, the one associated with the U S Marine Corps. Breanne's father had been a Marine, but since they never married, since he never knew that the friend and girl next door that had given him her virginity before he shipped out on what became his final tour, was carrying his baby; their daughter was not entitled to any benefits. She half listened as Breanne rattled off about who had done what and how wonderful it had been. She tried very hard to focus, but was more soothed just by the sound of her child's voice after a long hard day than she was the specifics of what she said. Keisha worked part-time as a secretary, not even an administrative assistant, just a plain old secretary, in a doctor's office. The good part was that her hours allowed her to be there full-time for her child, which was important since Bree had been diagnosed with cerebral palsy when she was eighteen months. Of course, they received some help for her daughter's disability every month. But from the moment she found out she was having a baby, well into her pregnancy, Keisha had been determined not to become a stereotype of the black teenage mother. Even when her father, the pastor of the local Pentecostal church had kicked her out, she had refused to go on welfare. Though she had been forced to accept charity from friends and other relatives back then, she had worked to repay them all over the past ten years. Not that Keisha minded any of that. A mother did what she had to do. She inhaled and plastered on the smile she saved for those really rough days as she slammed the door closed and walked around to the driver's side. Looking over at the young beauty, whose smile reminded her of the only man she had ever loved, she asked the question that had plagued her all day, the one she could no longer put off, "So what do you want for Christmas this year, baby?" Though she knew that whatever she could afford would not be as nice as the toys that had been donated, the off-brand tablet or even the new coat that was such a blessing this time of year, Keisha made it a priority to buy her daughter something just from her each year. No matter what her bank balance said. Her angel smiled and shook her head, "You don't have to Mommy. Just being together is the most important thing of all." She fought back tears at the child's wisdom. At moments like this she sometimes wondered if her daughter's condition was not a mixed blessing. When other little girls her age were demanding grown up clothes, make-up and worried about their hair, her daughter had been through so much pain, so many tests and hospitalizations that she just seemed...like an old soul, she supposed. But that only made her more determined to give her whatever she could, however she could. "No, angel, Mommy wants to give you something special this year." She forced the words out, "Whatever you want," and steeled herself for the answer. "Do you mean that, Mommy?" and Keisha's heart beat faster. She supposed she could beg work for an advance though that would only make things tighter in the New Year. But, yes, she meant it. "Of course, baby," she nodded as she brushed her fingers across her daughter's cheek. "I want a Marine then, Mommy. One like Daddy was," she said with all the innocence of a child as her mother's heart stuttered to a complete standstill. Did her child know what she was saying? Did she? "A Marine? I don't understand, Bree. Santa doesn't bring people for Christmas." She inhaled deeply and fought back the pain that always came when she spoke of Bryan to their child. "And you know, no matter what that silly Christmas movie says, he doesn't bring little girls new Daddies either." Her daughter shook her head and her thick braids with the Christmas ribbons bobbed on the ends. "No, Mommy, I know that. I'm not a little girl anymore, silly." Her daughter reached across the console between their seats and took her hand as she explained, "I saw this bill board the other day, Mommy. Do you know that every day twenty-two soldiers like Daddy kill themselves? That there are over sixty thousand homeless Veterans?" Keisha's throat tightened even more as she fought back tears. Would this special angel never stop amazing her? "No, baby, I didn't know any of that." Sometimes she got so caught up in her daily struggles, she forgot to realize how lucky they were. Even just their tiny one-bedroom apartment and food on the table were more than many people had this time of year. "So you want to make a donation to a charity in your father's name? Or did you want to take blankets and stuff to a shelter?" She stopped shy of suggesting they spend Christmas Eve working in one of the dozens of soup kitchens that were scattered around Atlanta. The logistics of Breanne's wheelchair would just be more trouble than help in that situation. Her daughter shook her head and those ribbons danced again, "No, Mommy, anyone can do that. I want to bring one home. A homeless Veteran, another Marine like Daddy, if we can find one." Keisha's mind exploded, but her daughter continued merrily along, "He could take a hot shower. We could throw his clothes in the washer and dryer, maybe even buy him some new-old ones from the second hand store where we get ours. Then he can have Christmas dinner with us. And if he will, maybe he could even come to church with us and hear me sing the special song I am doing for Daddy." "That's what I want for Christmas, Mommy. What I really want," her little girl glowed from within with the innocence of youth and the best intentions in the world. Keisha inhaled deeply as she turned and gripped the steering wheel. It sounded so simple when the child said it like that. It would be far cheaper than what she had thought to pay for a present. The extra money could be carried over into the New Year, the tiniest bit of a cushion, something they rarely had. But still, she knew that what the child asked was anything but that simple. Bringing a stranger, a homeless man, into their home. The what-ifs and nightmare scenarios that only a mother could dream up assailed her fertile imagination. Despite those statistics that she had no doubt were accurate, Breanne had a special talent when it came to remembering such things, the truth was that the homeless issue was not that simple, not cut and dried. There were so many other factors, especially when it came to Veterans. What about PTSD? If a Vet was living on the street, he was almost certain to have such problems. Was it even safe to consider such a thing? She closed her eyes. She had quit praying to any god the day that her father kicked her out of the house at seven months pregnant, calling her a whore and a Jezebel. Telling her that her baby, the only thing that she had left of the man that had been her friend, like the big brother she had never had and her soul mate, was a sin and an abomination. His words had turned her love for the god he supposedly served into a bitter cold hatred. And though she allowed her daughter to attend church with their neighbour, even going so far as to chauffer her to and from the choir practice she loved, Keisha never went in with her unless like on Christmas Eve, her daughter was performing. No, when she closed her eyes, it was not a god to whom she prayed and sought counsel. It was him. Bryan. Sometimes if she tried real hard, she could almost hear his voice. Sometimes it was the high and sweet Southern twang of that ten year old little boy that had run off the bullies on the playground when she was just a first grader. Other times it was the deep and soothing caress of the lover that had held her just that one night. But either way, it always brought her the comfort and wisdom she sought. And this time was no different... "What can it really hurt, Key-key?" She opened her eyes and looked up as she always did. This time the North star blazed in the sky as if in confirmation of those words. Hell, if she was not still so angry at her father's god, she might have even compared it to that star which led the wise men to the babe all those thousands of years ago...if you believed such drivel. She turned back to their daughter and gently tugged the braid that was closest to her. She could see the pleading in those deep brown eyes. Breanne's eyes too were so much like his. Keisha had never felt safer than when Bryan looked at her with those eyes. And though it was very different, her little girl gave her that same sense of belonging, rightness, just being. No, there was no way she could deny such a selfless request. "Okay, Bree, we will try. It may not be as easy as you think, but we can give it a go." She smiled, as his words sprang from her lips, "What can it really hurt?" **** Travis Baker shook his head and questioned himself once more. 'What the hell was he doing out here?' Panhandling. Begging. It was something that he generally avoided. It was degrading. Humiliating. The cardboard sign with the American flag drawn on it that he had tucked beneath his arm was not even his own. One of the old timers, G.I. Joe, as everyone had nicknamed the black man in his sixties who had done three tours of duty in Vietnam, had pleaded with him to do it...just this once. It was Christmas Eve and all kinds of 'good people' were just looking for someone to help. Especially a Vet with an American flag sign. It had taken Joe all morning to convince him. What the old man did not know was that Trav had no intention of accepting charity from those 'good people.' He might be screwed in the head but he was not that pathetic. Not yet. And he never would be. He would take another option before it came to that. No, he had survived for three years on the streets by foraging and living off the land. He would not have lowered himself to this, except for Joe. The man needed a new sleeping bag. Trav had even seen the one he wanted to get the old guy at a second hand store for only ten dollars. Ten dollars? His throat got tight at the thought. What was ten fucking dollars? He used to throw that away on lunch at Milly's Diner. A twelve pack cost about that unless it was on sale. Ten dollars would have barely moved the needle on the gas tank of his truck. But now...it might as well have been a million dollars. Not that he minded usually. Unlike most of the guys out here, he had steadfastly avoided self-medicating his pain with alcohol and drugs. Everything else he could usually garner from trash cans. It was shocking all the stuff that people threw away. Shocking and shameful. He could easily feed himself and usually a couple others from the dumpsters outside a fancy restaurant he knew. They ate for free what cost other people close to a hundred dollars. He sighed...why would anyone spend that kind of money on a meal? The shit was not even that good. Trav usually only went there if he could not garner a cold pizza or two from the take-out place a couple of blocks away. Clothes and blankets of course were a bit harder to come by in central Atlanta. But once a week or so he made a habit to take a stroll out to one of the suburbs before the recycling truck did its rounds. The coat he wore now had been one of his recent finds. The leather had been torn underneath the arm, but that was no big deal. He had borrowed a needle and thread from another guy and within ten minutes it was serviceable. Not that his sewing would win any quilting contests but it got the job done. Out here he was as glad for skills like that which he had learned in scouts and from his Mama, as he was for the hunting and recon ones his Daddy and the Marines had taught him. Things were tough on the streets, but he supposed no tougher than life anywhere else. He might have to put in a few hours every night scourging for food and whatever else he or his couple of buddies needed, but that was a far sight more honest work than all those suits he passed on his way back to their encampment in the concrete jungle beneath the overpass. Of course, being hassled by the police was no pleasure. But when that happened they just packed up their few possessions and headed out. With so many miles of freeway it was easy to find a new place to squat and set up his tent. He would have actually preferred more of a Rambo existence deep in the woods and he did sometimes go that route when the noise, smell and crowds of the city got too much...like now. This time, he just could not. He felt responsible for Joe and his other friend Steve, a former Ranger, who like him had seen way too much shit over there to just go back to the life they had led before. Especially after what happened to Darren. Breathe. Travis had to actually force himself to pull air into his lungs just when he thought about the man. It was still too painful. Another friend lost. Another of his fucking failures. There were so many. Too many. If he kept thinking like this, he would let Old Joe down too. He would turn back and lose his one chance to get that sleeping bag for his friend for Christmas. He figured that with some luck there was an outside shot that he might 'earn' just enough in the next couple of hours to do the one thing he wanted most this year...save one friend at least. Trav had just spotted the ideal place, any empty doorway near a big office building. People would soon be coming and going for their final lunch hour before the holiday, many of them even leaving work early to be with family. He shook his head as he hoped like hell this was worth it. That the sleeping bag was still available and that ten dollars was not too much to ask for a Christmas miracle. He was just about to cross the street and was in a hurry before someone else took such prime 'begging' real estate when he saw the woman. She could not even be thirty, but her face was scrunched in a deep frown that aged her as she struggled to pull a wheelchair from the back of an SUV that must have been at least a decade old. Trav thought at first she was talking to herself until he noticed a slight movement in the back seat. Then he noticed the little angel. She was tiny, probably no more than five. Her dark skin glistened in the dull afternoon sunshine as she smiled and nodded her head at whatever the woman had said. Her braids bobbed and glittery pink ribbons glinted in the light. He shook his head and turned in the other direction as he caught sight of one of the teenage girls from their encampment slipping into the spot he had coveted. Oh well, she would probably have more luck than someone like him. People just did not feel all that charitable towards grown men, whom they believed should 'just get a job.' Not that it was that easy. Not in this economy. Not even for Vets like him. Especially for them...it seemed that the country he loved and had defended, that had taken so many of his friends' lives, seemed it was quick to forget all of that. He would find somewhere else later. Maybe just forget the whole fucking thing, he thought as he approached the woman, who was still struggling at the back of her car. "Here, let me help you with that," he said with as close to a smile as he could muster. Those muscles in his face were tight and hurt a bit as he forced them into the unfamiliar movement. **** Keisha's first reaction was to draw back from the dishevelled stranger. Especially a man of his size. He had to be over six feet tall. The worn leather bomber jacket that had seen much better days was stretched tight across broad shoulders, too tight as if the coat had been made for someone else. She sighed, obviously it had been as it dawned on her. This man was one of the homeless that they had come seeking this day. Where she might have avoided someone like him any other time, she forced a smile. Even if the man was not what they sought perhaps he could point them in the right direction. The sooner they found someone and got back to their apartment, the happier she would be. Keisha had spent the last couple of days vacillating between being thankful that Breanne's wish had been so inexpensive and counting the few dollars that she could carry over into the New Year as a result and trying to convince the child to abandon her errand of seasonal folly. But her beloved angel was immovable. She wanted a homeless Marine for Christmas as silly as that sounded. She forced a smile and turned towards the man, "Thank you. I would appreciate that." She moved out of the way and allowed him to lift her daughter's chair from the back of her vehicle with an ease that was beyond her. She busied herself assembling it and almost missed as he started to move on. "Wait," she exclaimed in a bit too shrill a voice. She inhaled a calming breath and forced another smile as she started again, "I know this is going to sound completely insane, but perhaps you could help us with an errand we are on today." The man stared at her sceptically as she forced the rest of the story out, "We are trying to find a homeless man. A Veteran. A Marine is preferable." She rambled incoherently. He shook his head that was covered in a dusty black knit cap so that she could not tell the color of his hair, "What's his name?" he mumbled as he took a step backwards as if to turn and run if she did not give the right answer. She shook her head and giggled nervously, "No, you misunderstood." Keisha tried to organize her thoughts, but realized how completely insane this must sound to him, "The one thing my daughter wants for Christmas this year is to help out a homeless Veteran...in honor of her father." "I know that may sound completely insane, but she's a little kid who has been through a hell of a lot. And if I can give her what she wants this year and it helps someone else out too, then what's the harm?" She pushed the words past the lump in her throat and fought back tears. The man looked across the partition at her daughter, who had turned in her seat and was beaming one of those smiles that put everyone at ease. He nodded, "Yes, ma'am. I think that's a right fine idea too, little lady," his smile to her child was more genuine though his eyes were still sad, but kind. "And I just might have the man for you." Keisha returned his smile and pushed the chair to the door as she opened it, "Did you hear that, Angel? The nice man says he might know someone for you." Bree practically jumped into her arms as she propelled her tiny body forward with all her limited strength. "I'm so excited, Mommy." She lifted the child into her wheelchair and secured the belt about her waist before turning back to the man, "So lead on, I guess." **** Travis frowned at the woman's words. It had seemed such a brilliant idea to begin with. Hook them up with G.I. Joe. The old man got some help and the little girl got her Christmas wish. But now he had his doubts. A woman and a crippled child seemed harmless enough, but still he could not just lead them to the old man without knowing a bit more about their plans. He cleared his throat, "Excuse me, ma'am, I don't want to seem rude or ungrateful, but what exactly did you have in mind?" It was the little girl though that answered, "We want to take him home with us. He can take a shower and we will wash his clothes. We thought we could even stop and get him some others at the second hand store. Then we will eat Christmas dinner together. Maybe he can even come and listen to me sing my solo at church tonight." She prattled on as he looked from her to her mother. An Angel's Wish Was the woman completely and totally mad? What did she think she was doing? Taking a stranger home with them? Didn't the woman have any brains? Anything could happen. Was she one of those religious nuts that had no common sense? He shook his head as he stared at the woman, "Ma'am, maybe that is not the best idea. If the child wants to do something for a homeless man, perhaps you could give him some money. Maybe buy him a burger. Even get those clothes or a blanket at the shop. But..." She shook her head and held up her hand as she turned to stare at her little girl. Trav noticed that big tears shone in her dark brown eyes. Her shoulders slumped as she spoke, "Yes, I know. I suggested all of that, but Angel is determined on this one. So please if you know anyone..." He watched as the tear slipped from the corner of those eyes. She looked so young. She could not be much more than a child herself. Her words hit him... 'in honor of her father.' Fuck, another young widow and orphan of war. What was he to do? He thought about Old Joe. Normally the guy was harmless, the nicest guy out there. But once in a while, when he had been drinking or something startled him, well, Joe had flipped out once or twice in the brief couple of months he had known him. While a shower, hot meal and new clothes would definitely be a blessing for the man, the what-if's weighed heavily on Travis' shoulder. As unlikely as it was, he just could not take the chance...not with a widow of one of their own...not with the child, the little Angel. He considered Steve. What did it matter Ranger or Marine? But his friend too had been slipping deeper and deeper into the darkness since... Just since. No, and he certainly did not want these two walking the streets looking for a 'homeless Marine' to help. He knew that more than one of the less savory or even mentally ill among them would have no compunction about accepting the offer. While it was unlikely than the worst would happen, even the thought of someone slipping a bit of extra 'help' from the woman's purse when she was not looking was more than his conscience could handle. It had enough on it as it was. No, he really did not have much choice...any other really. He bent and held out his hand to the little girl, "Gunnery Sergeant Travis Baker, young lady. U S Marine Corps retired." **** Keisha watched as the man wheeled Bree's chair down the aisles of the second hand store that was where they came to shop, except for unmentionables and socks. Those she insisted on buying new. From the moment the man had introduced himself, her daughter had beamed as brightly as most children would if they had gotten a new bicycle, computer or cell phone. The man too seemed to be a natural with her child. It all seemed to be going better than she could have ever hoped or believed possible. So what was bothering her? What was wrong? Why would the knot in the pit of her stomach not stop throbbing? Because you are taking a complete stranger into your only child' life? Because anything could happen? Because you are a complete idiot, she thought, as they turned up another aisle. Her daughter was jabbering on as they approached the rack of coats. But the man just shook his head and brushed the sleeve of the one he wore, "No, really, Angel. I don't need a coat. This one has plenty of life left in it. And it looks so stylish, don't you think?" They giggled together as he pirouetted for her daughter. "But you have hardly bought anything," her daughter protested as she held out the twenty dollar bill that they had together earmarked for this special Christmas present. The man smiled, "So how about we look over there for a doll for you, Angel?" he said pointing to a toy display. Her heart swelled with such pride and she fought back tears that never seemed far from the surface as Bree shook her head, "No, I have enough presents under the tree. I really want to get something else for you. Please." Keisha's throat tightened even more. A re-conditioned off brand tablet and a new winter coat were not what most ten year old little girls would call 'enough presents.' But her little girl always had been special, just like her father was. The man looked over at her as if pleading for her assistance, but she merely shook her head and shrugged. She had never found a way to deny Bree what she wanted. This whole Christmas trip proved that. Once the child made up her mind, she was going to get what she wanted. Keisha knew it would be a trait that would prove indispensable as her daughter grew. The man sighed and turned back to her little girl when her assistance was not forthcoming, "All right then, there is one thing I want. If I cannot convince you to take home a new doll that is..." **** "Thank you, Ma'am," said Travis as the woman passed the platter piled high with turkey and ham. He had to admit that the hot shower had been the most relaxing thing he had felt in a long time. Maybe his body had grown accustomed to the cold these past couple of months, last few years, but it had certainly welcomed the brief respite as well. He had even been grateful to find shaving foam and a razor in the plastic bag of toiletries that they had instead he accept in addition to the new clothes and that special present. He lifted a bite of the food to his mouth. He paused long enough to just savor the smell of it before shovelling it into his mouth. It had been so long since he had sat down at a table and eaten a hot, home-cooked meal, let alone a Christmas one, that Trav really was not sure how to behave. Almost a decade of holidays spent in some hot, dry, hell-hole that made the nightly news, but most people back home still could not find on a fucking map. Then coming home to a world that was turned on its head. A wife that not only did not need him anymore, but certainly did not want him. Not the 'him' that came back from that place. Kids that saw him more as a stranger than a father. Even his parents just could not handle the withdrawn, cautious and suspicious, all right paranoid, man that had taken over the body of the boy they had loved and raised. It all came to a head three years before. Kathy had already asked for a divorce and kicked him out the house. He had been staying with his parents back then. It had been the 4th of July and the little shits down the street thought it was cute to let loose fireworks in the middle of the night. Trav had managed them well enough that evening, because he had expected them. So even though the sound and smell of gunpowder had taken him to a dark place, his logical mind had fought it back. But being awaken from those nightmares to those sounds and smells had snapped his mind. His father had taken his guns and locked them in his cabinet when he moved in with them. For safe keeping, his dad had said, but Trav knew it was more about keeping him safe. He certainly would not be the first of his friends to 'eat a bullet' since they came back. So he could not get to them, but he always slept with his Bowie hunting knife that his grandfather had given him for his thirteen birthday under his pillow. Trav shook his head and forced a smile. He tried not to think of that and waste his one chance for a real Christmas, something he never thought to have again. He looked from the obviously nervous African-American woman that was his hostess for the day to the beaming face of her daughter, who he initially thought was about five, but could have not been more than seven or eight, though the wheelchair and her diminutive frame made it difficult to tell for certain. "How old are you, sweetie?" he asked as he brought a bite of the roll to his mouth. He tried hard to stifle the moan that threatened to escape from the back of his throat. He had grown used to eating whatever he could find. Her smile was brilliant and oddly comforting, "I'm ten almost eleven." Her voice sounded much younger, or maybe that was the bright pink and green bows that dangled at the ends of the half dozen or so sectioned braids that covered her head. Travis's throat tightened. The exact age of his youngest. Not that his only son would wear pink bows. Or maybe he would? It had been three years since he had heard from them. Not that he did not love his children. But because he did. They did not need a fuck-up like him in their lives. He forced the smile wider to cover the pain that now centered in his chest. "Is that why you are too big for dolls this Christmas?" Though something about the little girl had put him at ease from the moment her mother lifted her from the car, he was way out of practice with this polite conversation thing. In fact, his voice was a bit gravelly even, whether from disuse or the cold weather. "So what did you ask Santa for? A new computer? A cell phone? One of those tablet things?" He forced a bite of the slightly sweet ham down and lifted his glass of sparkling cider, the non-alcoholic kind fortunately, to his mouth as he tried desperately not to stare at the wheelchair, obviously a new bicycle was not top of her list. The child smiled again and his world exploded around him, "You. I asked Santa for a Marine to share this Christmas dinner with, in honor of my Daddy. He was a Marine too you know." It was not the response he expected. This reminder of why he was here at all. Travis felt the panic rising inside of him at the child's words. So powerful. Did she have any idea what they did to him? Was. That single word said it all. Its meaning was pretty damned clear. Her father had been a Marine before he died. KIA...probably. Suicide perhaps? How many more of his brothers and sisters had fallen by their own hand than the enemies? Twenty-two a day, he had read the headline somewhere. Not to mention seen the reality for himself... 'Breathe and don't spoil this for the child,' the voice in his head said. Twenty-two. Just one more than the number of friends he had lost there. Fallujah. He sucked air into his lungs as he tried to find the right words to respond to the little girl. How many children had his comrades, his brothers, his friends left behind? What were they doing this Christmas? All those others? Hell, what were his kids doing tonight? How was he going to make it through this dinner now? With that thought, those images in his head. He blew the air slowly out his mouth as those fucked up doctors at the VA had taught him. Not that it did much fucking good. But enough to bring another bite of the food to his lips. It now tasted more like the cardboard boxes that had become his world than the delicious homemade with love meal that it was. 'You are going to do this for her, Gunny. You are going to give this child what she asked Santa for if it fucking kills you. For her and all those other children that your friends left behind. For those friends and brothers you lost that day.' "Thank you, Angel," he mumbled though he could not force another smile or bring himself to look her in the eye. **** Keisha shifted uncomfortably on the hard wooden pew. To be honest, it was less her well-padded bottom that felt the strain, than her heart and mind. Despite the fact that these people were nothing like her abusive and domineering father, who had always been intrinsically entwined with the god he served, still being here always brought back those bad memories. Growing up, she had always felt that she was never good enough...for him or his god. Not smart enough. Not pretty enough. Not well-behaved enough. Of course, her old fashioned dresses that fell almost to the ground had caused her to be ridiculed, the object of every bully and all the popular girls. She smiled and fought back those tears again as she remembered her first day in big school as her mother had called first grade. The moment the teachers back was turned one of the bigger girls had come up with her crowd of friends. 'Freak.' 'Little House girl.' 'Half pint.' And other cruel names had flown as she had tried to slink back into the corner and disappear. Eventually the noise had been enough to attract the attention of a group of older children, who were playing nearby. One really big boy came over and started laughing at her. When she started to cry, someone had pushed her and added 'cry baby' to the chorus. Then the crowd had parted and she heard the voices of the angels, "Hey, leave her alone." That was all it took. The crowd disappeared and she was left crouching in the corner and staring up at the handsomest boy she had ever seen. He must be an angel she thought because the sun had danced about his closely shaven head like a halo. All of her life, Keisha would remember that moment. She smiled as the words of the pastor drifted through the fog of her memories, "Tonight, we have a very special young lady, who is going to share her gift with us all." Keisha caught herself just before her hands came together in applause as their elderly neighbor pushed her daughter's wheelchair from the side to the front, facing everyone with another of those smiles. The woman handed her a microphone and her precious angel nodded her head, those ribbons danced once more and this time the bells she had added tinkled as she bowed her little head. After a long pause, she lifted her head and once more Keisha would have almost sworn that a halo danced about her child's head as she opened her mouth and began to belt out the popular pop song. Bree had kept the song she had selected a secret right up to the end, but her mother finally lost the battle with those tears as the words... 'in the arms of the angels,' danced and echoed off the stone walls and stained glass window panes. She reached once more for him in her mind. She knew that Bryan would be as proud of their brave little girl as she was. For a moment, she would have even sworn that she felt his arms wrapped about her shoulders as the tears streamed down her coffee brown cheeks. She lost track of time as her mind crafted the happy ending that war and the harsh realities of life had denied them. It was not until she felt the soft cotton handkerchief pressed into her hand that she came back to that cold, lonely world. She looked down to see his hand pressing the fresh material into her palm. She shook her head at the incongruity...a homeless man, who kept fresh linen hankies in his dusty back pack. She smiled her thanks up at him just in time to hear her baby's words, "Merry Christmas to you all and to my daddy Corporal Bryan Moultrie." Keisha watched as the man turned a deathly shade of white and the blood drained from his face and he dropped to the pew with a heavy thud. **** Trav leaned against the cold, stone wall of the small church as the little girl's wheelchair sat next to the pastor. People filed out of the building one by one, each stopping to hug, smile or talk to the child. He saw more than one pressing money into her hand. After the first couple of attempts to give it back or offer it to the pastor, she had given up and just thanked them. He choked, almost wishing that for once he could do as others did and just drown it all in the bottom of bottle or even something stronger. Instead it rolled across him as vivid as it had that day. They all knew what was coming. Another battle. They knew too that this one would be bad. The worst they had seen possibly. Beneath the bragging and joking, they all felt death hanging like that unwelcome cousin at the family reunion. Some of them would not be coming back. But no one knew who. Each must prepare for his end, that he was the one Fate would call. Trav was just double checking his equipment for the fourth or perhaps fifth time when the young Corporal cleared his throat from the open doorway of his tent home, "Excuse me, Sir." It took Trav a moment to place the man among the dozen such Non-Commissioned Officers in his platoon. He made a point of knowing all his Corporals well. These men were the very backbone of not only his platoon, but the Corps itself. It would be upon their shoulders that this battle rested. But this kid was the newest under his command, having just been promoted days before. After a moment's hesitation, he returned the man's greeting, "Enter, Corporal." He could see that the young man was nervous. Hell, they all were. It was just that you learned to cover it over time. "What can I do for you, son?" he asked more informally. The man-child looked up at him as the evening sun set on what would for some be their last day upon this earth and it had encircled the man. Trav shivered, wondering if it was just his imagination or a dark omen. He held out a plain white envelope, "Sir, would you do me the honor of delivering this...if..." Trav had nodded. They were all writing those letters. The ones that would be included in their belongings. Words of comfort for those left behind. As the young Corporal said...IF. "Son, you know that we will all make sure that families get the letters." He shook his head, "No, sir, this one is different. Nan's is written and with my other stuff." He had shifted nervously from one foot to the other then, "This one is for this girl back home. Nan don't know about her. Well, she knows Key-Key since she has lived next door to us for years, but she don't know..." Trav had been tempted to laugh at the way the young man's dark cheeks colored as he tried to stumble over the words. "I understand, Corporal," he had reassured as he held out his hand to take the envelope. An address was scrawled across the front of it and stamps were affixed to the upper right hand corner, though should the worst happen, Trav swore in his heart he would honor this young Marine's request by personally delivering it to the girl. He ran his hands over the scratchy wool of his cap. His fingers dug into it as if he could reach inside his mind and jerk the painful memories out by the roots. Ten years. Ten, fucking, long-ass years. Of course, he had tried. As soon as the One-Eight had made it back to Camp Lejune, he had spent a couple of days with his family and then told his wife that he had an errand to run. She had looked relieved that he would be gone for the weekend. He had hopped on the back of his old motorcycle and headed the couple of hundred miles to 'Hot-lanta' as it was nicknamed. It had been easy enough to find the address on the envelope. When the man opened the door saw his uniform he had stiffened, but Trav had gotten used to that. Not everyone back home supported this war. Hell, there were moments when he was not sure that he did, but he had orders to fulfil and young Marines to protect...as much as he could anyway. The envelope in his shaking fingers reminded him that was not always possible though. "Miss Keisha Jackson, please, Sir," he had asked respectfully. "Who the hell wants to know where that little whore is?" the man had boomed and Trav thought that he smelled liquor on him. "I am sorry, Sir. I am just trying to reach her about a private matter," something had kept him from revealing anything more. "That Jezebel is gone...to hell for all I care," the man had screamed as the door slammed in his face. Trav had turned and walked down the concrete path towards his bike. He knew there was no point in trying again. Then he remembered the young Corporal's words...Nan lived next door. That too had proven futile though. While the elderly, stooped black woman had welcomed him cordially with iced tea and tomato sandwiches, the moment he mentioned the young woman's name she had frowned and cut him off with, "I ain't talking about that girl." Trav had left Atlanta that afternoon, driving through the night. That envelope weighing like a lead block in his pocket. Another failure. Not only had he failed to keep that young Corporal and twenty other of his men safe during those dark days, but he had not even been able to give the kid his final wish. An Angel's Wish He unzipped the front pouch of his pack and reached inside. It was yellowed a bit. There were even a few stains and the edges were slightly frayed, but he had carried it with him. It had been one of the few things he had packed that night after his parents went to bed exhausted from the ordeal of bailing him out of the county jail. He had felt guilty about the money he knew they would lose, but he was more worried about what might happen if he stayed. Not jail, that did not bother him. This night though had shown him the hard truth, it was not safe to be around him. Those kids were lucky, a couple of stitches were nothing compared to the damage he could have done. But the look in his Mama's eyes as the deputy had handcuffed him and stuffed him in the back of his car had woken him up. They would all be better off without him. At first he had toyed with the ultimate solution, but he could not do that to his parents or his children. Instead he had written a letter and left it on the kitchen counter near the coffee pot. Then he had taken his old pack and the tiny two-man tent that he had bought to go camping with his son and slipped from their East Texas home. That letter had travelled all over the country with him as he walked and sometimes hitchhiked around it. He fingered the neatly written lettering on the front, maybe it was even what had drawn him back to this place. He did not know. All he knew was that he finally had the chance to do what he had promised that young man over a decade before. For once, he had the chance to keep a promise. To make something right. He looked up as the young woman began to push her daughter's wheelchair down the ramp...well, as right as he could anyway. **** Keisha was a bit surprised when the man stepped from the shadows of the church to assist with putting the chair in the back of the car once more. She nodded gratefully as she buckled a half sleeping little girl into her specially designed booster seat that helped to hold her weak back erect. "Thank you," she whispered as she finished strapping Bree in. When she turned back the man had finished, he had even been so thoughtful as to not slam the door closed when done. But now with the night coming to a climax and her blessed angel drifting off to heaven, she was intensely uncomfortable, especially after his strange behavior in the church. She too had been a bit emotionally raw from the powerful words sung in such an angelic voice. The whole damned place had been. Until the loud thump of this man literally falling into the pew behind him. To the point that it had rocked backwards and Keisha had been afraid for a moment it would topple over. She had reached out to grab it. He had stared up at her...something truly frightening in those sad, but kind eyes. Then before she could say anything he was gone, running almost from the building. The pastor had frozen staring at the large wooden double doors as they slammed shut loudly. After a moment he had cleared his throat and thanked Bree for the song as he said, "Join me in prayer, please." And for the first time since that day, Keisha had done just that...though not to her father's vengeful and cruel god. Or even the benevolent and accepting one that her neighbor tried to occasionally speak to her about. She had not even called on Bryan this time. No, she had merely asked...whatever or whoever was out there to be with him...with them all. She sighed and forced a smile, "Thank you for tonight. For granting her wish. I know it may have seemed..." She searched for the right word but all she could come up with was... "Crazy. But it meant so much to her." She shifted nervously, uncertain what else to say or do, "Can I give you a lift somewhere? Take you back downtown? Or wherever you..." The word 'live' froze in her throat. Could homeless people really 'live' anywhere? Maybe a part of it was also a reminder of just how precarious their own existence was. Even with her job and Bree's disability, they barely had enough money after paying the bills each month to buy gas and food. She patted the purse beneath her arm subconsciously. Three hundred dollars...over three hundred precious dollars those people had pressed into hers or Bree's hand at the end of the night. It might not seem like much to some people, but it was a small fortune to them. A nest egg. The first she had ever had. A tiny cushion if something broke on the car or Bree was sick for a day or two and she could not work. It seemed so little, but was such a miracle to her. What happened next though eclipsed even that as the man held out an envelope. She recognized the writing immediately from the few letters that Bryan had sent her over those years...before and after they... "How? I don't understand..." she stammered as she collapsed against the car. Her fingers trembled as she reached for the envelope like some ancient piece of art or fragile text that might crumble and its beauty be lost to mankind forever. "Merry Christmas, Keisha," the man said as he placed it in the palm of her hand, squeezing her fingers about it so that she did not drop it. Then he turned and walked away into the night. **** Travis walked. He just marched. It was like that naïve, gung-ho kid on Parris Island. He was simply following some unspoken command. Marching not through smelly swamps or mosquito infested beaches with the waves sucking at and pulling at his boots, trying to draw him beneath the waves. That was what it felt like. Life had drawn him beneath its waves for too long. Suddenly, he had broken free of the rip tides and made it to the surface. He was sucking in air to oxygen starved lungs and it burned like hell. Coming back to life hurt. It hurt more than just dying. It fucking hurt so much. So fucking much that a part of him was tempted to give up, to just slip back into the safe, malaise of those strong tides that had held him down for so long. But he could not. He had been given what so few people got...a second chance. It was some of kind of miracle. This chance to give the woman that letter...to complete a mission...to keep one promise he made to one of his own. It felt good. He felt better than he had in years. Better than he had even before that day. Yes, the man's life still rested on his conscious...his and all the others. So many others. He was amazed that something so simple could make such a difference though. It just did not make sense. Did not seem possible. But it was. He was still homeless. He was still estranged from everyone that had ever meant anything to him. But he had done something worthwhile for the first time in forever it seemed. More importantly this time he had not failed. Tears flowed. Tears for Corporal Bryan Moultrie. Tears for the man's precious little angel. Tears for the woman, Keisha Jackson, who had been nothing more than a neatly written name on an envelope before today. Tears for all the men he had lost that day. Each name rolled instantly off his tongue as their faces too flashed through his mind. Tears for others that he had lost before and since then. Finally, just when he thought he could cry no more, Second Lieutenant Darren Highsmith. The kid had lost it that day. Sure, he might have survived the battle of Fallujah, but his mind had not. He had spent the next decade with a bottle in one hand and a needle in the other arm. Until that morning when he was coming down from a bad trip, when Travis had been just a microsecond too slow to keep the man from jumping in front of the train. And he had failed...and lost another of his men. Travis cried more tears for the kid that had been his commanding officer that day. Barely out of college and full of himself. It had been too much. Hell, it was too much for him and he had been older, wiser, seen other battles for those nasty, bloody, sweat-filled days and nights. Days that stretched into weeks and then into an eternity of living hell for some of them. Exhausted, it was the middle of the night. That time, which poets called the darkest before the dawn. Travis sat down. A bench at a bus stop. He was not even sure where he was. He just sat and cried. Without shame. He cried for all of them. For all that had happened and all that never would. It poured like pus from a putrid wound. **** Keisha leaned forward on the steering wheel as her SUV crawled along the deserted streets. She dared not go any faster the way her vision blurred with tears that had not stopped in hours. Thankfully Bree had slept through all of it. Even her brief stop to fill her tank with gasoline and grab a cup of coffee. She was just not sure what she would say to her child. Why it was so important that she find the man. But she knew she had to, even if she had no idea what to say to him when she did. That letter. It had changed nothing...and everything for her. Bryan was still dead. She was still a single mother, raising their challenged but perfect daughter all on her own without the help of either of their families. His words though had reached across time and lifted her up. To know that once had meant as much to him as it had her. Of course, she had always believed that, but to see it, written in his own words, his writing, had been more than she had ever dreamt possible. And he had given her that. His sergeant, the man that Bryan simply called Gunny.The man had carried that letter for a decade. Why? And how had Fate brought him of all people to them? She had no idea what time it was or even what part of town she was in, but that did not matter. All that mattered was one more Christmas miracle...finding the man that had given her such a special gift. She might have missed him crouched on the bench had it not been for Bree moving and crying out in her sleep. It had caused Keisha to stop the SUV abruptly and look in the rear view mirror to check on her child. She had gone right past him through her tears, but once more her angel saved the day as she caught sight of him. She sighed as she turned and confirmed for herself that it was him. Then she began to slowly back up the car until she was next to his still form. When she did, she saw that his head was down, almost touching his chest. For a moment, she was worried that something was wrong, then she saw the rapid rise and fall as he breathed. She opened the passenger side window, "Get in, Gunny." Keisha knew her visions was blurred when she thought she saw tears running down his cheeks too. He opened his mouth as if to argue but then shrugged his broad shoulders and picked up the pack. He opened the door and climbed in, looking out the window the whole time. "Where to?" she asked. "Home, I guess," he mumbled. **** Home? What a strange word, Travis thought. Growing up, he had never questioned what it meant or where he belonged. Then for fifteen years the Corps had been his home and family. Even more than Kathy and the kids. Maybe that had not been fair to her, maybe that was why they had grown apart and ultimately divorced. Just that he had been deployed more than he was with them it seemed. When he was discharged...well, it was already too late it seemed. They had grown up or away. And he had changed. He was lost it seemed without a GPS, compass or even the stars to lead him home. And now? How could so much change so quickly? Especially inside of him. Oh, he was not deluding himself, he was not the man they had once loved. He probably never would be again, but for the first time in so long he could not even remember, he felt like a man again. A human. And he longed to just hear their voice. "I really hate to ask. You have done so much for me already. But is there any chance I can use your phone? I'll keep it brief. You have my word." He forced himself to look over at the young woman for the first time since he had gotten in the car, "Please, ma'am." She shook her head and smiled as tears slid down her cheeks, "Talk as long as you want. I owe you more than I can ever repay," she said as she reached into the console and passed her cell phone to him. He stared at it for a long moment. Who did he call? Chances were slim that Kathy even had the same number. Even if she did, she would not want to talk to him. His teenage daughters, either. And the little man? Did he even have a right to call the boy his son? He had just walked away. Left him with nothing more than a note that the kid could not yet read. His chest tightened at the enormity and repercussions of his choices and actions. Any other time he might have given up. Said fuck it. And just returned to the streets. Not now. He had been given a second chance. Something that Corporal Bryan Moultrie and Second Lieutenant Darren Highsmith and all those other names in his head that he could never forget never would be given. So even if the odds were against him, even if this was an uphill battle, it would not be the first one he had fought. He was a U S Marine, after all. And surrender did not come natural to them. Ooh-rah! Get'em Devil Dogs, he thought as he instead pressed in the one number that unless something desperate had happened, he knew would still be working. The same one that his mother had taught him before sending him off to kindergarten. He waited as it rang...and rang...and rang some more. He was just about to hang up when the chirpy voice of his mother came on. He smiled and felt his heart leap in his chest at the familiar sound of her Texas Twang. Then his brows knit together as he realized that it was just a recording. He debated what to do. Maybe this just was not meant to be. Maybe it was too soon. Maybe he should get into one of those programs that the police, who hassled them were always trying to refer them to. Get his life a bit more on track before he brought his family into this. Just look how it had ended the last time they tried to help him. He was about to push the button to disconnect as the tone rang, "Hey, Mom. Dad. It's me, Trav. You are probably at church or something. I don't even know why I'm bothering you. I guess I just wanted to say...Merry Christ..." His throat was tight and he knew he was babbling like a kid. He should hang up. Save the woman some money, but somehow the sound of his Mama's voice just stuck with him. "Merry Christmas and I love you," he had pulled the phone away from his ear and was about to push that button when he heard... "Travis? Trav, is that really you, boy?" His father sounded tired, older than he remembered. An old man even. Travis certainly felt like one as he brought the phone back to his ear. "Yeah, Dad, it's me..." **** Keisha tried not to listen in, but that was hard to do in the confines of the vehicle. She only caught one side of the conversation, of course, but what she heard did not sound good. "Yeah, Dad, I understand. No, it isn't that. It is just..." "No, please, that will be expensive. I don't want you spending your money like that. Just give me a few days, I will see what I can do. I can get the money for a bus maybe. I'll figure something out..." His shoulders slumped then and he turned back towards the window. She heard the thickness in his voice when he spoke again, "All right, Dad. If you're sure. I'll get there somehow. Don't you worry. I will make the airport by noon if I have to walk there..." There was another long pause before the man spoke again, "Yeah, Dad. It'll be good to see you again too. I just wish..." Keisha watched as his broad back shuddered, "I'm sorry, Daddy. Sorry, I haven't been able to be there to help you with Mama. I'll do whatever I can...and you have my word I will get there. Just tell Mama to hang on...please." The final bit was clearly said through tears and Keisha wanted nothing more than to sink into her seat. Disappear and give the man some privacy, his dignity back. After all, he had given her so much more this night. He had given her the best gift of all...closure. "I love you both and I'll see you soon," he said as he pushed the button. He kept his back to her for a long moment. She knew he was trying to compose himself and she would give him as much time as he needed. At last he turned and held out the phone, she motioned for him to put it back on the console. "I'm sorry, but it was hard not to overhear. Do you need a lift to the airport?" The man shook his head, "No, ma'am. I can't ask that of you. You and that little angel have already done so much for me already today. If you can just let me out somewhere downtown, I can try and catch a bus or train there." She shook her head as tears welled back up in her eyes, "Done so much for you? A few dollars' worth of old clothes, a shower and hot meal. What is that?" She fought to keep the tears from becoming the flood of body shaking sobs that they had been when she first read Bryan's letter. That was how she had lost the man to begin with. She had been so paralyzed with tears that she had not been able to move off the cold concrete next to her car for over half an hour. Until at last the pastor had found her as he was closing up the church. He had been genuinely concerned for her and for Bree, but she had insisted that she would be fine. Had he seen the direction her guest had headed though. But he had not been any help. So she had spent hours driving around with a sleeping child in the back of the car looking for a stranger...a homeless Marine. She stemmed the tide long enough to continue, "No, Gunny." She paused and forced a smile, "I am sorry." The man smiled, perhaps the first one in years from the tightness around his mouth, "I don't know why I didn't see it sooner. Her eyes and smile. She looks like him. I did not know the man that well. He had just been promoted to Corporal and under my direct command when we got the orders..." He paused and looked down, "None of that matters much. But from what I did know of the man he was a good one. And I know he was a damned fine Marine. A couple of his men went home to their families because of him. I'm just sorry..." He turned back away and looked out the window as he inhaled deeply before speaking again, "I'm sorry that he never got to see his own. To meet the little angel." She knew this man was a stranger. A homeless man. But that did not matter. They shared a pain as she reached over and placed her hand on his shoulder and squeezed it, "Me too, Gunny. Me too." He turned back to face her and there was no denying the tears that clouded his eyes as he placed his hand over hers, "Thank you, ma'am." "No, thank you. Thank you for keeping that promise. Thank you for holding onto that letter all these years. Thank you for the best Christmas present of all...hope." She pulled her hand away reluctantly and used the back of it to brush the tears away casually, "But if you think I'm dropping you off and just hoping you make it to that airport in time, then you have another think coming." She laughed to try and lighten the mood a bit. The man looked at the time on the clock on her dashboard and in the back seat at her sleeping daughter, "I hate asking you for anything else, ma'am. And if it were for me, I wouldn't, but we have loads of time before I have to catch that plane to Dallas. Would you mind if we made just one more stop on the way there?" **** Trav frowned. What had he been thinking, bringing them here? The freeway underpass where the homeless lived was no place for a lady and little girl. He thought about leaving them in the car while he ran the sleeping bag to G. I. Joe and said his good-byes to the old man. He felt guilty as hell leaving him and Steve on their own out here. He had been protecting and feeding them for close to three months now. But he really had no choice. His mother was dying. The breast cancer that had been in remission when he left three years ago had come back. This time there was no hope. In fact, she had been in hospice care for weeks now. The nurses said it would be a miracle if she lived to see the New Year. He had let them down too...but he would not this time. He would make it home and spend what time she had left together. An Angel's Wish He went through the scenarios, the different contingencies and possible battle plans. He chuckled at how natural that all felt. Once a Marine, always a Marine. He realized he had never stopped thinking like one. In the end, he calculated that the safest option was to take them with him. With his knife tucked into his belt and another smaller blade in his shoe he should be able to keep them safe. But they would not take the child's wheelchair. The uneven rocky ground would only slow them down and above all he needed to get them in and out as quickly and quietly as he could. When she lifted the child out of the car, he insisted on bearing her slight burden. "Stay close to me, do you understand? Most of these people are just like all the others in this world...decent folks. But just like out there, there is always a few bad seeds. If anything goes wrong, I will pass angel back to you. You run for it. Get back to this car and get the hell out of here. No waiting for me. No looking back. Straight to the police station, do you understand?" The way her big brown eyes widened he knew that he had scared her, but this was one time where he would rather her be frightened if it kept them alive. She nodded her head and stepped a bit closer, into his shadow. "Our camp is towards the back, that way we can hightail it out that way when the cops start hassling us." He smiled and shifted the half sleeping angel in his arms. The morning sky was just beginning to lighten even though the sun had not yet peeked her head over the horizon. He hoped they would be back to the car before it did. Safer that way. He grabbed the sleeping bag and tossed it to the woman, "Carry this please. If anything happens, throw it. That will slow everyone down as they are likely to stop to fight over it." He hated the bleak picture that he was painting of his existence to the woman and hoped the child was still asleep enough not to hear any of it. But this really was a matter of better safe than sorry with such precious cargo as he carried in his arms. He began to pick his way slowly and methodically through the old, torn tents, blankets thrown over cardboard boxes and shopping carts full of other people's junk that were these people's whole lives. It took them only a couple of minutes but it seemed too long to Travis as he finally knelt beside what had been his tent. "Joe, it's me. Gunny." He warned the old man before he dared to touch the zipper that along with the concrete of the overpass kept the worst of the elements out. He would give it another minute before crying out again and drawing attention to them. He was just about to do that though when he heard movement from inside the tent, "Trav? That you, boy?" asked the gravelly old voice. "Sure is, man, and I am in a bit of a hurry," he said as he crouched lower and shifted the little girl. Those brown eyes fluttered open and she smiled up at him. His heart beat faster at her innocent trust. "What is it, boy? Sun ain't up yet. I gots at least another hour of good sleep. What you doing waking an old man like that?" the man grumbled as he stuck his gray head out between the flaps. The moment his old eyes lit on the child he smiled though and the little girl returned the unspoken greeting. Travis reached behind him to take the sleeping bag from the woman, he passed it to the man that had been his charge these past few months. "I can't stay, old man. I called home and my Mama's sick. But I got this for you for Christmas. Well, the ladies did really. The tent's yours too. But I really hope you will think about going into one of those half-way houses. At least for the winter." The man shook his head as he reached out his weathered and gnarled hand. He brushed a stray braid back from the child's forehead and she smiled even wider at him. Trav saw tears in the old man's eyes. They never talked about such things. Most people out here did not. But he wondered if somewhere Joe might not have a family, just as he did. Perhaps angel reminded him of a daughter he had left behind or a grand-daughter perhaps. "Don't you worry about me, boy. You take care of your Mama." Tears slipped from the crinkled corners of the man's eyes as he tore them off the child long enough to slap Trav on the shoulder, "You get your life back on track, Gunny. Do it for me. For all of us out here...and the ones that didn't make it back. You live a good, long, happy life for all of us...that's what you can do for me." The old man looked up at the woman and those tears spilled even faster, "May I hold the child, ma'am? Just for a moment. Please." Travis turned half expecting to see shock or revulsion on her pretty face. Instead those huge tears were flowing again. "Of course, just support her head and back. She has cerebral palsy so you have to be a bit more careful with her is all." Joe nodded as he reached for the child. Trav positioned her in his friend's arms but stayed close. The sun was coming up now and he knew they should be getting out of there, but something about this moment just felt more right than anything had in a very long time. The little girl was fully awake now as she turned to the old Vet. Her tiny fingers caressed his stubbled cheek as she smiled. She saw the purple heart that Joe always wore on his dirty and faded uniform. Then she noticed the U. S. Marine Corps. "My Daddy was a Marine too," she whispered. "He still is, child. Didn't anyone ever tell you...once a Marine, always a Marine?" he chuckled. She shook her tiny head, "My Daddy died though." The man just smiled, "Let me tell you a secret, sweetie. St. Peter and the Big Man are Marines too. In fact, just like our boys that guard all the embassies down here, that's what they do up there too." Her eyes sparkled as the sun hit the scraggly gray head leaning against hers. It must have hit those glittery bows and bells just right too, because Trav would have sworn both their heads were ensconced in halos in those rays of a new dawn, a new day and a new beginning. He hated to draw this moment to a close, but he knew the encampment would soon come alive and he had delayed long enough as it was. He needed to get them back to the car safely. Even more than he needed to protect the old man, who had been his honor bound duty for a time. He reached for the little girl and Joe reluctantly relinquished his burden. "Think about what I said, man. A warm bed. A couple of meals a day. You could do worse than a couple of months in one of them shelters," Travis pleaded with his friend as he shifted the child and stood up. The old man shook his head and looked from the little girl to his friend to the woman, "Don't worry about me. You think about what I said too, Gunny. I'm counting on you to do what's right. As for my old bones, well, with this fine tent and new sleeping bag, who knows maybe I'll head down to Florida. Them Keys always sounded good in that song..." Trav shook his head as his friend's deep baritone voice greeted the warm morning sun, "Aruba, Jamaica, ooh I wanna take ya. Bermuda, Bahama, come on pretty mama. Key Largo, Montego, baby why don't we go." It was not until they made it back safely to the woman's car that he noticed her tiny body was once more shaking with sobs. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought the two of you here. If I had known it would upset you this much..." he stammered. She brushed the tears aside and smiled, "No, it isn't that. I'm glad you did. It was that song. Bryan sang it to me when he came to say good-bye that last time... He always called me Key-Key so it just kinda fit...Key Largo and all. In fact, he signed that letter...'sorry, I never got to take you to Kokomo.' " **** He waited until they drove off before he stood up. He tossed the sleeping bag inside the tent. He would not be needing it where he was going. No cold wind or rain there. No hunger or pain either. The old man stood tall and walked away into the morning sun. He had not gone far when another man greeted him, "Was it all you expected, Corporal?" When the old man turned back to see the vehicle turn right onto the freeway entrance ramp he was transformed. The gray hair was gone. In its place, the high and tight of a proud Marine. His eyes that had been cloudy with age shone the same sparkling brown as the little girl's. And his smile that had been masked under the weathered skin of age and the elements spread broadly and just as tranquilly. "Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir. All I could ask for. I even got to hold her for a moment. Hold my baby girl, Sir," replied Corporal Bryan Moultrie or the spirit that had occupied the body by that name anyway. "So back to that guard duty then, Marine?" asked St. Peter with a slap on the man's shoulder. "Maybe for a while, Sir. But hopefully one day, I'll get the chance to have a new body and re-join my family," he smiled as they walked straight up into the air unseen. "You planted the seeds, son. That is all you can do. The rest is in the hands of the Big Man, Allah, Jehovah, Thor, Zeus, Buddha, the Emperor, Fate and the goddess..."