Broken Promise

Huddled in the cave, behind the boulder, as small as he could make himself, Carson could hear footsteps approaching. Closer. Closer. Closer. Carson caught a whiff of the stench that engulfed his captor. Beating harder, Carson’s heartbeat increased. He had to control his breathing, or he would be found for sure.

Carson closed his eyes. In his mind, darkness encapsulated his thoughts. The fullness of the dark heavied. His perceived feeling of security was slipping away. He could feel that he was losing his advantage for escape.

“Carson. It’s okay. You can come out. I want to help you,” the voice called out, but he knew that if he came out of hiding, the voice would take him back. It wasn’t safe back there. He had to save himself

Carefully, he maneuvered his body inward to the small crevice of the rock and the wall. Smaller. I must make myself smaller. I can escape if, but only if, I remain in the shadows. I must hide. He can never find me.

“Carson. Come out. Let’s talk.”

Hearing the footsteps almost on him, Carson knew he had to hide his breathing. He would hold his breath for as long as he could. Hopefully, the voice would bypass his cave hiding place.

The ground was soft. The wall was moist. The coolness felt refreshing on his sweaty, hot back. He let out a slow moan of relief, then quickly realized that he may have given his position away. There was a tiny opening. Carson squeezed himself into the crack in the wall. The boulder acting as a barrier between him … and … well, he needed time to rest. If he was going to get away. He was exhausted.

Behind him, as he placed his paper-thin body between the narrow walls. It felt as though they moved just for him. Then on the other side, he found a larger area for him to stretch out. This would be perfect. They could not find him here. The boulder and the wall, with only a thin crack, would make him a safe haven to sleep. After some sleep, he would be able to get out and get away.

Carson listened intently. He could hear no footsteps. The air was musty at best. No stench of pursuit. He was safe. He could rest. Finally, his mind surrendered to the peace he felt, and Carson fell asleep.

“Momma, I’m home.”

There was no answer. Carson walked through the house. No one was there. Confused, he called out again, “Momma, I’m home.” Still no answer. This made no sense to him. Momma was always home at this time of day. Something must have happened. Clearing each room to find no one home, Carson went into a panic attack. ‘Momma knows I broke my promise,’, he thought.

A cool breeze entered the little crevice in which he had squeezed his tattered and tired body. Carson jerked awake. Silently, he sat listening for evidence of whether he had been found. No footsteps. No extra breathing. No noise. Only the refreshing gentleness of this cool breeze. His mind racing, why would he be dreaming of his mother? She was safe and sound at home. There was no way for her to know that he had broken his promise.

With his mind drifting back into the peaceful security of his location, his fatigued and drained body gently fell asleep. With no concept of time or direction, Carson was content and relaxed. His thoughts drifted to before he came home. The desert. The sand. The sulfuric smell of detonated ordnance. Fire pits are burning in the distance.

“Jones. Hey man. Where did you go?”

Carson walked through the tent. Helmet hanging off his canteen. Sixteen slung across his back. Blouse unbuttoned. He was unbearably hot. The stench of the compound was filled with burning oil. He wanted to go down to the homemade swimming hole he and Jones made … quite accidentally, but still worth using.

“Jones. Come on. Let's go swimming. We built it, we should use it.”

Walking up to the last cot in the tent, Carson rolled the body over to find that Jones was dead. His face was mangled beyond recognition. A gaping hole over the cot, shards of metal from the missile bombing. Sirens blaring. The smell of oil was not from the fire pit, but the trucks burning after the attack.

Gasping for air, Carson woke up again. Quickly assessing the situation and his surroundings, he realized where he was and what had happened. Another nightmare from that terrible night. That night, he lost his best friend. The night that changed him.

Footsteps were approaching. His hideaway was no longer safe. He had been found. He had to get out…get away. He could not be captured. Not again. He had to get home to Momma and apologize for breaking his promise.

Quieting his breathing and movements, he sat in the cool of this little cave. Wishing on one hand that he had a light to move deeper in, but thankful he did not. Determined to remain here until his platoon came for him. Stealth was the only survival mode he knew would work. He had no weapons. He had no defense. He had only his desire to live. He wanted to get out of this cave and back to his mom.

“Carson, it has been hours. Come out. Let me help you. You are not in danger. I’ve got your six. Just come out.”

The voice seemed to move along. Apparently, he had not left a trail into the cave. How? He had no idea, but he was thankful. Now that it was silent again, Carson felt safe enough to take another nap. He still felt brutally fatigued. He could not remember how long he had been on the run, but it felt like a lifetime. He needed more rest. He needed another nap; after which, he would try to find his way out of this cave, get some food, and go home.

“CARSON! CARSON! Where in the name of all that is holy have you run off to?”

“Boy. You'd better come out here right now. I ain't playing. Get yer tail out here or when I find you … you won't have a tail.”

Looking around, Carson tried to answer. His voice was gone. He could not speak. What was going on? He could hear his grandpa calling his name. He must be late. But how. Trying to maneuver around, but to no avail … Carson was trapped. He could not answer. He could not escape.

“Carson, I am not playing. Come out here right now. We have hay to bale and horses to feed. Get out of here so we can get to work.”

In that moment, through a small crack in the roof of the fissure, a sliver of light crept in, piercing through the darkness. In his position, the light hit him in the vicinity of his face. Squinting, Carson looked around. Completely confused, he looked around for his grandpa; however, the darkness hid all but that sliver of light. Attempting to ascertain where he was, how he got there, why he got there, and how he was going to get his behind out.

“Did I drink last night? My mouth says it is a possibility. Oh lord. How or where….”

Clueless and foggy, almost convinced he had been on an all-night drinking binge. Why was he hearing his grandfather, he had been dead for nearly 15 years. Another wonky dream. But he was feeling better. He needed to conceive a plan to get out of this arena of darkness and back home. Looking around with the bare amount of light shining through the fracture of the upper rockface, Carson attempted to locate an exit when he heard…

“Carson, honey. Come here.”

Carson looked to his left. There was an image. They were familiar.

“Carson. Come here. Come to me.”

Shimmering light fragmented in the direction of the image. A shadow reflected this light.

“Who are you?” Carson inquired.

“Come here, sweet boy. I have missed you so much.”

The image came closer and closer. The smell was of childhood memories. A long time since forgotten. The essence of lost peace.

“Carson. It's okay. You can come to me.”

A more revealing but distorted picture of the image is displayed.

“Grams?” he whispered, “Is that you? How can that be? You are dead.”

“It’s okay, honey. Come to Grams.”

Carson pushed against the cool wall. “No. NO. You’re not real. YOU’RE NOT REAL.”

Crying out and pushing backward forcefully, Carson fell through the papier-mache studio props. Scooting backward quickly. Escape was necessary. He was now hearing and seeing his grandparents. His mind was a kaleidoscope of hideous and unforgiving memories. Terror consumed him.

“NO. NO. NO.”, he cried.

“SPECIALIST CARSON KAMP. STAND AT ATTENTION WHEN I ENTER THE ROOM.” Another familiar voice. Firm but not mean.

“SIR, yes, Sir.” Carson immediately stood up at the position of attention. “Specialist Kamp reporting, sir.” He was not in a cave, after all, but on a stage full of props for a school play. He was not hiding from captors, but himself.

Inside, a sense of order returned. His mind shut off. His body reacted to the familiar commands. A soldier. He was a soldier. That was his passion. He was a good soldier. But …. Within, as he began to drift, his soldier training responded with the commands of his sergeant.

“Stand at ease, soldier. I got you. I got you, son.”

“Sir, what is going on?” Carson pleaded.

“It’s alright, son. It’s going to be alright. The battle is over. Your momma is waiting for you. Come with me. We are going to go see her now.”

“Yes, sir.”

Carson fell in line and followed the voice. They got into the car and headed off to the hospital from the local high school. Carson’s mom was waiting for him. Her face was riddled with worry.

“Carson. I love you. Can I have a hug?”

Jumping out of the car, he ran to his mother. “Momma. I am so sorry. I didn’t want to break my promise to you. I am scared. I saw and heard Gramps and Grams. I don’t understand what is going on. Help me.” He pleaded.

“I love you, son. I need you to do me a favor, please.”, her voice breaking but firm in a mother’s tone.

“Yes, momma. Anything.”

“ I need you to trust Sgt Johnston and go with him. He is going to help you.”

“Momma. Can I tell you something?” Carson whispered.

“Yes. Of course.”

“I’m scared. I am seeing dead people.”

“First, you did not break your promise. Second, you are my boy. I love you, unconditionally…nothing you do will ever change that, but I cannot help you. Sgt Johnston can.” Tears flowed freely down her face. “Third, you are strong enough to beat this. Trust in your battle buddies. Trust in Sgt Johnston. I will be here always.”

As the mother–son embrace came to an end, Carson wiped the tears from his eyes as he watched in agony the tears of worry and love flow steadily from his mother’s face. He did not like to see his momma cry, and though she said it wasn’t his fault, it sure felt like it.

Carson followed his friend, Sgt Johnston, into the facility designed to help those veterans who had returned home and needed guidance on how to process their experiences, work within the civilized world again, and feel safe. With one last glance backward to his mother, Carson whispered, “I’m sorry. I love you.”

Entering the door, they were met by other veterans who welcomed Carson back to the PTSD Center.