I nodded my head and shifted my gaze toward the plate.
Walk away, lady. I don’t want to talk. Not now, and not about this.
“You have any? Any kids?” she asked.
As I reached for my knife and began to cut my steak, I shook my head from side to side and stared down at my plate.
“No ma’am, I sure don’t.”
“Well, when you do someday, you’ll never regret it. They’re a true gift. Enjoy your breakfast,” she smiled, nodded her head toward my plate, and walked toward the jukebox.
Often it seems we’re forced to hear exactly what it is we aren’t willing to listen to when we want to hear it the least but need to hear it the most.
Johnny Cash’s I Hung My Head began to play as Bea stepped away from the jukebox. Although I had heard the song countless times in bars and taverns over the years, it sounded much different this time. As I ate my steak, the words from the song made sense in a different manner than they had previously. I had always thought the song was about killing. This time it wasn’t.
Acceptance.
The song was about acceptance.
My inability to accept circumstances in my life is what brought me here. I took another bite of steak and stared out the window as I chewed, as if I were looking for some form of answer to a question I was too afraid to ask.
As Johnny Cash’s When the Man Comes Around began to play, I closed my eyes and listened intently.
And I heard as it were the noise of thunder…
One of the four beasts saying come and see and I saw…
And behold a white horse.
The sound of the music was quickly overshadowed by the noise of a loud motorcycle exhaust rumbling from the small parking lot which adjoined the diner’s glass front. Aggravated, I opened my eyes and stared into the lot.
And behold a white horse.
SHANE. I have always lived a simple life and kept to myself, not needing or desiring the opinions of a stranger to assist me in understanding life or the complications associated with it. Oddly enough, a simple statement or expressed opinion from an outsider is often the one thing which causes us to veer from the peaceful road we were previously traveling along. One person’s transparent opinion has the ability to lift us from our feet with pride, or crush us into the depths of some God forsaken hell we can’t seem to find a way out of.
From deep inside the fiery pit from in which I was currently living, I looked through the window into the parking lot and shook my head in disbelief as my hand fumbled along the table for my cup of coffee.
Sitting on his motorcycle with one hand resting on the handlebars and the other searching for a cigarette, he stared blankly toward the front of the diner. His hand shaking as he held it to his mouth, he puffed eagerly on the cigarette as he lit it. After a few long drags, slowly his head pivoted 180 degrees, inventoried the empty parking lot, and he exhaled a cloud of smoke. Methodically, he stood from his motorcycle, bent over, and stepped on his cigarette. As he placed the butt into his shirt pocket and began walking toward the door, I turned toward the counter where the old man was seated.
“Bring me another cup of coffee. Black,” I said to the waitress.
She nodded her head and reached for one of the many cups which were hanging behind her from hooks below the bottom shelf. I looked down at the table as she placed the cup down and began pouring coffee into it. Before she filled the cup, I heard the bell attached to the front door jingle.
“Friend or foe?” she asked quietly as she lifted the coffee pot from the cup.
I looked up and grinned, “Right now, probably a little of both.”
“He looks like he might be a handful,” she said as she tilted her head in his direction.
“We’ll be just fine,” I smiled.
The sound of his boot heels echoed through the empty diner as he walked toward the booth I was sitting in. Somewhat embarrassed, I looked down at my plate as if I had no idea he was approaching.
“You might need a lesson or two in how to hide, Dekk,” he said as he lowered himself into the seat across from me.
I shook my head slightly in disbelief as I looked up, “I won’t even ask.”
“In the future, you need to use cash. That debit card of yours is like a flashing beacon of fucking light,” he chuckled.
After a precursory glance over the interior of the diner, he turned to face me.
“I’m going to tell you a story. Say my peace, so to speak. When I’m done I’m going to walk outside and smoke another cigarette then ride out of here. I hate shitty little dusty towns like this. They remind me of places I’m trying to forget about.” he said.
“You know, if God was going to give the world an enema, he’d more than likely stick the tube in this shitty little town,” he hesitated as he stared out the window and slowly shook his head.
He turned toward the table and looked down at the coffee.
“When I leave you can either head out with me or stay here, I don’t care either way,” he smiled as he pointed at the coffee cup in front of him.
I nodded my head.
He picked up the cup, took a slow sip, and held it in front of his face as he began to speak, “During my first tour, we were looking for al-Zawahiri. Hell, we were searching for a lot of al-Qaeda officials, but at this point in time, he was our target. We received intel on where he was and why he was there. It seems he was having a summit meeting of sorts with every other high ranking Islamic militant within a three hundred mile radius. Without a doubt, on this particular night, we were going to bag this shit-bird and bring the war to a screeching halt. At least that’s what we were told.”
“Go ahead and eat, this is going to take a minute,” he said as he tilted his head toward my plate of food.
As I began to cut my now cold steak, he lowered his coffee cup to the table and took his pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. With a shaking hand, he lifted one of the cigarettes to his mouth and bit it between his teeth. Flipping his cigarette lighter between his fingers, he began to speak through his clenched teeth.
“So, based on this intel, they assembled a handful of us; three Marines, and seven or so SEALS. They indicated al-Zawahiri had gone into some shit-hole home earlier on this particular day, and he hadn’t come out. Hell, from what they said, no one came in or out after he arrived. It seemed his little meeting was underway, and all we had to do was get there before he left,” he pulled the unlit cigarette from his teeth and lowered his chin into his hand.
I chewed the last bite of my steak and pushed my plate to the side.
“Now this being my first tour, I didn’t have much experience – and none in extraction to speak of – only training. All the brass wanted him alive if possible, so they’d preached protocol and rules of engagement to us all fucking day. We all sat around and waited for the cover of darkness while we planned what we were going to do. You know, studying the chicken-shit map they’d given us showing the supposed layout of the home, cleaning our weapons, and talking about how we were going to get this prick,” he paused, shook his head lightly, and took another sip of coffee.
He leaned into the edge of the table and rested the coffee cup beside his pack of cigarettes, still flipping the cigarette lighter between his fingers. Nervously, he released the cup and lifted the unlit cigarette to his lips.
“So, it’s zero dark fucking thirty, and we’re all waiting. About oh two thirty they round us up, take us as close as they can get us, tell us good luck and god fucking speed. We surround the front of this little mud hut and blow the door on this place, toss in a few flash-bangs, and in we go,” he pulled the cigarette from his lips and inhaled a deep breath as if disgusted.
“Needless to say, I’m as nervous as a fucking whore in church service. I’ve got diarrhea, my stomach is all fucked up, my head’s full of all kinds of thoughts on what may happen to me or to someone else, and what I’m gonna do when it does. I’d gone over every possible god damned scenario based on the intel we
have and who’s supposedly in this shit-hole,” he paused and shook his head from side to side and looked out into the parking lot.
“You see Dekk, men are just that; men. And men make mistakes. A man will give you an opinion, and portray it as an absolute fact. If you’re either gullible enough or dumb enough to believe him, you then make a life changing decision based on the inaccuracies of his beliefs. And you see, Dekk,” he stopped gazing through the glass into the parking lot and turned to face me.
“It’s just that. It’s an opinion. It’ll never be any more or any less. If I had all of the lives we lost based on one man’s opinion of what was sure not to happen, I could fill this fucking diner with good god damned Marines. But I can’t, because they’re all fucking dead.”
“The opposite happened on this particular night. The shit-hole home was empty. No hidden exit. No tunnels. No way out except the doors which were in full view. And we had eyes on every fucking corner of this place. And after an assurance he and his band of merry men walked in and never came out – we went in after him. I was mad as fuck. Let down, depressed, and I felt kind of betrayed. They were wrong Dekk. They’re wrong more than they’re right. You know why? Because they’re fucking human and they gave their opinion.”
“You see,” he lifted the cigarette to his mouth and bit the filter between his teeth.
“If we’re forced to make a decision that has the potential to have a profound effect on our life, and it’s based on the opinion of one man, we must weigh the legitimacy of the man in question. And in my humble opinion, if the man in question is not God, his opinion is nothing more than an educated guess.”
He slowly stood from his seat and removed the cigarette from his mouth. As if he’d forgotten if it was lit or not, he lifted it, looked at the tip, and grinned, “I’m going to go burn this. I’ve been chewing on it for too damned long. Come out and join me?”
I nodded my head sharply as I reached for my wallet.
And I paid in cash.
SHANE. As A-Train smoked his cigarette, I walked across the parking lot toward the motorcycles. Although what he said made perfect sense, I didn’t necessarily want to hear it. For some reason I found comfort wallowing in the believing the pity I felt was warranted, and everything I was doing was for good reason.
As I got within a few feet of where he stood, he sat down in the seat of his motorcycle and continued to puff on his cigarette.
“So, you riding out with me?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I just…”
“You just what?” he interrupted.
He stood and momentarily straddled his motorcycle as he took one last pull on the portion of a cigarette which remained. As he exhaled the smoke, he stepped over the motorcycle and tossed the butt onto the parking lot.
“You wanna give me your honest opinion as to whether or not you can whip my ass?” he asked as he turned to face me.
“Excuse me?” I responded, knowing full well what he had said, but for some reason needing to hear him say it again.
“You heard me,” he said as he positioned himself in a fighting stance.
“I have an opinion you won’t get one punch to make contact. Not a fucking one. You know why? Because you’re a washed up piece of overweight shit who’s scared to fight for the title fight. You’re scared to be amongst your friends, and scared like a little bitch you might have to become a man and raise a child who doesn’t fall well within the limits what you perceive as perfect,” he paused and twisted his feet firmly in place.
My blood began to boil.
“So, what? You afraid if you and Kace raise a special needs child someone might eventually call him a retard? Call your little boy a fucking retard? Huh Dekk? Your little retard boy?”
I swung a thunderous right jab toward his left cheek. I have no idea what he did to counter the punch, all I know is it happened with lightning speed. Somehow my right forearm wound up positioned under his left armpit, and he turned approximately ninety degrees to his right, wrapping his right arm around my neck. As I felt the blade from his knife pressing against my neck, he chuckled.
As he laughed a dull laugh and twisted his foot on the cigarette he had earlier thrown onto the parking lot, he pressed the blade tighter against my neck with his left hand. Fearful for what was next, I stood motionless and waited.
“You see Dekk, you threw that punch under the opinion you were going to teach me a lesson. But here’s the thing. I made those comments knowing, absolutely knowing I had to do so to make my point. You swung because you’re going to defend that child regardless. Special needs or not, he’s yours. You’re just fucking scared. And there’s nothing to be afraid of,” he spit on the ground beside where he stood.
“That doctor gave you his fucking opinion based on the amnio test they performed. He told you the kid might have some chromosomal disorder. He said he could be born with Down Syndrome. And you fucking disappeared. Well, I got news for you. My nephew is special needs. More specifically, he has Down Syndrome. And he’s one of the best damned people you’ll ever meet. Ever,” he growled into my right ear.
“You see, special needs means just that. He has needs that are special. It doesn’t mean he isn’t deserving of anything and everything that every other person on this earth is deserving of. It only means he has a few needs unique to him – and they’re described as special. Special. You know the definition of special?” he released my neck and pushed me six feet or so into the parking lot.
“Better or more important than others,” he folded his knife and clipped it onto the pocket of his jeans.
As he stared at me with watchful eyes, he lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. After he stood for a moment, he exhaled what little smoke was left in his lungs and took another long pull from the cigarette.
“Just to clarify, I said what I said about your boy to make you realize something – you’re already committed to this – emotionally, physically, and spiritually. You just needed to feel it. You’re too damned blind to see it,” he exhaled a cloud of smoke and shook his head lightly.
“Now, you know what we’re gonna do?” he asked.
I stood and stared, still angry over what he said, regardless of why he felt a need to do so.
“We’re going to get on our sleds and ride to Austin. You’re going to apologize to Kace, Ripp, Vee, Austin, the old man, and everyone else who’s been worried about you. I could give two shits whether or not you’re going fight for the championship, makes no difference to me. But you’re going to support Kace through this. And the day will come when your little boy will be born. And every fucking one of us will love him – because he’s part of you, and he’s part of Kace. Now, you ready to ride or you want me to wad you up into another ball and cut you this time?” maintaining eye contact, he bent down and stepped on the cigarette.
“A-Train?” I asked.
“What is it, brother?” he raised his eyebrows and smiled, waiting for me to continue.
I swallowed a lump in my throat and said the only thing I could think of that accurately described how I felt.
“I’m scared.”
As I spoke, I began to cry.
“Been there plenty of times, Dekk. Generally, I’ll ask the man upstairs for spoon full of courage. He hasn’t let me down yet,” he said as he wrapped his arms around me.
As he held me in his arms, I continued to cry. And I came to understand there are times when we’re incapable of understanding life entirely. When the time comes, all we can do is hope we have friends and family to guide us in the direction we may not be able to see in their absence. As he released me from his grasp, he patted me on the shoulder.
“Let’s ride,” I said as I wiped the tears from my eyes.
“You lead the way, brother,” he hesitated and grinned, “I’ve got your back.”
And there was no doubt in my mind he meant exactly what he said.
KACE. I truly believe the greatest gift God has ever given me was Shane Dekkar. He changed my lif
e and allowed me to see things in myself I would have never seen without his guidance. He taught me what love was truly about, and how to accept it without becoming self-possessed. Today, I am a truly different person, and I have Shane to thank for opening my eyes. And although he is the greatest gift ever, he’s like any other gift; he can be returned for a refund if he doesn’t quite fit.
Standing just inside the doorway, unshaven, filthy, and tattered, he attempted to plead with me, “Babe, I’m sorry.”
At the edge of the kitchen island, I looked up from my making my sandwich, “Don’t you dare babe me.”
“You didn’t go on a ride with the boys, Shane. You didn’t get drunk and end up at a titty bar. Hell, you could have cheated on me and I’d have felt better. No Shane, you left me. You fucking left,” I hesitated, picked up my sandwich, and gazed down at the bread as I squeezed it angrily in my hands.
I looked toward where he stood and cleared my throat, “You know what kind of bread this is?”
He stared at me blankly.
“I asked you a question, Shane. Do you know what kind of bread this is?” I shouted.
He shook his head slowly.
I swallowed heavily and cleared my very emotional throat once again, “Honey wheat. You know why?”
He shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.
“Because I like it. And I don’t have to buy that multi-grain dirty tasting whole wheat healthy assed bullshit bread, Shane. Do you know why?” I raised the sandwich to my mouth and took a huge bite.
Before he had the chance to answer, I spoke as I chewed, “Because you like it. And you don’t live here any longer.”
“Baby…” he began to try to reason with me.
“I told you once, don’t baby me. Do you have any idea how hard this has been? Do you?” I asked as I walked out of the kitchen and toward the dining room.
“I can only imagine,” he said softly as he began to walk into the house.
I stopped half way into the dining area and pointed toward where he stood, “Stop right there. Do not come in my house, Shane. And you’re right, you can only imagine. And I’ll tell you why. Because you weren’t here to see how hard it was; you were gone. Gone. You could have been dead. Some nights I wished you were. You know Ripp’s gonna kick your ass. You know that, right? He is. You know why? Because he cares.”