The Broken Soldier

…thy name is Jimison.  Yeah.

My brother visited yesterday.  Back from Iraq Cody.  We played Rainbow 6 Las Vegas on 360.  It felt good to shoot again, if only by way of a wireless controller.  After a while the simulated violence and out-of-practice respawning got on my nerves.  As well, it’s hard to play laying down.  I suggested we have a cig break.  We talked for a while.  I showed him our disrepaired pool.  Pretty sad.  Leaves and dirty water.  I can’t keep up with it.

We talked a bit more.  About his deployment.  About what he intends to do now that he’s no longer interested in making a career out of the Army.  He’s still unsure.  Cases of that feeling seem to be going around.  I’m always impressed with Cody.  Given where we were brought up, and by whom, he has really turned out well.  I’d say we’re quintessential ‘nature over nurture’ types, but our natures aren’t so good either.

We got to talking with a neighbor a few houses down.  I don’t know her very well.  She has a nephew at Walter Reed.  Had his legs blown off and shrapnel throughout his body courtesy of an IED.  Army’s trying to show him the door for $10k.  Thanks for your service (and your legs) young man.  Here’s your lovely parting gift.  The price of an average used car, and all the substandard line of duty injury-related health care you care to tolerate.  I couldn’t stand to hear anymore.  We went back inside to play Rock Band.

Found out my wife is quite the little drummer.  Cody, star-grabbing asshole that he is, had to take lead guitar (and wouldn’t even share with his brother).  If we had parents, I’d tell.  I was relegated to bass.  Something especially ego-crushing given my musical background.  I mean shit, of all the people in the room, I can safely say I’m the only one who’d soloed at Notre Dam (Paris), Wesley’s Chapel (UK), St. Mark’s (Venice), and the side of the frickin’ Matterhorn to throngs of drunken Swiss.  Or Swisses.  Or The Suisse.  Or whatever the hell a lot of Swiss people are called.  I think it was a trick to get me to sing instead.  Playing off my musical vanity.  Good technique really.  They know me so well.  Always the perfectionist, I had smoked too much, and was in too much pain to focus well enough to sing.  Even for a two person, one dog audience on Cinco de Mayo.

Just playing bass on Rock Band for an hour in semi-sitting up position has me laid up.  Probably for the next several days.  So I’ll be laying down all day.  At least until my wife gets home to take me to my MRI appointment at 7 p.m.  How’d I get so damned fragile?  Oh yeah, almost forgot.  Close to a year and half of neglect from the same folks who brought you $10k for a young man’s legs.