A Soldier Story

The minute I opened the door I was hit with a blast of noise and a rush of warm air. The bar was crowded and everyone seemed to be having a good time. I looked around for my friend but, as usual, she was late.  I’m never comfortable being in a bar alone but, seeing there were plenty of other women, I shrugged it off and found a seat at the bar to wait for her.  I took off my coat but kept on my cashmere fingerless gloves as I still felt a little chill and the beer glass was ice cold.

I noticed the guy a couple of stools down also had on a pair of fingerless gloves although his were leather.  They looked expensive and he caught be gazing at them and gave me a smile. “I like your gloves too” he said as I gave him an embarrassed smile back. He said his name was Jake and asked me what kind of gloves I was wearing. “Cashmere” I told him and he nodded. “I have a cashmere lining in these. Makes them a lot more comfortable” he said as he turned his attention back to his beer.

He seemed like a nice guy so I kept the conversation going, “I don’t usually see many men wearing fingerless gloves” I said. “They’re very fashionable”. He laughed. “I wear them for protection, not fashion” he said as he laughed again. I turned back to my beer feeling a little stung. “I sorry” he said as he sidled over to the stool next to mine. “It just struck me as funny. You see I wear these because I burned my hand and it looks pretty gruesome so I cover it up with the gloves. From gruesome to the height of fashion!” and he laughed again.

I liked his laugh so I Iet him buy me a beer and asked him how he burned his hand. “I’m a soldier” he said, “stationed in Iraq. We were driving down the road when we hit an IED…you know, one of those roadside bombs. I was thrown from the vehicle but otherwise unhurt. My buddy who was driving, though, was caught in the truck as it had turned on its side. He was calling for help so I went over to drag him out. As I reached in to free up a strap that had caught, an oil line burst and sprayed the back of my hand with hot oil. I cursed as I grabbed the strap, ripped it off and dragged my buddy out of the truck. He had some burns on his face and arms and my hand was scalded but we were both happy to be alive”.

I sat there dumbstruck not knowing what to say so I just gently reached out to hold his hand. He smiled, “cashmere always makes it feel better” he said and this time we both laughed. For once I was glad my friend was late as we talked for the next half hour about his time in Iraq. I was spellbound by his stories although I’m sure he wasn’t telling me the real bad stuff. I could not imagine the courage and bravery it must take to be over there. I’d never known any soldiers before and felt so naive about what goes on over there.

All of a sudden he stood up and said he had to go. He was catching a plane that night and had to ship out in the morning back to Iraq. I gave him my number and said he could call anytime. He smiled, gave me a kiss on the cheek and then he was gone. I sat there staring at my own hands and the cashmere fingerless gloves that had started the conversation. I’ll never look at those gloves, or the news about Iraq, in the same way ever again!