The Wounded Read Free Page B

peck on the cheek appeared normal from the side, until he turned and showed waxy scars over half
    of his face. Michael bore a similar mark on his arm, caused by a bit of burning shrapnel. One hand remained in the man’s lap. A blanket covered
    him from the thighs down.
    The story Raymond told ripped at Michael’s heart. How had the man endured losing his entire platoon, the use of one arm and his legs, spending
    months in the hospital, and still find strength in his heart to surround himself with fellow veterans who also bore the scars of their time in service?
    “Here is the message I wanted to deliver to the world when I started The Wounded,” the man said. “When you see us, with our
    wheelchairs, crutches, or one empty sleeve pinned to our chests, don’t feel pity, for we don’t want or need your pity. Instead, reflect
    upon the sacrifices others have made to ensure all of our freedom. Take pride in this great land of ours, as we do. We did our duty and hold no regrets.
    Save your pity for those who have no voice, who live in fear every day of their own governments. Where there is injustice, our nation brings balance, where
    there is hunger, we bring food, where there is despair, we bring hope.”
    The ever increasing pressure around Michael’s heart clenched hard, fear replaced by pride unlike he’d ever known. Here he was, a simple
    country boy, once called a silly faggot by his stepfather, and he sat with some of the finest men and women to ever wear a uniform. At the end of the
    speech a string quartet played, first the Army’s anthem, then the Navy’s, then the Marines’. It mattered not what branch of
    service the assembled represented, when the music died, every voice joined together to proclaim, “Hoo-ah!”
    ***
    “Michael? Are you okay?” Michael glanced up. Very few people remained in the room, though a small group huddled around the artist,
    asking her questions. Most folks left to prepare to march the next day. The other couple had left the table, leaving only Michael, Jay, Mark, and Jase.
    Jay had checked constantly over the last few hours, and Michael seemed to be okay, though several times he’d noticed Michael’s hand in
    his pocket. More than likely, Michael’s fingers clutched the pill bottle he sometime clung to like a small child seeking comfort from a Teddy
    bear. A least he hadn’t taken one during the past three hours, or not that Jay had seen.
    “Yeah, I’m fine. If you don’t mind, why don’t you go on up to bed. I’ll be there soon. I want to talk to
    Jase a bit.”
    Jay shifted his gaze to Jase, who nodded. Mark placed a hand on Jay’s arm, leading him away. “Think they’ll be all
    right?” Jay asked once they’d left the banquet hall.
    “They’ll be fine. I think they’ve been needing to talk for a while now. How about you, are you okay?”
    Jay nodded, though he wasn’t sure. He’d only wanted Michael to feel he fit in, to know he wasn’t alone. Did hearing war
    stories bring back memories of fallen friends? “Michael lost a good friend over there.”
    Mark nodded. “So did Jase. For a long time he wouldn’t talk about it, but now he’s starting to open up.” His eyes
    roved toward the banquet hall door. “As much as it hurts that he can’t yet tell me everything, I hope that with Michael he’ll
    unburden himself to the understanding ear.”
    They bid each other good night and Jay went upstairs. He lay awake in the dark, waiting to hear Michael’s key in the lock.
    ***
    Jase watched Mark walk away with Jay and gave a silent thank you. He turned his attention back to Michael, who fumbled with one of the napkins
    they’d used at dinner.
    “You, too?” he asked softly.
    Michael’s head jerked up. “What do you mean?” he snapped, then shook his head. “Sorry.”
    Jase smiled awkwardly. “Not big on crowds, right? I get the sweats when I go out. I work late nights because it’s the only time there
    aren’t a lot of folks around.”
    Michael