Sand. It gets everywhere. If there is one thing that I hate about this godforsaken war, it is the sand. Hot, rainless storms sweep across this land depositing sand in places it ought not to be. It gets in your ears, your eyelashes, up the nose, in between your tightest teeth. It gets under your fingernails and in the creases of the bottom of your toe, among other places.

The sun bears down on you here, there is very little refuge from it. The heat follows you wherever you step. All the gear only makes you sweat more. And the ultimate decision to be made is between roasting yourself and keeping the sand out, or being roughed up by the grit in hopes to cool down a bit.

Most of the time the decision is made for us. Keep your gear on. Cover as much of yourself to keep the sand out. The grit still manages to get into the cracks of my feet.

Today the sky is blue. There will be no relief from the clouds. I saw Tuck pulling his mask as tightly as he could.

"If only I could keep the sand off my neck." It’s hard to hear his muffled voice from behind the mask, through the whipping grit air, to my ears under their own mask. "Just how they ‘pect us to see them towel heads if we cain’t see a foot in front o’us? Damn wind an’ sand. God damnit!" Tuck kicked at something I couldn’t see.

I’d say he was miserable.

I had met Tuck during our training. If it were up to city standards, Tuck was redder than red. He was from the Gap, and it was common knowledge that folks from the Gap were usually lacking in one way or another. Whenever any news broke out of the Gap, the local media ate it up.

Because even locals took pleasure in making fun of the stereotypical hillbilly. Blacktoothed, uneducated buffoons. Everyone believed that your cousin was your sister and probably your aunt, too. It didn’t matter what the truth was, that’s how all from the Gap were viewed. I think it’s even on a national level, though some Yank probably wouldn’t segregate those from the Gap from the rest of the state.

Here Tuck was just another soldier. Home was far away and silly little details like incest don’t matter when you’re ducking from mortar fire.

Home felt like a different lifetime.

"Ehe Birdman, ya’ need some more water?"

"Yeah, Tuck, thanks man. I’ll get it next time." There were still three hours left to our watch, and the sun was just hitting its highest point in the sky. Water is gold here.

"It’s these damned insurgints. How am I ‘posed to tell them from the normal folk ‘round here? They all wear towels."
"Don’t be a fool Tuck."

It wasn’t easy picking out your enemies. This ‘new’ war was a hard one to fight. There are mines across miles of desserts, so you have to watch your step. And just about anyone here has a bomb strapped under their clothes. The women cover themselves entirely, it’s hard to tell if they are women or men in disguise. There is always the possibility that under the cloth there is a women with a bomb on her belly just the same as the men. Here the enemy is hard to see, hard to pick out. And the whipping grit air sure doesn’t help a soldier out. For these people, this war was about faith and Allah. I was just doing my job. You don’t strike America with out anticipating we fight back.

We’d lost count of how long we had been here. Three times we had been told we were to be sent home. Three times our tour of duty was lengthened. Not enough young men and women on the homefront enlisting now. Seems like a free education is worthless if you can’t use it. The young folk were figuring out the math in the States, and the numbers weren’t all that good.

"I’m ready to git back home Bird-Man."

"So am I Tuck, so am I."

"Ya’ think we’ll see anything on the watch today?"
"I dunno? Maybe. Maybe not."

"I miss me girls thighs. I was thinkin’ ‘bout them this mornin’. How they used to shake. I miss that."

"I miss a lot, too, Tuck." Tuck had a bad habit of wanting to recount the old days back in the States. For me, remembering was part of the battle. Memories only make me miss what I can’t see and touch and smell. What’s the point in that torment when I have the sand here in the reality?

"Bird-Man, you ain’t never told me how you got yur name? Care to share and make the time pass a lil’ bit quicker?"

"My sister gave it to me." Memories from my teenage years were not something I commonly shared with other soldiers. But Tuck and me shared a trite connection in the foothills.

"It cain’t be that simple Bird-Man. What’s the story behind the name, huh?"

"Well, I guess Tuck, yur a special kinda fellow. I can tell ya’ if that’s what ya want."

"I weren’t have askt if I didn’t wanna know."

"Well, alright. It’s kinda funny really." Picturing those times of my life took effort. They were there, but so pushed back they were almost forgotten. It ain’t safe to have too many memories occupying your mind out here. After all, you have to stay focused and keep the sand out.

"Well, my lil’ bro was a pickin’ on my little sister at one o’the family reunions. Her name is Kaye. I think I’ve told ya’ bout Wes before, ain’t I?"

"I seem to remember a story of y’all playin’ football."

"Yeah, well, he was pickin’ on my sis. Tryin’ to put nightcrawlers in her hair. She had run to the lap of our Grandma, who’s knee was a getten tired from all the kids hoppin’ on her lap.

"Well, I guess I better back up a bit. You see, a month earlier, I had found these birds that had a’fallin’ out of the nest. The nest itself was there on the ground, but no momma bird could be found. So, I took the nest and the birds, and fed them til they were strong enough to go back out on their own. They took a real likin’ to me, one of them would just tweet all day long for me. When they were big enough, I took that nest out front and put it in a big bush right in front of the big picture window. I figured I could keep an eye on ‘em better in front of that window."

"Ain’t you the perfect momma bird. Did’ja squeeze milk from yur teat for ‘em?"

"Tuck, they're birds, not mammals." The blistering heat had not left me in the mood to have fun poked at me by the likes of Tuck. "Anyway, that day I saw Kaye a cryin’ on Grandma’s lap. There were a bunch of old farts sittin’ round that bush. Gabbin’ away about womanly shit. You know the like.

"Yes’em I sure do. I had me a grandma too, and she gabbed around bushes just the same."

"I had sat with the old folks for awhile listening to tall stories about frost and Angels, and I just couldn’t help myself."
"Oooohh, what’ja do?" Tuck never seemed to grasp how story telling worked. I didn’t like his interruptions and I was getting flustered with the hick. Not too much I could do to get away from him, so I just kept on.

"Well, I knew them birds were in there. The old folks did too, but didn’t know they were birds, just knew something was makin’ a racket in the bush. So, I thought I’d a fool ‘em. I stuck my hand in that bush and of course those little birdies come out, one by one…with the help of some mealworms.

"With two of ‘em on each o’ my hands, I turned around and stretched my arms out wide like Jesus himself. Oh those old women didn’t know what to do. It was a sight to see. The fog all around the bush, the dim glow from the lamp on the other side of the window, and me standin’ there with my arms stretched to kingdom come. I thought one of the old women was gonna fall right out of her chair singin’ Holy Holy Holy. When I took Kaye back to the creek, she called me her Bird-Man, and it just stuck I guess." Tuck sat for a moment trying to get all the pieces of the picture settled in his head. A minute later he bust out in roaring laughter.

"I bet thems old women thought it was the second comin’. Probably screamin’ that Armageddon was right ‘round the corner." Tuck may not have been able to read better than a seven year-old, but he sure knew his verses. Church was never missed on Sunday, or Wednesday for that matter, in the Bible Belt. It was good gossipin’ time.

"To this very day my Grandma tells that story. She says I’m blessed. I can’t find it in me to tell her it was all just an illusion. Her Gods weren’t at work any more than the wind knockin’ that nest out o’the tree that day."
"Well, old women need something to keep their minds at ease. I don’t blame ya’ one bit for not tellin’ her. It ‘ell give ya’ something to joke ‘bout with yur yungin when ya’ get home."

It wasn’t often that Tuck was right. But when he was, it was simple and quaint. The thought of Lexy filled my mind and made me homesick. My brief smile was blotted out by the grimace that came with the homesickness and Tuck realized that it had gone too far.

"Guess’em we’ve talked too much. We ain’t payin’ enough attention to these damned towelheads."

"Tuck, don’t be a fool."
"I tell ya, that’s all they are."
"No, Tuck, they are human like you and me. And unlike us, they have a home to go to tonight."
"I guess they hope they do anyway." Tuck went into his rolling laughter again. "And I guess they hope they gots ‘em a house when they wake up in the mornin’ too."

I was tired of talking with the hick. He had his moments, but he wasn’t someone I really wanted to spend my watch with. Sometimes I think about moving away once I get back home, just so he won’t be with in driving distance. Ol’ Tuck was better than the more brazen soldiers who liked the blood and gore, though. And it was nice to have someone to take your mind off of the explosions that were always heard, but not always seen.

The hot wind blew a gust of sand in my direction and I struggled to pull my mask as tight as I could. I sure missed the smell of my wife’s hair, and Lexy’s giggle. I could see her toothless smile standing in front of me, her hair whipping wild in the blistering wind. 

But alas, I was only here with Tuck and the hot, gritty sand.

Samantha K. Rush

March 25, 2005