Hero

Hero

Harry Buschman

I’ve set the scene for you. I’ve described the town you live in. The beauty of its countryside, its orchards, its farms. I’ve written about its weather – how mild its winters are, how pleasant its summers. I’ve described your neighbors, how ready they are to lend help in times of trouble.

I’ve shown, in the choicest words I know, the church you share, the preacher who guides you down the path and keeps you from temptation. I’ve described in great detail the dog who loves you and sits by your side as you fish for perch by the bend in the river.

... And now I must write about you. There can be no story without you. You are my hero, my protagonist ... the story I write is told through your eyes.

Yet you lie there limp as a rag doll. Spineless. Flesh without bones. I can hang you neatly on a hanger like an empty suit and look for a sign of life in your empty eyes. Open your eyes – let me see through them. Are they blue, brown ... are they eyes at all?

Are you a husband, a father ... are you faithful and true to your family? Do you play the game or do you just watch it on television? Speak to me! Let me hear your voice ... is it strong or weak? Let me know you, for God’s sake ... the story can’t go on without you.

But no! You lie there limp as the cloth in the dish pan. Breathe for me. Be alive! Come with me to Callahan’s Bar ... I’ll buy you a drink and we can tell each other sad stories of the war and what it did to you and me.

Maybe then I will know you.