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For Honor (pt 3)
Creative
 Created on 6-17-07
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 Story Rating G
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We got into the SUV and began to head out when one of the twins, Jake, spoke up for the first time. "Mikey, are staying this time or are they going to make you leave again?' It was a legitmate question, one he asked last year when he was barely able to talk. I looked over at him and saw the love for me in his eyes. I leaned over to him where only he could hear me and spoke into his ear. When I returned to my upright position, he had the biggest toothless grin on his face that I had ever seen and immediately spilled the beans. "Mikey says he's home for good and that we don't have to worry about him leaving ever again because he quit his job and wants to spend more time with us." He spoke so fast that Sarah began to giggle and my mother and father were in an all out laugh. I smiled thoughtfully and ruffled the young boy's head.
Joseph reached out, grabbed my hand and began to inspect it as if he were an inspecting officer. I watched as questions fluttered through the little mind of his, I knew he was going to ask the question before he even said it, so I answered early. "Joe, those scars were from when a bomb exploded and pieces of metal flew at me. The bad guys tried to get me again, but failed horribly." He simply nodded, put my hand down and picked up the newest hand held game systems, it was a Nintendo something or other. I lost track of those things since I first joined the Marine Corps.
I leaned back in the bench seat of the SUV and stared at the roof as my father drove on. I steadily drifted off to sleep and was easily awakened when the car hit the dirt of our driveway. I got out of the vehicle, grabbed my bag and took in a big breath of the fresh air. I observed the house, it was different from my previous visits. The color went from a pale, piss color yellow to a dark blue and the windows were trimmed in red. Sarah grabbed my arm and the two of us walked into the house together. The twins immediately ran to their room, my mother began to prepare dinner, and my father turned on the TV to catch the last few minutes of the NY Mets @ NY Yankees game.
I followed Sarah to her room, which along wiht everthing else had changed as well. She no longer had poster of the Rock and other WWE Superstars on her walls. They were replaced by phots of the various countries I had visited. I had sent her a new picture every week and her walls were filled with every single one of them. The pictures of Egypt hung right over the head of her bed. This is when she spoke for the first time. "Bobo," that was her nickname for me, it stuck since we were children, "Momma says I have to put you up in my room. So here are the rules. Don't touch my stuff, don't mess with my boyfriend when he visits, and most importantly don't fart!" I laughed at her and told her that I could only promise two out of the three. She grinned and hugged me again.
I went out to the kitchen where my mother was fervently working on dinner. I asked her what she was cooking, but I didn't have to. I knew exactly what she was cooking, the lovely aroma attacked my nose with force. Mom's Baked Ziti. I began to do my little happy dance when my father called me into the living room. When I entered I took notice of the score of the game. The METS were beating the Yankees 2-1 bottom of the 12th inning. Apparently neither one of the two teams wanted to lose this game. I sat next to my father and waited for him to speak.
"Michael, I know what you've been through the past eight years. I know it was tough and I know that you lost many friends. I want you to know that if you ever need to talk, I'm here. Ok? It would be best if you didn't talk about some of your experiences to your mother. You're still her baby boy and you always will be, and she wants to protect you from everything. There are just some things that she won't understand and that is the pain you are inevitabley going to have. You really don't want to tell your brothers about some of these things either. They are way too young to even need to know that stuff. And as far as Sarah? Tell her what you want, but remember that the past 8 years has been rougher on her than on any of the others. She won't ever admit to it, but trust me when I say that she missed you alot. The boys aren't really old enough to understand that you were even gone for a long time. My guess, is that they will not remember these events as they grow older. The next couple of months will be rough for you, just remember I am here." At that last word, my mother yelled that dinner was ready and my father got up and left the room. I soon followed, but only after watching the the METS closer strikeout the last Yankee.
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