THE GULF BETWEEN US

 

By: Kenda

 

 

 

 

     It was mid-afternoon, hot and humid. The sun shone brightly in the sky, although that brightness that normally brought him pleasure meant very little to him in this place. He was walking silently through an open field. The grass grew as high as his waist. He was carrying fifty pounds of equipment on his back and held a machine with both hands, his right finger posed ready over the trigger. He could feel his own tension, and sensed the tension of the men that surrounded him.  Not men really, mostly boys in their late teens. Only a few were over the age of twenty, but this place made you grow up fast. One day you were a fresh-faced kid all of eighteen, and by the next day you had the look of an old man about you. An old man who had seen far more than any human being should have to.

 

     Putting his mind back where it belonged, on his recon patrol, the sergeant glanced around to make sure all of his men were still with him as he continued his efficient, quiet sweep of the area. As he glanced to his right he got a mischievous grin and a ‘thumbs-up’ from the man he depended on the most, Rick Simon. Simon had his faults, there was no doubt about that. The sergeant spent most of his off-duty time pulling Rick out of trouble in various Saigon bars. Simon's devil-may-care attitude could frustrate the hell out of him, but when push came to shove, there was no man he'd rather have by his side than Richard Simon.

 

    Sweat ran down his back, soaking his uniform shirt with moisture until it clung to him like a second skin. No matter how hard he tried, he never felt clean in this place. Now the feel of his own perspiration, combined with the smells of the jungle, and the sights and sounds around him, brought this place back to him in full force. A place he thought he had left behind twenty years ago. A place he had prayed he'd never have to revisit.

 

     Suddenly the silence was broken by the sounds of machine gun fire. As he yelled for his men to get down, he realized that Charlie hadn't changed much in the twenty years he'd been away. They were still the same silent, cunning little bastards they had always been.

 

     Total chaos reigned as they waged a battle with an unseen enemy, machine guns firing and grenades volleying back and forth. He tried to give orders over the shouts and cries of pain coming from his men, but he couldn't be certain he was heard.

 

     He and Rick rose as one to advance forward, waving their men to follow them, when burst of machine gun fire was issued from the enemy. Just that quick, Simon went down.  Rick was thrown back several feet by the force of the bullets that had just been unleashed into his abdomen. By the time the sergeant got to him, Rick's eyes already possessed the wide-opened, surprised stare one equates with violent death. His fatigue shirt was a mass of blood and tiny holes.

 

     All activity around him seemed to cease.  It was as if someone had closed a curtain on the scene of a play, and the only actors left were himself and Simon. He knelt down beside this man he called best friend, and for the first time realized that Rick Simon was his brother, too. As the horror and cruelty of the act registered in his mind, he opened his mouth and screamed out in his anguish.

 

"Rick! No, Rick! Oh God, no! Rick!"

 

______________

 

 

    "Rick! Rick!"

 

     The woman sleeping soundly next to A.J. Simon in his queen-size bed woke with a start. The terror-filled screams of the man lying beside her broke the stillness of the early morning hour. Just as she was about to shake the shoulder of her companion in an effort to awaken him from his nightmare, A.J. flew upright.  His eyes were wide open, and held both fear and horror. His entire body trembled as he sat there, completely disoriented to his surroundings.

 

     The woman next to him sat up.

 

"A.J.?"

 

She could feel the beads of perspiration that coated A.J.’s back as she laid her right palm against his bare skin. Getting no response, she reached over and turned the bedside lamp on to a soft glow. The light it threw off enabled her to see A.J.'s pale face, tangled blond hair dampened with streaks of sweat, and trembling limbs.

 

     "A.J.?"

 

     The combination of the light from the small lamp, and the woman's gentle voice, was enough to bring A.J. back from that horror-filled place of long ago. He blinked his eyes a few times, then let out a ragged sigh while willing his hands to stop shaking.

 

     "A.J.? Are you okay?”

 

     Without looking at the woman, A.J. replied hoarsely, "Yeah...yes, I'm fine."

 

     "Are you sure?"

     A.J. finally glanced at his blond companion and gave her what he hoped would pass for a smile.

 

"Yes, Dianna, I'm...I’m sure. I'm fine. I'm sorry...sorry I woke you."

     Rubbing her hand A.J.’s back Dianna assured him, "That's all right.  It doesn't matter."  She paused, then asked,  "Would you like to talk about it?  The dream? What was it about?"

     A.J. turned away from the woman and untangled his legs from the sheet and blanket. "No...no, I don't want to talk about it." Hastily he added, "I don’t remember anything about it."

 

     "You were yelling Rick's name over and over again, just like a few nights ago," she prompted. "Was the dream about Rick?"

 

     "I don't remember." A.J. mumbled as he climbed out of bed and reached for his robe. "I'm going downstairs for a few minutes."

 

     "You want some company?"   

 

     Smiling at her thoughtfulness, A.J. bent and kissed her cheek as he belted his robe. "No, you go back to sleep. I know you've got an early meeting in the morning." When he could see Dianna was about to protest, A.J. said, "I'm just getting a glass of juice. I'll be back in a little while."     

 

     "Okay, if you're sure."

 

     "I'm sure. Now go back to sleep," A.J. ordered playfully, pointing a finger at his girlfriend.

 

    Dianna gave A.J. a mock salute as she snuggled back down in the bed.  “Yes, sir.”

 

     The woman had already turned her back to A.J., so therefore didn't see the odd expression that had crossed his face when she saluted him.

 

A.J. hesitated a moment longer as images from his nightmare assaulted his brain, then shut off the lamp and quietly made his way to the kitchen.

 

______________

 

 

     At five-thirty that same morning, Dianna heard the kitchen door shut and knew A.J. had just left the house for his morning run. About forty-five minutes earlier than usual, she noted.

 

Boy, that must have been one heck of a tall glass of juice,

 

The woman shook her head and smiled as she grabbed her robe off the end of the bed, threw back the covers, and headed for bathroom to shower.

 

     Dianna knew it had been two-twenty when A.J.'s screams had awakened her, she also knew that he had never come back to bed. She had been awake on and off the rest of the night, and had heard him pacing the downstairs floor on several occasions. More than once she had almost gotten up to see if he would talk to her about the dream that was obviously bothering him. But in the end, she never had. Just like she hadn't pressured him to talk one night last week when he had woken up screaming Rick's name. They had been at her house that time.  And, just like this morning, A.J. had made it clear he didn't want to discuss the matter. He hadn't gotten up and paced the floor at Dianna’s home, but he had tossed and turned for the remainder of the night until dawn arrived and he got up to run. Because of all that tossing and turning, Dianna knew A.J. hadn't gone back to sleep. A fact he denied when she questioned him about it over breakfast.

 

     Thinking about it now, Dianna supposed she never pushed the issue with A.J. in part, because both times he had been so adamant about not wanting to discuss the dream, and in part because she didn't want to overstep her boundaries.

 

     Dianna and A.J. were sharing a very special and intimate relationship, yet they were both independent people who also had demanding careers. The times they had shared together in the last seven months had been wonderful, but as well, the times they had been apart had been good for both of them, too. They didn't need to be with each other constantly, like most new couples do, and each had maintained various parts of their lives separately from their times as a couple. For now, that's the way they both wanted it. That's the way it worked best for them. Therefore, Dianna wasn't sure she had the right to pry further into something A.J., for the moment, chose not to share with her.

 

     The spray of the hot shower felt good on her shoulders as Dianna's mind moved ahead to the busy Wednesday she had before her. Her last thought concerning A.J. and his nightmares was, Oh well, I guess we all have bad dreams from time to time. Maybe he really doesn't remember anything about them like he says. And even if he does, I suppose that's A.J.'s business. I don't have the right to be nosy and pry into something he doesn't want to discuss."

 

 

 

S&S     S&S     S&S     S&S     S&S     S&S

 

 

 

     "Hey, A.J.! You awake over there, little brother?" Rick Simon inquired at four o'clock on Friday afternoon.

 

     "Yes, I'm awake," came the annoyed answer, as A.J. looked up from his paperwork to meet his brother's gaze. "I'm not the one who falls asleep when there's work to be done. That's your job, Rick."

 

     Moving from the filing cabinets, Rick perched on a corner of his brother's desk. "I don't know about that. I think you were noddin' off over those papers. Sure looked like it to me anyway."

 

     "I was not! Your imagination's working overtime again. You're bored, that's your problem." A.J. stood and poured himself a cup of coffee. "Mom's always warned me not to let you get bored. She always says, 'When Rick gets bored Rick gets into trouble. Keep him busy, A.J.  That's what I used to do when he was little.  It helped keep me sane.'"

 

     Smiling, A.J. picked up the papers on his desk. "So, in an effort to keep you out of trouble, and in an effort to keep me sane, I'll let you fill out the rest of these reports you claim I was sleeping over."

 

     "Oh no, I can't do that." Rick protested. "I made a promise to Mom and Dad when we were kids that I'd never do your homework for you. We all knew ya’ really needed to struggle through it on your own, what with your low I.Q. and all, and when--"

 

     "Oh, give me a break!"

 

     Rick continued as if he hadn't been interrupted. "And when we went into business together, I promised Mom I’d make you do your own work. She's always told me, 'Now, honey, A.J. needs to do his own paperwork no matter how difficult it is for him. He won't learn any other way. Be patient with your brother, Rick, it's not his fault he's not as smart as you are.'"

 

     Rick ignored the expression on A.J.'s face, which was a cross between mock anger, and a smile that was trying to break through. "So see, A.J., I have a promise to keep to our mom. I just can't do your work for ya’, little brother. It wouldn't be right. Just take your time.  Mom and I don't expect more from you than you can give, A.J.  We understand these things come hard for you. Don't worry, despite all that, Mom loves you almost as much as she loves me."

 

     "Oh, ha, ha, ha. You're a real comedian. I've got news for you, big brother.  I wouldn't have let you do my homework for me, even if you would have paid me for the privilege. As a matter of fact, I seem to remember doing some eighth grade math papers when I was nine, just to help someone out who was behind in his assignments, as usual."

     Rick smiled. "Like I said, I always was the smart one."

 

     "Yeah, well if that's true, how come the papers I did for you earned A's, and the ones you did earned C's?"

 

     "Mmmm....that's a good question, A.J. I'll have to think on it for a while."

 

     "Yeah, you do that. Just don't think too hard. You might melt down what few brain cells you have left."

 

     Rick laughed at the sarcastic teasing, then asked, "Okay, Okay, whatta ya’ need help with?"

 

     A.J. shook his head. "Nothing. I was only kidding. I'm almost done here."

     "A.J., I can help. I'm done with the security reports I was filing. I'm just waiting for that call from Abby. Now whatta ya’ want me to do?"

 

     "Nothing.  Thanks anyway."

 

Rick looked down at his sibling.  "What did Bob tell you the last time you were in the hospital with pneumonia?”

 

     “I don’t know.  What?”    

 

“You know perfectly what. He told you that you had to learn to slow down a little. That you had to learn you can't do everything by yourself. That things don't always have to be perfect."

 

     "Oh, for Heaven's sake, Rick, you don't get pneumonia from doing paperwork. Besides, I haven't been in the hospital with that in three years now."

     "Yeah, and if you keep goin' the way you have been for the past few months, you're gonna end up right back in there." Giving his brother a warning glare, Rick ordered, "Now let me help you finish those."

 

     Rolling his eyes, A.J. conceded. "All right, all right. I've only got two left.  You take one and I'll take one."

 

     Taking the paper A.J. held out, Rick crossed to his desk. "I'll race ya.’ I bet I'll finish first, what with your lower mental abilities and--"

 

     "Rick..."

 

     Rick's high-pitched laugh was all that was heard, then nothing but the scratch of pen on paper for the next fifteen minutes.

 

     A.J. had two lines left before he could call his report complete.  He leaned back in his chair for a moment, taking a break and rubbing his hand over tired eyes.

 

     "Headache?"

     Rick's voice startled him. The blond man hadn't heard his brother approach as Rick put his finished paperwork on A.J.’s desk.

 

     "No, no headache. I'm just a little tired, that's all."

     "Ah, I was right. You were dozin’ off over your work," Rick gloated. Before A.J. could protest that fact again, Rick teased, "Too much sex?"

     A.J. looked up at his brother and smiled. "Yep, that's the problem."

 

     "Well, that's understandable. I mean, if I had a woman like Dianna, I--"

 

     "In your dreams, Rick."

 

    Rick threw his brother a dirty look at the dry teasing. "As I was sayin,’ if I was seeing a woman like Dianna, I wouldn't be worrying about sleep either.  But, A.J., I want ya’ to remember you're not as young as you used to be. A man gets to be your age, he's got to think of his heart. So take it easy, no rough stuff, and you better limit yourself to once every three weeks."

 

     "Oh, that way I'll be getting it as much as you do and you won't be jealous anymore, huh?"

 

     “I got no reason to be jealous, A.J. There’s plenty of phone numbers in my little black book.”

 

     “No kidding. Last time I saw your ‘little black book,’ it was the size of a dictionary.”

 

     “Yep, it’s getting kinda heavy to haul around,” Rick chuckled, before a serious note overtook his tone.  "Just take it easy, okay? You've been lookin’ pretty tired lately. You'd better get some rest this weekend. Tell Dianna to give you a break."

 

     "Yeah, yeah," A.J. agreed. "That won't be too hard, I guess. She’s in Houston for a convention this weekend."

 

     Rick walked over and turned the TV on to CNN.  He kept half an eye on the news about the Gulf War while asking A.J., "So, what are you doin' tomorrow?"

     "I've got some things to do around the house, and then I promised Mom I'd hang that new storm door for her. It's been two weeks since you went and picked it up. I haven't had a chance to get over there yet and work on it like she asked me to."

     "What time are you goin’ over there?"

 

     "I don't know. I've got to call her tonight and find out when she wants me there.  Why?"

     "No reason." Rick replied as he watched the news. “I was just wondering.”

 

     "You weren't actually thinking of offering your assistance, were you?"

     Rick’s attention remained focused on the TV screen that was showing an interview with an American fighter pilot. "Oh no, A.J., Mom knows I'm too intelligent to do that kind of manual labor. That's why she asked you.  It's good therapy for you. 

You know, fitting the right little screw in the right little hole--"

 

     Deciding he'd had enough of this conversation for one day, A.J. cut his brother off.  "All right, I've heard enough about my I.Q. for one day." Changing the subject, the blond man asked, "What big plans do you have tomorrow that are preventing you from helping me at Mom's?"

 

     Rick glanced at his brother from the chair he now occupied in front of the TV. "Some of us from Vietnow are goin’ down to Balboa Park. There's gonna be a minister there giving a little sermon and prayer for the kids over in the Gulf, and then we're holding a support rally. I was gonna ask you if you wanted to come along."

 

     "No...no, I don't think so." A.J. broke eye contact with Rick. "Maybe some...maybe some other time."

 

     "Aw, come on, A.J., for old times sake. It should bring back some memories of your protest days."

 

     A.J. looked at his brother, not sure how to take Rick's comment. He could immediately see though, that Rick didn't mean anything by it. He was just stating a fact in a teasing manner.

 

     Ever since Rick's problem with Delayed Stress Disorder several years back, the elder Simon had become involved with the Vietnow organization. A.J. was happy about that. He felt it finally put Rick in contact with other men just like himself. Men who had fought in Vietnam, and who had come home to little or no gratitude because of it. Men who had experienced the same horrors Rick had, and had dealt with the same feelings of despair and loneliness.

 

     Therefore, A.J. was glad that Rick had this organization to be a part of, but it was Rick's, not his. A.J. didn't feel he belonged there, and had never attended anything Rick had invited him to. A.J. had even told his older brother this once - that he didn't feel he belonged there, that it was something just for Nam vets, and that he – A.J. - respected that fact. After that, Rick rarely asked A.J. if he wanted to attend any special events.  On several occasions Rick had assured his younger brother that he understood how he felt. Rick even went so far as to tell A.J. he'd feel out of place at one of A.J.'s bull sessions with his old college buddies, so he could see why A.J. would feel out of place with a bunch of vets who were getting together with the sole purpose of discussing a long ago war. The fact that A.J. protested that war was never brought up by Rick at those times.  It hadn't been for several years, as a matter of fact.

 

     Shaking himself loose of his reverie, A.J. realized Rick was still awaiting his answer about the rally.

 

"The only memories I have of my protest days are that my feet still hurt from all that standing," A.J. said lightly. Shaking his head, he finally gave Rick his answer. "No, I'd better not. I promised Mom I'd get that door on tomorrow, and I've got some things to get done at my place, too."

 

     Shrugging, Rick turned back to the TV. "Okay. I just thought if you weren't doing anything, ya’ might want to come with me."

 

     "Yeah, well, I've really got to get over to Mom's, and I've got a leaky faucet at my house that I've put off fixing for the last three weeks, so I'd better pass this time." A.J. stood and grabbed his suit coat off the back of his chair. "I'm going on home. I'll see you Monday."

 

     "Why don't you stick around a few minutes?  We can go out for dinner. I just wanna watch a little more of this.  Wait another ten minutes, then I'll be ready to go."

 

     A.J. glanced at the television, where a newsman was now interviewing frightened Israeli children who were discussing a recent scud missile attack. He looked away from the screen as he said, "No, I've got some stops to make. I need to get to the post office and the bank before they close."

     "We can leave right now if you want to," Rick said as he reached for remote control.

 

     "No, that's all right. Go ahead and watch the news. I'll eat at home tonight."

 

    "All right, if that's the way you want it, but I was gonna buy."

 

     "Some other time."

     "My offer to buy might not be good another time."

 

     Rolling his eyes, A.J. said dryly, "Believe me, Rick, I know that." The blond headed for the door.  "I'll see you Monday."

 

     "Yeah, see ya' Monday. Have a good weekend."

 

     A.J. had taken three steps into the hall when his brother called him back.

 

"Hey, A.J.! Don't forget, to the right, tight, to the left, loose."

 

     "What the hell are you talking about?" A.J. asked as he peeked his head back in the door.

 

     "At Mom's tomorrow, with the screwdriver, little brother. Remember, to the right is tight, to the left is loose."

 

     "Get lost," A.J. replied as he shut the door behind him, hearing Rick's shout of, "Just trying to help you out, A.J.! I know how difficult these kind of things are for you."

 

     As A.J. got into the elevator he could still hear his older brother's laughter. He looked Heavenward and said, "Why couldn't I have had an older sister instead?"

 

     A.J. didn’t get an answer from above, but then he wasn’t expecting one.  He shut the gate and hit the button that would take him to the lobby.  He wanted to get his errands done, then head home.  He was exhausted, and desired nothing more than an early supper, an early bedtime hour, and a night without bad dreams.

 

 

S&S     S&S     S&S     S&S     S&S     S&S

 

 

    It was so dark, so pitch black, that he could hardly see his hand in front of his face. And damn it, where was Rick? Rick was the one who had said, "No matter what, A.J., we stay together. We don't get separated. Stay right behind me." So now where was big brother? The jungle was quiet except for the usual nighttime noises of rustling foliage, or the occasional roar of a tiger that was doing a nocturnal forge for food. A.J. knew there were other men around them, men from their patrol, but again, because of the darkness, he couldn't clearly see them. They’d been sent to flush out snipers that were hiding somewhere in this mess of tangled vines and undergrowth, that's why they had to be so quiet. That's why he couldn't call out to Rick, couldn't try to determine where his brother had gotten off to.

 

     Suddenly the silence around him ceased as rapid gunfire came from the area of a cliff in front of him. From behind A.J. came the gunfire of his own platoon, returning as good as they got. Well, for a few minutes anyway. It didn't take long for them to determine that they were badly outnumbered. How many Vietcong were in front of him, A.J. had no idea, only that there were a lot. How many men he had behind him, A.J. knew exactly. When they started out their journey there were twelve, and he had seen the bodies of three as he retreated, so that left nine. Nine including Rick, who seemed to have gotten himself lost somewhere along the way.

 

     The confusion on the part of his own platoon, and the escalation of gunfire on the part of the enemy, combined to force A.J.'s men to retreat. Some were backing up in an orderly fashion while still returning Charlie's gunfire, while others were racing through the jungle in terror. A.J. was the one attempting to keep some kind of control over the whole situation. Attempting to lead his men out in some kind of organized manner, as a leader should do.

 

     A.J. was trotting backwards, returning what gunfire he could, when he tripped over something and landed on his back, dropping his gun in the process. Without having to look, A.J. knew he’d fallen over a body. Crawling onto his hands and knees, he recovered his gun. He leaned over the body to see if the man was alive or dead. It was then that A.J. looked into the unseeing eyes of his older brother. The blond man didn't even have to reach for a pulse point, he knew Rick was dead. A silent attacker had slit the man’s throat from ear to ear.

 

     Although a part of him knew it was important to be quiet, important to continue to lead his men to safety, A.J. didn't care. He didn't care about anything as he leaned over his beloved big brother and scream, R...I...C...K! Rick!"

 

______________

 

 

     "Rick! Rick! No, Rick!"

     A.J. Simon screamed himself awake, only to discover he was in his own bed in San Diego, and not in some jungle in Vietnam. This time there was no sleeping companion to help A.J. orient himself to his surroundings as he lay panting for breath in the darkness. A darkness that made the dream he had just experienced seem all too real.

 

     When A.J.'s heart quit racing he slowly he sat up.  He thought about the dreams, and about why he was having them again. He finally threw back the covers and got out of bed. He knew further attempts at sleep would prove futile. He glanced at the bedside clock to see it was two a.m. He wondered just what a person does at this time on a Saturday morning to keep himself busy until dawn, when the rest of the world begins to stir.

 

A.J. slipped into his blue bathrobe and headed down the stairs. He switched on lights in an effort to wipe away the terror of the dream. 

 

The detective sighed as he sank into the easy chair in the den. By the way his hands were trembling, A.J. knew the nightmare wasn’t ready to release its grip on him just yet, regardless of how bright the lights were. 

 

 

 

S&S     S&S     S&S     S&S     S&S     S&S

 

 

     "Damn it!

 

     "Oh, shit!

 

     "Son of a bitch, this damn thing isn't fitting right!"

 

     Cecilia Simon was working in her backyard replanting some flowers and small bushes. She tried to ignore the profanity coming from the north side of her house, where A.J. was hanging the new storm door for her.

 

     Three weeks earlier San Diego was hit by torrential rains that wrecked havoc on many homes and yards. Cecilia had spent two days picking up branches and twigs from her lawn, and was now replacing the foliage that had been ruined. She was lucky in that the only damage done to her house was the kitchen storm door that had been torn from its hinges and destroyed. Rick had volunteered to use his truck and pick up a new door for her, which he had done a few days after the storm. At that time, Cecilia had asked A.J. to hang the door for her when he had some free time.

 

     If Cecilia had known the language involved in getting the new door in place would make a sailor blush, she would have asked Rick to do this chore instead. This was precisely the reason Cecilia hadn't asked Rick. The language being used by A.J. to accomplish the project was what the woman expected of her eldest. In asking A.J., Cecilia had been attempting to honor the reputation of her Mission Bay neighborhood that was known to be a quiet, sedate place to live.

 

     At least that's the reputation it had gained once the Simon boys had grown up and moved out of their mother's home.

 

     Cecilia smiled a little and shook her head as she heard another, "Shit!" Obviously A.J. was having major problems with that door. In one area Cecilia's boys were exactly alike. They both had little patience when it came to working on something that was causing them aggravation. Much like this storm door was evidently doing to her youngest right now.

 

     Cecilia had to admit she was a surprised at A.J., and wondered at the cause of his short temper. She had long ago learned what each of her sons had a knack for doing when it came to home repairs.  Therefore, when she had a request of one of them, Cecilia carefully chose the correct man for the job, just so she could avoid hearing the kind of language that was drifting to her now.

 

I wonder what A.J.'s in such a foul mood over today? This is usually the kind of job he enjoys doing, or at least does with  few problems.

 

     And, that was true. When it came to hanging wallpaper, or tinkering with something like this door that required detailed measuring and fitting, A.J. was the son Cecilia called upon. When it came to cleaning out the dusty, cluttered garage, or helping her paint the living room, it was usually Rick she asked.

 

     Shrugging her shoulders, Cecilia chalked it up to a bad day for her youngest son.  She returned her attention to what she was doing, while ignoring the occasional profanity and sounds of disgust that drifted into her backyard. Cecilia hoped the neighbors would ignore all of it as well.

 

 

______________

 

 

     A.J. walked into his mother's kitchen forty-five minutes later.  He smiled at her as he washed his hands at the kitchen sink.

 

"All done, Mom. Rick picked out a top-of-the-line door for you. I think this one will last through even the fiercest of storms."

     Cecilia glanced at her youngest from where she was cutting up fresh broccoli, and commented dryly, "I certainly hope so, dear. I don't think the neighbors can take another afternoon of the strong language they've been hearing come from this place."

     "Oh, come on, Mom! It wasn't that bad."

     Cecilia shot her son a half smile with a look that told him, yes, it had been that bad.

 

     "Okay, Okay," A.J. acknowledged as he leaned against the counter and snitched a piece of broccoli. "Maybe it did give me a little trouble."

 

     "A lot, A.J."

     Sighing, A.J. agreed when he realized he wasn't going to win this battle. "All right, you win. It gave me a lot of trouble."

 

     “Thank you for putting the door on,” Cecilia said while moving to the stove to put the finishing touches on supper. "But you know, sweetheart, if you didn't want to work on this project today, all you had to do was say so. It could have waited."

 

     "What makes you think I didn’t want to work on it? I promised you on Tuesday I would."

 

     “You just seemed rather...short-tempered. I didn't mean for you to make a special trip over here. Maybe you had other plans."

 

     "No, I didn’t have other plans. I wanted to get the door hung." Shrugging his shoulders, A.J. apologized to his mother. "I'm sorry if I was out-of-sorts. I'm just a little...tired, that's all."

 

     "That's okay, honey. It's not like I've never heard you, or your brother, or even your father for that matter, swear over a frustrating project. It's a male thing." Cecilia teased her son.   "I was just concerned that I had imposed on you, that's all."

 

     "No, you didn't impose on me." A.J. smiled slyly. "And speaking of swearing, it's not like Rick or I have never heard you swear over a frustrating project either, Mom."

     "Andrew Simon, that's not true!"

 

     "Oh, I think it is. Who kept the cool head when we were wallpapering your bathroom last fall? Gee, Mom, I think it was me." A.J. reached for more broccoli while continuing with his teasing. "And, who was the person that said, 'Damn it' three times in a row? I think that was you."

     Cecilia was forced to acknowledge that A.J. had won a small victory. "All right, son, I get the message." The woman wasn’t about to give in completely though. "But that was a frustrating project. And at least the neighbors couldn't hear me."

 

     "Good point," A.J. conceded. "I bet old Mrs. Witt was straining her neck this afternoon, trying to see if Rick had moved back home."

 

     "I bet she was, too. She likely had one hand on the telephone ready to call Century 21 if she caught so much as a glimpse of him."

 

     A.J. laughed then said, "I'm going to wash up. Leave these plates, I'll set the table for you."

 

     "You don't have to. I can do it."

 

     A.J. walked toward the half bath that was off the kitchen. "No, Mom, I insist. You made dinner, and I never intended for you to feed me anyway, so just sit down and relax. I'll do the table when I'm done washing."

 

     Cecilia decided she wouldn't buck A.J.'s offer twice. She poured a cup of coffee and turned on the thirteen inch TV that was tucked under one a kitchen cabinet. The woman sat at her breakfast bar and kept one ear on the news that was being broadcast about the Persian Gulf War.  At the same time she called to her youngest son, who was now in the bathroom washing his hands, "Have you and Rick been doing all-night stakeouts this week, A.J.?"

     "No,” came the answer from the other room.  “Why?”

 

     "I was just wondering, that's all," Cecilia said as she recalled A.J.'s admission from earlier that he was a little tired. She thought he looked very tired, and had thought that when she had seen him earlier in the week, as well. She had assumed then, that her sons were working some late night jobs.

 

     Cecilia thrust her concerns to the back of her mind. A.J. hated being fussed over, and she knew she did enough of it when it was warranted. For now, the woman let the subject of A.J.’s weariness drop.  She wanted a pleasant dinner with her son, not one that was otherwise.

 

     "Are you and Dianna doing anything special tomorrow?"

     A.J. reentered the kitchen.  He picked up the plates and silverware from the counter top. "No. She's at a convention in Houston this weekend. She won't be home until Monday afternoon."

 

     "Oh, so that's why you had time for me today."

 

     A.J. turned from where he was setting the table. "Mom! I always have time for you."

 

     "Yes, honey, you do,” Cecilia smiled, acknowledging the truth to A.J.'s words. Both her sons always had time for her, no matter how busy they were. “I was only teasing.”

 

     Cecilia returned her attention to the TV set.  "You seem to enjoy Dianna's company. You two have been seeing a lot of each other lately."

 

     "Yes, Mother, I enjoy Dianna's company, and we have been seeing a lot of each other. But no, Mother, don't send out the wedding invitations yet."

    "Don't worry, dear, I wasn't planning on it.” Cecilia patted A.J.'s back as she rose to pull dinner out of the oven. "If I sent wedding invitations out every time I thought you or your brother were serious about some woman, I'd be in the poor house."

     A.J. chuckled.  "Yeah, Mom, you probably would be."

     Cecilia pulled warm rolls and a chicken casserole out of the oven, while A.J. poured lemonade in the glasses he had set at the table. As they sat down together and began to fill their plates, Cecilia asked, "You don't mind if I leave the TV on, do you? I haven't had a chance to hear any updates on the Gulf War today, have you?"

 

     A.J.'s hand stopped in mid-air as he was reaching for a dinner roll. "Uh...no, I...I haven't been listening to the news today."

 

     "Oh, wasn't that the radio you had on when you were hanging the door? I thought I heard a Beach Boys song playing."

 

     A.J. resumed picking up a roll from the basket. "No, that wasn't the radio, that was my tape player. Every time you turn on the radio or TV these days all you get is news on the war. I was in the mood for a change, I guess."

 

     Cecilia reached for the steamed broccoli. She dished some up for herself, then passed the bowl to her son. "Maybe you'd rather I turn the TV off...if you're sick of listening to all this, that is."

 

     "No, that’s okay." A.J. smiled across the table at his mother, hoping his unease at what was on the television didn't show. “Leave it on.”

 

     As they started eating, and Cecilia started chitchatting about the new neighbors down the block, A.J. assumed his tension wasn't obvious to his mother. He was relieved at that thought as he focused his attention his mother’s words. Even A.J. was able to ignore the news of bombing runs and skud missile attacks, as he chuckled over a story his mother was relating about the new neighbors. The family had two little boys, five and ten years old, whose antics were similar to those of two other little boys Cecilia once knew. Soon mother and son were laughing together as the stories turned into those of the two boys that used to live in Cecilia Simon's house, and the various antics and stunts they had pulled during their growing up years.

 

 

 

S&S     S&S     S&S     S&S     S&S     S&S

 

 

 

     His arms were clamped behind his back as he struggled to flee. Why was it always so damn humid in this place - so damn hot? The sweat ran down his face and into his eyes, blurring his vision. It didn't help any that he was fighting to break free of the restraining holds that held him in place.

 

     A.J. and his men had walked right into a trap. Now they were being held captive, and he had no doubt they would all be tortured until the Vietcong got the information they were seeking. They had already beaten A.J. unmercifully, but he had managed to hang on and not reveal anything that would be of use to them. ‘Now what do they have planned?’ he wondered, as they dragged him out of a grass hut and into an open clearing.

 

     It took four of the small Vietnamese men to hold onto the struggling A.J. as he got his first glimpse of what was planned for him next. For there, in front of the blond man tied securely to a post, was Rick. A horribly beaten and disfigured Rick. A.J. knew now, that they planned to beat and torture his brother until he, - A.J. - talked. They had finally figured out how to hurt A.J. the most. How to get from him exactly what they wanted.

 

     A.J.'s vision blurred with unshed tears when a fist slammed into Rick's stomach over and over again. Rick's cry of pain echoed in the clearing as the older Simon was hit across the back with a thick wooden board.

 

     A.J. waged an inner battle with himself as his brother's beating continued. He was a soldier, fighting for his country. It was his duty not to talk, not to reveal anything he might know. Other's lives could be put in jeopardy if he gave in to the Vietcong’s demands. But it wasn't fair! This was his brother, this was Rick. Always A.J.'s protector, and now, when Rick needed his younger brother to protect him, A.J. couldn't return the favor.

 

     As Rick cried out in pain again, A.J. struggled harder, frantic in his efforts to break free. When A.J. caught sight of the gun placed against Rick's right temple, he shouted, "No! No! Let me go! Rick! Rick! No!"

     "Let me go! Let me go to my brother! Rick! Rick! No! Oh God, no!"

 

 

______________

 

     Cecilia Simon sat on her couch beside her wildly thrashing son.  She grasped his wrists, attempting to waken him from his nightmare. A.J. had fallen asleep on the sofa at eight o'clock that evening, when they were just fifteen minutes into a movie Cecilia had rented. At ten-thirty, when he hadn't so much as moved a muscle, Cecilia had covered her youngest son with a blanket and gone to bed. She couldn't bring herself to wake A.J. up, though she knew he'd chew her out in the morning for not doing so. It was just so apparent to Cecilia that her son was exhausted; therefore she didn't want him driving home.

 

     Cecilia’s bedside clock registered one twenty-four a.m. when she awakened to A.J.'s shouts. It had taken the woman a moment to calm her racing heart, and to remember that her youngest son was sleeping downstairs and that it was his shouts she was hearing. Cecilia had grabbed her robe then and headed down the hallway. She descended the stairs to the living room below, flipping on lights as she went along. When she came upon her son, Cecilia saw the blanket she had laid over him was now in a balled up heap on the floor. A.J.'s hair was plastered to his forehead as sweat ran down his face.  His red polo shirt clung to his chest where circles of perspiration dampened it.

 

     Cecilia sat now, trying to calm her son. "A.J.! A.J.! Wake up! A.J., wake up!"

     "No, let me go! Rick! Let me go to my brother!"

     Cecilia was mindful of the fact that A.J. was a strong man as she continued her attempts to awaken him. She had to bring him out of his nightmare, but at the same time she didn't want to be  hit or attacked by the thrashing man who had no idea who was holding his wrists.

 

     Releasing A.J.'s arms, Cecilia stood and shook his shoulder. She shouted in order to be heard over his screams for Rick.

 

"Andrew! Andrew, wake up now! A.J., I mean it, wake up!"

     With that last command, A.J. abruptly shot up. His eyes were wide open as he frantically scanned the room. For a few moments, he had no idea where he was. Finally, A.J. came to the realization he was in his mother's living room. But how and why?

 

     Before A.J. could answer those questions for himself, a hand squeezed his shoulder.

 

"A.J.? Sweetheart?"

A.J. turned his head and looked at Cecilia long enough to    glimpse the worry showing from her face. He closed his eyes then, turning away from her and taking a deep breath. Of all the people he didn't want participating in his nightmare, his mother was one of them. Well, his mother and his older brother to be exact. If A.J. had to list the names of one hundred people that he didn't want to know about these recent dreams, his mom and Rick would have been numbers one and two on that list. He'd interchange their order of appearance with those two numbers depending on how he needed to. Right now, A.J.'s mother would definitely be number one on his list of, ‘people who don't need to know about these dreams.’

 

     "A.J.? A.J., are you all right? Talk to me please, I'm worried about you."

 

     A.J. finally gave in to the inevitable and opened his eyes. He knew from years of experience that ignoring Cecilia Simon woul