Head on a Wall

Synopsis: The horrors of war and class distinction wreak havoc on a young man's psyche.

Head on a Wall

…Riders on the storm

Riders on the storm

Into this house we’re born

Into this world we’re thrown…

The windshield wipers of this old big rig are keeping time like a metronome to the lyrics of a song which blared from the radio speakers inside my Humvee as I was leading a caravan of troop trucks in Mosul. The events of that fateful day are seared into my memory and the lonely Pacific Northwest highway and monotony of my work invite bad memories. It’s hot and dusty in Iraq and I abandon the restraints of my Kevlar helmet and unfasten my seat belt to keep cool and breathe.  I hear a pop, then a deafening blast, and I’m blinded by an amber light as my Humvee is lifted into the air. My head is thrust into the metal ceiling of the cabin and I black out.  I regain consciousness when my Humvee lands upright with a thud and a shooting pain races through my body from the broken vertebrae in my lower back. My head is aching and I can’t think straight. The bloody shredded flesh of my friends and comrades rains down upon the windshield from the troop trucks which are eviscerated by a roadside bomb.

I live on an island just off the coast of Seattle and it might as well be “Devil’s Island”. It’s a small town where everybody knows everyone and I was born and raised here. My father and I used to hike, camp, and swim on this island. He was a hard working, simple man, of few words with massive hands and a square jaw. He instilled in me a work ethic and pride in my work regardless of what the job might be and instructed me to be good to people and to myself. I never knew my mother. My dad said she left him after I was born. I was a freckle faced happy kid with bright eyes and a big smile. I’d mow the lawns of the towns old lady’s, sweep out the church, and help old doc Swenson the town vet keep the kennel clean. Doc Swenson told me I would make a good vet because I was kind to the animals. I never expected anything in return for my work but was paid enough to buy candy and soda pop. I spent time in the woods sitting amongst the tall trees and wild life dreaming of what life might be like on the mainland. My best friend was Ronda. Her mom owned the town’s sole bar and restaurant. Ronda’s mom was like a step mother to me and my dad and I were always welcome for dinner and the holidays.

I haul freshly felled timber from the dense beautiful woods on an old rig pulling a flatbed trailer my father drove for the family that owns the mill. My lower back is killing me from the wartime injury and the drugs prescribed by the VA to kill the pain only work some of the time. My headaches return frequently and make it hard to think straight or sleep. The VA doc’s want to treat me for “PTSD” but I can’t become a “zombie” addicted to their mind numbing drugs. My son and daughter need a coherent father to bring home a pay check. The pain in my head and back are excruciating. I’m imprisoned by my body and this island.

I would have never left this island but for a choice given to me by the judge hearing my breaking and entering case. My life turned for the worse when I met Robby in high school. We both played football and Robby was the son of the mill owner. Robby had good looks and money. It was good to be Robby’s friend because I received his castoffs which included toys, clothes, and girls. We got drunk one night and, at Robby’s suggestion, broke into the town store to steel beer. The judge gave me a choice of jail or enlisting in the military. I choose the Army and Robby chose the University of Washington! I’ll never forget the look of disappointment on my father’s face or his bear hug when I enlisted in the Army. The last words my father spoke to me were “I’m proud of you son”. My dad was crushed to death by a load of timber while I was in Iraq. His savings, company insurance, and social security death benefit were hardly enough to bury him. Besides me, the only people attending his funeral were Ronda and her mom, Doc Swenson, and the old lady’s in town. My father was a loyal employee of the mill for twenty five years and Robby’s family didn’t even send flowers to his funeral.

I was a “noncom” transportation specialist and our troop movements were highly secretive. There was only one civilian Iraqi stationed on base with the knowledge to “finger” the day and time of my troop caravan to the terrorists. I was determined to avenge the bombing. Late one evening on the eve of my return to the States, I used my high school breaking and entering skills to enter the Iraqi’s home. I crawled through a bedroom window as two toddlers slept. They were a beautiful boy and girl about the same age as my son and daughter. My knife was sharp and ready for revenge. I could have destroyed two innocent children and forever imprisoned that Iraqi bastard with the pain I now suffer but I chose another course. I secured the children’s bedroom door to prevent them from witnessing my revenge. I crept silently through the house reaching another bedroom. I heard sexual moaning and groaning inside. I opened the bedroom door to find a woman screwing the Iraqi. She turned and screamed. I backhanded her in the face and she fell to the floor. The Iraqi sat up in bed and reached for a gun on the night stand. I grabbed his erect phallus and testicles and with one swipe of my knife, they were in my hand. His warm blood soaked the bed. I held them close to the Iraqis face whose eyes were glassy and looked like mirrors. I saw myself in his eyes and I didn’t look familiar.  

My boyhood innocence was replaced by an avenging monster.  His wife was on her knees crying and begging in Arabic. The bastard’s eyes rolled back in his head as he died.  I slit the fat pig naval to nipple, reached in, grabbed his intestines, and pulled them from his abdomen. The entrails spilled to the floor like link sausages.  His wife crawled to my feet and hugged my angles as she begged for her life. I could have killed her but the children needed their mother. I didn’t understand Arabic but I believed she was thanking me for killing him.

As I round the bend on the dark, rain soaked highway, I approach “Ronda’s Roadhouse”.  It’s the only bar and restaurant on the island and provides a temporary escape from my physical and mental pain. My childhood friend Ronda took it over after her mom died. It’s warmly lit, customers are happy, and I always sit at my favorite table just under the mounted head of a twelve point elk with a white patch in the center of his forehead.  I named the elk “Eddy” and he is a good listener. I see my reflection in Eddy’s glass eyes and see a young man looking old for his age and my bright eyes and big grin are gone. Eddy understands my pain. Ronda is serving beer to customers at an adjacent table. Time has been good to Ronda. Her tight jeans hug her ample hips and shapely beautiful ass. Her long blond pig tails hang to her waist. She was jilted by Robby in favor of a wealthy debutante from Seattle and Ronda never married choosing to raise Robby’s child without his knowing of the birth. Ronda is a strong, proud woman and I respect her. I won’t accept her romantic advances because my kids deserve a faithful father until they’re old enough to understand. Ronda approaches and asks “the usual, baby”. My usual is a “Boilermaker” which will give me just enough of a buzz to kill my pain and enable me to get the timber to the mill before morning.

My head begins to pound and is followed by confusion and sensitivity to light. Eddy notices my discomfort and invites me to share my thoughts with him like an understanding priest. Eddy, I saw the lawyer and set up the trust for the kids. My life insurance premium is paid in full and has no suicide clause. I’m ready.  Ronda returns with my Boilermaker and remarks, “baby, why are you always staring at that silly head like you’re having a conversation with it. If you need somebody to talk to, I’m always here for you, honey”.  Ronda places my drink in front of me. I struggle to take hold of the glass and take a drink because my hand is shaking uncontrollably. “You’re having another spell, baby, let me help you”. Ronda gently takes my hand and helps guide the glass to my mouth. Her hands are soft and fragrant with lavender perfume. Damn these panic attacks!  Ronda’s large breasts brush my back as she departs swinging her beautiful ass which brings me momentary escape from my pain. Eddy tells me that “revenge isn’t sweet”. Eddy strayed from his herd and was killed for sport in front of his family. His carcass was left to rot in the woods. Robby severed Eddy’s head and left it on Ronda’s doorstep after she broke up with him. Eddy cautions me “if you exact revenge, you’ll be observing life as a head on Robby’s wall just like me”. I returned home from work early one morning to find Robby’s stylish civilian model Humvee parked outside my trailer home. I thought he came by to share a beer and talk about old times but I found him screwing my wife in our bed as our two children slept in the adjacent bedroom. I was enraged and my instinct was to mete out the same justice to Robby as I did the Iraqi but my children need their father and I need a job.  My wife was a “second string” cheerleader and out of Robby’s “league”. She chose to marry a “third string” guy. We were never happy. I stay married because my children deserve a mother and father in the house until their older. Robby’s two teenage children are more precious to Robby than money, toys, and status. I’ll avenge my humiliation and destroy Robby by killing his teenage son and daughter and committing suicide. My children will be provided for by an iron clad trust funded by a seven figure insurance payout and my emotional and physical pain will be extinguished by my suicide.  The pain is temporarily numbed by the alcohol buzz and I know it’s time to finish my work. I raise my glass to Eddy, finish the drink, and head for my rig. Ronda looks up from the cash register and says, “call me anytime, baby”.

As I pull the old tired rig onto the dark lonely highway, it strains from the heavy load of timber it carries for the benefit of Robby. I blame him for sending me off to Iraq and destroying my life and family. I look forward to killing Robby and myself. I’m ready. It’s raining heavy and I struggle to see the yellow line on the twisting road. My buzz is wearing off and the back pain is returning with a vengeance. It another ten miles to the mill and with every mile, my anger is growing. I remember the many friends that were killed in Mosul but the satisfaction I felt from killing the Iraqi face was fleeting. Robby humiliated me by screwing my wife and I’m hauling his precious timber to his mill! What kind of man am I? Why is my life a living hell? Pain is racing through my lower back, up my spine, and into my thoughts. I’m ready to kill and die! I turn up the radio and hear:

…“There’s a killer on the road

His brain is squirmin’ like a toad”…

My rig rounds the bend and emergency flashers on a stranded BMW beckon me. I downshift and apply the brakes to render aid. Nobody should be alone in the woods on a stormy night at this hour of the early morning. There is no cell phone coverage and it could be hours before another vehicle comes along. The rig comes to a sudden stop and the brakes release the compressed air which breaks the morning silence of the dense peaceful forest sending graceful birds from their nests into the dark morning sky.  It’s Robby’s teenage son and daughter who approach my door. The boy says “we’re so glad to see you!  Our car ran out of gas. Would you take us to dad’s mill with you”? Sure, get in I tell them and the two soaked kids sit alongside me. The rig struggles into gear and we drive down the road. The kids are tired and smell of booze. They quickly doze off. They’re just like their dad. They surmised that I was their dad’s employee and I didn’t warrant a proper introduction or thank you. My hand reaches into the compartment alongside my seat and finds the same long blade knife I used on the Iraqi and keep for protection. I have the perfect opportunity for revenge. Soon, Robby will know a life of hell! I don’t feel badly for Robby’s kids because one swipe of my sharp blade will sever their jugular veins. Since their both fast asleep, they won’t feel any pain and will die in their sleep.

I’ve removed the blade from its leather case and it’s in my hand and ready. The highway is straight and flat providing me with the best opportunity to slit their throats. I’ll reach around and take the boy out first just in case he fights. The girl will be easier to kill if she awakes. Just as I turn to cut the boy’s throat, a herd of elk cross the road ahead of me. I turn and grasp the steering wheel stepping down hard on the brakes to avoid hitting the herd. My rig comes to a sudden halt and the timber laden trailer “fish tails” spilling the lumber onto the highway.  The herd safely crosses the road but one elk stands his ground. The kids are awoken and shout “what’s going on”! I tell them to wait inside while I inspect the damage. The single elk moved to the side of the road and is watching me closely as I lay road flares to alert traffic of the hazard. The elk’s eyes are glistening just like Eddy’s and it sports a white patch on its forehead. The elk and I stare at each other and I can see the monster from Iraq in its mirror like eyes. I don’t like what I see and know it’s time to destroy the monster. Eddy’s progeny has reminded me of Eddy’s sage advice: “revenge isn’t sweet”. The elk runs into the woods to join the herd. I unhook the trailer from the rig and return to Robby’s kids inside the cabin. The two drunken teenagers remind me of the two Iraqi children who will never know their father. Eddy is right. I’ll leave the kids with the trailer and let fate dictate their destiny. I hand the kids flashlights and water. I tell them to wait for help with the trailer. The kids don’t want to leave the comfort of the cabin and complain “take us with you. To hell with the trailer” They are Robby’s kids all right. They’re only concerned with their own well being. If they knew how close to death they came, I wonder if they would be grateful for the privileged life they enjoy and live a life different from their selfish father. I order them both out of the cabin, put the rig into gear, and head down the highway. I hear the boy shout “wait until I tell my father. He’ll fire your ass” and I see the girl give me the “finger” in my rearview mirror.

I’m shifting gears aggressively and gaining speed. The rain is pelting the windshield and I’m reminded of the bloody flesh spilling across my windshield in Mosul which sends me into a panic attack. I struggle to breath and my palms are so sweaty I can’t firmly grip the steering wheel. My back pain is excruciating and I know that my children will suffer if their father is fired.  It’s time to end my pain and there is only one alternative available to me as I speed down the narrow highway. Ahead of me is an amber warning light atop a road sign reading “Curves Ahead. Reduce Speed. Elevation 1000 Feet” As I press my foot down upon the accelerator, I speed pass the amber light reminding me of the bright amber flash which was the last image I recall before the explosion which changed my life forever. I approach a hair pin curve and seize the opportunity to end my pain and provide a secure life for my children. I drive my rig off the road and into the rainy night sky. I’m suspended between heaven and earth. It feels peaceful to float like one of those birds from the trees.  I’m free from pain and welcome death. The last thing I hear is the radio blasting:

…I have stood here before in the pouring rain

With the world turning circles running ‘round my brain

I guess I always thought you could end this reign

But it’s my destiny to be the king of pain

King of pain

King of pain

King of pain

I’ll always be king of pain….