FICTION
Rainbow Soldier
written by ANDY HAFTKOWYCZ
illustration by ANNETTE DRAPAC
Dedicated to Lydia Haftkowycz
He awoke from the slumber and lamented the dawn that was peering in from the window. It had been the third time since the new year that Jeff was stuck in the hospital and his aliment was starting to get the better of him. He could see his legs spread slightly underneath the covers and, though he wanted so desperately to use them, he knew they were now sticks, forever glued to his frail skeleton. The light was so intense from the window and it had been almost three weeks since he gazed upon the sun. The window was only three feet from his bed. He could make it; he could see it in his mind already.
Throwing the covers off his body, his determined soul fought through the absent pain, and now he knew what his mission was: to see the sunrise. He whipped his legs, like spaghetti, down to the floor. Being cold was all they could do for him now; they could be warm, and they could be cold. The machine he was attached to beeped and he whirled it around his bed. Using any strength the chemo hadn't taken from him, he thrust his body up with his arms, took half a step and fell on his shoulder. He glimpsed at the shining beast before hitting the ground.
A buzzing sound came from the machine, and within seconds two nurses had come in and begun to gently pull him up. Nurse Flanning, the hefty woman whom Jeff had come to hate so much, came in with a boatload of wisdom.
"I don't know what was so important to see Mr. Deseo, but I hope your shoulder thanks you for it," she said in an irritating tone. Jeff started to shed a tear as he held back his feelings, his failures, and his dignity. "I mean really, maybe you should think about the people who care for you," she went on to say.
"The people? What people?" he screamed in a tear choked voice. "Who have you seen visit me, my coke addict brother, or was it my ex-wife in Cabo? I don't have anyone, so who cares if I die tomorrow?" Jeff said angrily and cried to himself. Nurse Flanning, now feeling guilty, said, "I'm sorry dear, but I want you to be more careful. It's… It's my job." He looked away, empty of a response. And so she left, leaving him alone with the nurse's aid.
The aid looked at him with pity. He was still sucking up the tears and looking for that glorious sunset. "I'm real sorry mista, this ain't easy stuff," she said to him. "I know you don't have much to do, but maybe call one of your friends, one of your old workers. I'm sure they would love to come see you."
He just kept looking, thinking about how much of a socialite he hadn't been in his life. He didn't have anyone to call, much less any money to pay for a call. "I'm Malinda, and please call someone, anyone… for a friend," she said and stretched out her hand with a warming smile.
Jeff never much cared for being friendly, and he wasn't too fond of people with darker skin, but he stretched out his hand with a tight grip and a frowned face and said, "If I'm not dead tomorrow I'll do it." She almost lost her smile at those words, then finished up and left.
Jeff was now alone, alone as he always was. It was just him and the leukemia eating away at his time. Hours passed, nurses strolled in and out and he kept still, an occasional tear drifting down his cheek. Then around sunset, Jeff picked up the phone and dialed 11 numbers at random.
As the phone rang, he cleared his throat with some water, and suddenly heard, "Hello?" on the other line. He was absent of words, not knowing what to say, so he opened his mouth and said, "I'm dying."
Cliff Benderton answered the call Jeff made. Jeff had told him all about his illness and how it was going to kill him within the year, and why he had called. Jeff asked Cliff kindly to visit him because of his lack of family and friends and gave him a location at Mercy Hurst hospital with a room number, 222. Cliff was unsure about the call, but when he looked up the number he saw that it was from the hospital.
A day later, Jeff was spooning droopily at his applesauce when into the room came a soldier dressed in camouflage fatigues, a black beret and combat boots. Jeff was shocked, and couldn't imagine why a soldier was looking for him. The man stepped towards Jeff and said, "Well… I'm Cliff." Cliff's posture was perfect and his face was quite delicate. Jeff spilled his applesauce. He hadn't thought Cliff would actually make the effort to see him. Speechless for a moment, Jeff suddenly realized the spill dripping onto his lap and quickly grabbed for a towel.
"Oh geez, I'm sorry. Come in, come in. Have a seat," Jeff said pointing to the chair next to the bed.
Cliff sat down and put his hands between his thighs, but he was really reaching for his imaginary tail. He didn't know what to think about the situation, what to say, what to talk about, when to leave.
As Jeff wiped all the sauce clean, he looked up and held out his hand to shake.
"Great day, huh… Well I guess I don't have to ask you what you do. I was an Army man myself. Did a tour in 'Nam back in '64. Met some of the finest boys there. How do you like it?"
"I love it," Cliff said as he found some common ground. "I'm an army brat. Whole family's been in the service, ever since the Civil War. Joined the day after graduation and -" He stopped as a nurse came in, looking young enough to have just graduated college.
"Mr. Deseo, it's time for your -"
"Goddamn, woman, I have company," Jeff barked at her. She was so shaken that she turned right around and flew straight out the door.
"What the hell was that?" asked Cliff.
"She interrupted us, and you're the first company I've ever had."
"And I see why. Dammit, Jeff, you have to listen to these people; respect them."
"Oh, all they do is poison me."
"They're helping you. They don't get paid to kill you."
Cliff looked away; the look on his face was shock and regret, and Jeff knew it. Jeff knew that ever since the leukemia, he had become the surly shit that no one wanted to be around. He couldn't lose this man… possibly his final friend.
"You're right," Jeff said quickly. He called the nurse in, apologized and swallowed his medication. Cliff had a smile start to peel across his face.
They talked for a while about the military, about baseball, about the economy, and the war and then the military again.
"So Cliff, how's the tail chase? I'm sure you get ladies left and right. I remember the week before I shipped out to Laos I got with a different broad every night. Good times…"
"Well… Um… Not so well…" Cliff said hesitantly.
"Why? Come on, they gotta go for a man in uniform."
"Oh, they would… but I'm gay."
Jeff's eyes bulged and he slowly turned his head forward. The thought of being friends with a homosexual chilled him. He had never known one, except for his ex-wife's hair stylist, and now here's Army Joe, patriotic as the flag and apple pie… and a queer.
Not knowing how to respond, he muttered, "How's that feel?" and then grimaced realizing what he said didn't make sense.
Cliff saw his surprise and said, "I know. Army fairy, doesn't seem to fit, but I don't see how that makes me less fit to serve my country. I put my life on the line, I know how to kill the enemy and save my brothers, and just because I go for a guy's crotch instead of a girl's, they see me as a male rapist. Huh, it's tough though… With the policy."
Jeff knew what he was talking about. Don't ask, don't tell. He was a supporter, but here was an American in every sense of the word, except for his freedom to speak about his orientation. It was then that Jeff looked back on how conceited he was as a person, all the racism in his mind, all the people he profiled, all the blatant chauvinism. He questioned it all at that moment because of this one homosexual man.
During the next two months, Jeff and Cliff saw each other on a weekly basis, then a couple times each week, and then daily. Cliff brought his parents and sister to see Jeff, and they even had lunch at the hospital with Jeff the day before he was shipped to Afghanistan. Jeff had a family for the first time since his parents were killed and he had started to replace his hatred with love.
While Cliff was in Afghanistan, Jeff worried about dying, not because of his mortality, but because he wanted to welcome back his favorite soldier.
Jeff was flipping through a magazine when he saw a camouflaged figure in the doorway. His excitement was extinguished as he noticed the man was not Cliff.
"Jeff Deseo?" he asked.
"Yes?"
"I'm a friend of Cliff Benderton. Hell of a soldier. He gave me this address in case… in case he died."
"Cliff?" Jeff said, horrified.
"I'm afraid so… KIA 10th of September. I was right behind him. One of the bravest men I've ever known. He told me to tell you something," the soldier said in anticipation.
"Well?" Jeff said, starting to tear up.
"He says 'Thank you.' That's all," said the soldier.
Jeff stretched a smile past his rolling tears, and the soldier quietly left. He was sad, but happy simultaneously. Seeing the sunlight crawling into his room, he pushed the blanket off his legs and stood up, hesitant but no longer afraid. He stumbled his way to the window and saw the sun peaking out of the silver rain clouds, just underneath a pulsating rainbow. He smiled at this most beautiful sight, and he knew that Cliff was there smiling right back at him.
Originally published in the Spring 2010 issue of The InterActivist.
