Congratulations Quiet War Hero!

When you get off the plane, there’ll be fanfare galore. Your family, a bunch of your friends, a few random people who just greet soldiers returning from warzones for shits and giggles. They’ll all be there smiling and waving at you. You’ll step right up, hug your little brother, kiss your mom on the top of her head and walk right by the rest of the crowd on your brand spankin’ new steel legs.

You’ll file right past the cheering crowd and into the car your dad has parked outside. Then you’ll ride home and, in true hometown fashion, eat a big plate of your mom’s slightly burned chicken parm. You won’t talk about Over There at all, though you will talk about the rehab center where you learned to walk on your new robot gams. You’ll talk about how it was a lot like how you’d imagine a boy’s school dorm to be: lots of high-schoolish politics, lots of backtalk, a handful of quiet people you actually wanted to be around. You’ll make it very clear you’re more excited to be at home in the quiet than you are to be there, surrounded by men moaning into the night with phantom limb pain, quietly masturbating to sleep in the darkness.

A week from now you’ll emerge from your house for the first time and walk around the grocery store, legs squeaking softly as you walk up and down the aisles, surveying the bevy of things you don’t really need arrayed on the shelves around you. While you sit and quietly enjoy the humming fluorescent lights, trying to figure out exactly what quinoa is, a middle aged woman in the saddest khaki pants and most disappointing denim jacket you’ve ever seen will tug on your shirt behind you.

“Excuse me,” she’ll murmur. “I just wanted to say thank you.”

You’ll be puzzled. “Sorry?”

She’ll point to your shirt. “For that.”

You’ll be wearing the shirt you got for the 31st MEU. It’ll be worn with sweat and a dozen washes. Along with the legs, it’ll be clear with what you were. Are, you’ll suppose.

“Oh. Right.”

You’ll push your cart away from her, vaguely angry at her for choosing that moment and that way to say anything to you about it. You’ll miss the cities in the south, where people wince when enlisted men come in and then smile when they take in their money. You’ll think of every officer who goes out to karaoke bars in his dress blues and, for a moment, you’ll want to go back and tell that woman that she can go up her own ass with her thanks.

But you won’t. You’ll just keep pushing the cart until you see a few boxes of Annie’s Mac ‘n’ Cheese, curious rabbit staring back at you. You’ll pull two off the shelf, extra dollar a box be damned. You’re home. Why not splurge?

The rabbit will take your mind off of it, right up until you find yourself back in your car, driving home. When you pull back into the driveway and start removing bags from the trunk to bring them back in for your mom you’ll remind yourself not to wear your MEU shirt anymore when you go out.

Better that way.

Congratulations Quiet War Hero!