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This writing was accepted for publication in the 84 page perfect-bound issue... Down in the Dirt magazine (v079) (the February 2010 Issue) This is also available from our printer as a a $7.47 paperback book (5.5" x 8.5") perfect-bound w/ b&w pages

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Days Ago Tomorrow,

John T. Hitchner

    On a jungle hot day, Private 1st Class Thomas Harbison walked with his platoon in a jungle like all the other wet and green and bug-infested, gook-infested jungles in a country he did not know existed until his American history teacher had pointed to it on a map. Private Harbison understood his platoon’s mission—search and destroy a hamlet of enemy sympathizers. He knew that orange and black flames would roil from the hamlet’s huts and smear the sky just like the fire from another village they had wiped out last week. He had watched pieces of enemy soldiers’ flesh spurt from the impact of bullets from his and the platoon’s M-16s . He knew these things.
    But on this day, Private Harbison wondered about the fate of his beloved New York Yankees. Maybe a pennant? Maybe World Series champs? He thought, too, of his girlfriend Holly and remembered the last time he had caressed her and saw the surprise and smile in her eyes and on her lips when he drowned in her.
    Behind him now his buddy Stoney said, “Them gooks gotta be—”

    Stoney’s voice was crushed in an explosive vice that ascended from the ground and descended from the trees. Chunks of Stoney flared up and out and over and into vines and trees and helmets and into Private Harbison’s face.
    An ocean and three thousand miles away, Private Harbison’s father awoke, the bed sheets twisted and damp over his chest.
    “What is it, dear?” his wife asked.
    “I can’t sleep.”
    “Neither can I,” she said. “I keep thinking about Tommy.”
    Days later the Harbisons received a call from a hospital in Tokyo. A military voice identified himself and then explained to Charles Harbison his son’s mission and the results of the enemy’s explosive devices. “Your son received shrapnel wounds in both legs, but he is not critical, sir, and he is out of danger.”
    “Will he be able to walk?”
    “Yes, he will, sir. He should be up on his feet in the next few days.”
    “When can we talk to him?”
    “As early as tomorrow, sir. He’s resting now.”
    “Thank you.”
    Charles Harbison turned to his wife. “Tommy’s all right,” he said.
    “Now we know why, don’t we...But when will it be over?” asked his wife.
    “When he comes home. When we see him walk through the door.”
    “And I’m never going to let him leave,” she said.

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