Page 21 - Contrast1971Spring

by Bob Haynie

I awoke to find the sun already filtering in through the window, touching my face. It was
warm and pleasant. Rolling onto my right side, I pressed the lever in back of the clock, silencing
it not quickly or jerkily as others might have done, but slowly, deliberately. I resumed my ori-
ginal position, and eyes left squinted into the light. It promised to be a beautiful day, an adavance
agent for summer. Seven fifteen ... I remember it all vividly. It was one day in April, last April.

I lay there a few minutes just smelling the rebirth, watching the curtains flutter in the
breeze. There were days, I recalled, when the freezing rain fell, and it was .the rustling of the
flaps of a tent, not curtains, that came first to my attention. Freezing rain, mind you, and mud
I'd stumble out to meet, that I'd stand shivering in as roll was called, praying for it to be fin-
ished. It was sort of a ridiculous convention, roll call was. I mean our platoon was so small that
desertions would have been immediately apparent, if determining who'd skipped out was indeed
the purpose of roll. Looking back, though, I don't seem to have minded it too much. It all
seemed to fit somehow.

Anyway, on this particular morning in April, I got out of bed and washed up. I made some
breakfast, bacon and eggs I think. Yeah that's it, and toast and coffee. Sat there reading the
paper while I finished up. It seems like the headline caught my attention at the time, but I
can't recall what it was exactly. Probably the usual stuff, inflation or the war. The war. Peculiar
I should mention that when it was long over by that time. Not. so peculiar as I thought, because
I remember how that whatever the headline was, it caused me to think of the war. Maybe that's
peculiar in itself but not knowing what the headline was I can't say for sure

Enough of this rambling, let me get down to the point. I threw the dishes into the sink,
picked up a jacket, felt for the car keys to make sure they were in my pocket, and prepared to
leave through the front door. That is the point, the front door. I crossed the living room check-
ing the endtable to see that there was no mail to be posted and when I looked up there was no
front door at all. I know that sounds like some kind of gross fantasy or illusion and these were
the first two thoughts that struck me. I'll remember that first moment as long as I live, standing
there, staring. I'm sure my mouth dropped open. No front door at all ... just a wall where it had
once been.