Martin sat on the corner of THEIR bed, watching
his hands shake. He
had to get control of himself before he faced all
those people. She
was an Army wife, he wouldn't disgrace her by
falling apart at her
funeral. She'd have kept herself together were
this his funeral,
and he, after all, was a General in the United
States Army. Generals
don't fall apart.
"Shape up soldier," he ordered, pulling himself
Moving over to the mirror, he adjusted his
uniform, again. He could
see the family photos on the wall behind him.
Well, they were sort
of the family - her and Myron. He'd never cared
for having all the
clutter on the walls, but she'd always insisted -
had to have
pictures of Myron everywhere. Maybe she was just
trying to remind
that he had a family - not that he'd ever
forgotten. He was a
soldier, damn it, his duty came first. But
they'd always been there,
in the back of his mind. Always.
Myron - the somber face stared at him from the
photos. What did he
do with Myron? He was his mother's boy - always
had been. Of
Martin hadn't really been around, so what could
he expect. Now it
was just the two of them, and the boy hated him.
He could see it in
his eyes, hear in every inflection of his voice.
Myron blamed him -
could barely look at him, the anger seethed so
Martin blamed himself. He always figured
there'd be time to rebuild
their relationship. He'd be able to show her how
much he loved her.
They'd grow old together and he could spend all
those years making up
for the ones they missed together. How could
she take that away
from him? How could she leave him with this boy
that hated him?
What sort of future did she expect him to have
now? Maybe that was
it. She was giving him back what he'd given her
- loneliness and
"Martin?" came a voice from the other side of
the door, "We're ready
He tugged on his dress jacket and brushed away a
stray piece of lint.
Then he picked up his hat and reached for the
door handle, his hand
"Enough of that, soldier." He was a General in
the United States
Army, Generals don't fall apart.