The Dog was coming home. Working my way through the San Francisco airport to make the flight to Seattle. The resplendent disabled veteran, in my Marine Corps uniform, medals worn proudly.
I saw her coming well in advance. Call it jungle awareness, call it noticing the obvious, the point is that I knew she was directed at me and was on a mission.
She was in her late 20's, shoulder length dark hair and big brown eyes that burned with the passion and fire of someone who was following her heart. She was carrying a brown leather shoulder bag and wearing a long navy blue wool coat. She moved toward me with the grace of a tigress.
When she was within fifteen feet of me, I stopped. My instinct and reflexes told me to watch her hands, her bag, her coat. My sense told me to look deeper into her eyes.
She came to me, stopping within a foot and I could feel her energy and heat. I could smell her scent.
She grabbed me with her eyes, pulling my total focus there in initiating the shaking and nervous stomach of apprehension.
We stood there, locked in that optic connection, for some time -- then she blinked and the tears came down her cheeks. I had watched them fill her eyes and move onto her high cheekbones. She was sending me her pain, her sorrow... her hate.
Her right hand came up quickly, index finger extended as her mouth opened. She was struggling to find words, and when they finally came, the voice was raspy and choking through a hoarse throat.
Her finger touched the ribbons on my chest.
"You're nothing but a hit man for the U.S. Government."
With that, she moved to my left and down the concourse.
Physically, she was out of my life. Mentally, she will always be a part of my spirit.
I hope she found peace. I hope she found love.
Monday, May 30, 2011
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