“So forever in the
future,
Shall I battle as of
yore,
Dying to be born a
fighter,
But to die again,
once more.”
-Gen. George S. Patton
“Awaken”
He
awoke with a start, sitting straight up in bed, heart pounding, small beads of
sweat forming on his forehead. The sheets from his twin-sized bed had been
thrown to ground in his sleep, leaving him sitting there in just his boxers. When
this first started happening he would always look at the time right away,
trying to calculate how it would take him to get back to sleep, but by now he
already knew it was futile, he was not going back to sleep.
He
stood up from his bed and began what had become a ritual, an attempt to chase the
demons away; he went into the bathroom of his small efficiency apartment and
washed his face, splashing the cool water on his face helped to fully bring him
back to the waking world. It had been six months, and the nightmares had
started almost as soon as he returned home from Iraq. He was fine the first few
nights, visiting and catching up with family and old friends, getting
reacquainted with the world that he had left behind.
He
stayed there for a minute, leaning slightly forward with his palms resting on
the edge of the sink, looking at the mirror in to his own brown eyes. Was he
going crazy? It the nightmares that was bothering him, it was what he was
having nightmares about. At first it was the “normal” kind of nightmares that
soldiers returning home from combat had been experiencing; memories of fallen
brothers, fire fights, the concussion of explosions reverberating through his
body, the buzzing of AK-47 rounds flying just inches from his head. But
recently, the past month or so, it’s hard to remember exactly when, the nightmares
had changed.
His
nightmares had started being of battles long past; soldiers fighting through
Nazi occupied France, Apaches fighting off white settlers, Conquistadors
battling Aztec Jaguars. It seemed that each time he went further back in
history, to different regions of the world. The VA had sent him to see a
therapist, Caroline; she had insisted that he call her Caroline at their first
session to make him feel more at home. He had told Caroline about the visions,
but she could only tell him that different people have different ways of
dealing with the stress. He felt that there was more to it than that, either he
truly was losing his mind or something was trying to tell him something.
He
finally looked away from other man staring at him from the mirror and slowly
shook his head back and forth, a couple of water drops falling off his chin and
in to the sink. He continued his usual routine, brushing his teeth and shaving
his face. He eventually looked at the clock next to his bed, 5:20 am, might as
well start getting dressed. Next to bed on the floor was the pair of jeans he
wore yesterday, he slid them on and checked the back to pocket to make sure he
wallet hadn’t fallen out. He did a small semi-circle looking at the ground for
the socks he had discarded the night before, right next to his boots. He slid
the green wool military issue socks on to his feet and pulled them up to his
calves then put on his tan combat boots, laced them then tucked the ends in to the
tops of the boots. These were broken in and familiar, the only other footwear
he owned was a pair of black and white running shoes that had about a thousand
miles on them and a nicer pair of heavy black motorcycle boots like the kind
Marlon Brando wore in “The Wild One.” As he glanced at them he briefly recalled
that they were the first thing he bought when he got out of Basic Training, he
usually saved them for when we went out. He put on some deodorant, and then
found a t-shirt, just plain black, kind of loose; he didn’t like a bunch of
writing on his clothes.
As
he looked at the clock again, he realized that the gym a few blocks away would
be open in about a half-hour, a good workout always helped to clear his mind.
So he grabbed his gym bag stuffed a towel, his workout clothes, running shoes, his
hand wraps and mp3 player and headphones in the bag. Before leaving, he went to
his bed-side table and grabbed his folding knife and put it in his right hip
pocket. He then slid open the drawer of the table and retrieved his Glock 36
pistol, made sure it was loaded then put the gun in its holster and clipped it
inside the waistband of his jeans on his right side. The pistol was small
enough that it would go unnoticed even under a t-shirt. “Let a man never stir
on his road a step without his weapons of war,” he remembered reading in some
book a long time ago. He had forgotten the name of the book, but that saying
always stuck with him, his time serving had cementing that idea in his mind. He
didn’t have a cell phone, just a regular old wall-mounted phone. He figured he
didn’t need one since he spent most of his time at home anyway. Once he was
sure he had everything he grabbed his keys and headed out.
He
could take his car, but the gym was not even a ten minute walk away, no need to
use the gas and the walk would to finish waking him up. As he walked towards
the gym, he could make out the sun starting to peek over the horizon. How many times had he watched the sun come up
in Iraq, longing for when he could see he come up back home. It seemed like a
long time ago, and much less important now. He passed a few people on the street
as he walked, a couple of garbage men, an old woman sweeping her porch, a few
early birds waiting at the bus stop on the corner. Although he never quite
acknowledged them, he was aware of them, watching through the corners of his
eyes any movements they made, if they had objects in their hands. Maybe he was
just being paranoid, but it was a habit that kept him alive in other
situations.
A
few minutes later he entered the gym through the double glass doors in front.
The guy that usually works front desk in the morning was there, Jesse,
recognized him from the other times he had come in early.
“Hitting
it early, sir?” Jesse asked
“Yup”
he replied rather succinctly, not in a mood to talk.
“Alright,
have a good workout, sir.” Jesse said as he went back to the sports magazine he
had been reading.
He
headed straight to the locker room and went to his usual locker. The key for
the lock was on his key ring; he separated it out from the rest of the keys and
opened the locker door. He briefly looked over both of his shoulders to make
sure he was alone. When he was confident that no one else was in the locker
room with him, he removed the pistol from his waist band and placed it on the
small shelf on the top portion of the locker that was normally meant for soap
and shampoo. He then changed into his
workout clothes, leaving his street clothes hanging up in the locker. He put
his headphones on and started his usual playlist on his mp3 player, hard rock,
then grabbed the gym bag which still held his towel and hand wraps then headed
to the free weights.
After
about a half hour of squats, bench press and push presses he had worked up a
good sweat, he was breathing hard and most of the muscles in his body were
burning. He retrieved the hand wraps and started methodically wrapping them
around his hands, making sure they were snug enough to give the protection and
support they were meant to, but not so tight that they cut off circulation.
Once he was satisfied with the wrap, he headed over to the large room that
housed the three heavy bags. There wouldn’t be any classes going on until a
little later in the morning, so he had the room all to himself.
As
he faced the bag with his arms at his side, he took deep breath then assumed a
fighting position, his hands up, feet staggered. Then he slowly started working
the bag with straight jabs, throwing in kicks here and there. As the intensity
and quickness of his strikes increased, memories of the nightmares he had been
having started flashing in his eyes. He tried to ignore them and hit the bag
even harder, but that just made the visions more intense. Before he knew it,
the room around him and been replaced by some ancient battlefield full of men
dressed in chainmail fighting and killing each other and the heavy bag had
morphed into a bearded warrior in a full chainmail suit and sword charging
straight for him. Out of pure instinct he moved his arms up to block the
incoming sword and was surprised to find that he also had a sword. As the other
man struck, he fell back and felt the slick grass under him, the weight of
chainmail vest land on his chest, as his head hit the ground he realized that
he was wearing some sort of helmet. He looked up just in time to see an axe
coming down on him.
Just
as the axe was about to make contact he instantly found himself back in the gym
in front of the heavy bag as if nothing had happened. He franticly looked
around, placed his right hand on his face to make that he was truly here and
not stuck in the middle of another nightmare. He quickly started unraveling the
hand wraps as he walked towards the locker room. A few more people had arrived
while he had had his episode, but everyone was quietly going about their
routines, not seeming to have noticed anything that had just happened. In the
shower he closed his eyes and let the hot water flow down over his head and
face. “That was new,” he thought to himself “now I’m hallucinating in the
middle of a workout, I really am going crazy.”
Once
he finished showering, dried off and got back in to his street clothes, he left
the gym and quickly walked back to his apartment. As soon has he got there he
locked the door behind him, and then went to a small pile of papers on counter
in the kitchenette. He rifled through them a bit until he found the paper that
had the number of the therapist that the VA had assigned to him, Caroline. He
never did call to schedule a second appointment, now might be as good a time as
any, he didn’t much care for shrinks, but didn’t know who else he could talk
that might have any idea what was going on with him. It was a little after 7 am
so she might be in her office by now, if not he would just leave a message. He
went to the phone that was mounted on the wall by the fridge and dialed the
number. He expected a pre-recording or some bored sounding secretary, but was
somewhat relieved when he heard Caroline’s voice on the other end. She answered
after a couple of rings. She remembered him from their last session. She said
that it was his lucky day, one of her clients had rescheduled to another date
so she had an open slot later on in the afternoon at 1 pm.
He
had several hours until then; he should be able to keep from totally going off
the deep end until then, so he decided he should try to relax. He sat on the
couch that was a few feet from his bed and picked up the TV remote from the coffee
table that sat in front of the couch and turned on the TV that sat on top of
the dresser. He put on the morning news and in the middle of the weather report
was when he first took notice of the grumbling in his stomach. With everything
else going on in his head, he hadn’t eaten anything yet. He got up and went to
the fridge to see what he had on hand. Some orange juice and a half a pack of
bacon, it was his luck day, indeed. As he cooked the bacon on the stove he
listened to the man on the TV talk about the latest bombings and murders and
atrocities, how bad the economy is and which feckless celebrities were screwing
each other. It all made him a little angry inside, how bad it had gotten. He
wondered how we had let it get to this point. He wondered if one man could
truly make a difference in this world anymore, with everything going so fast
and everyone only worrying about themselves. He felt old, being in his late
20’s he felt older than he truly was. They say that war aged you.
He sat back down on the couch with his plate
of bacon and glass of orange juice. He took a bite of bacon and a swig of OJ
while watching a supermodel try to convince him to buy the latest sweat-shop
assembled designer clothes. Before he knew it, he had fallen asleep on the
couch with the TV going. As he slept he slipped into another one of dreams.
This time he felt that he was on horseback, he looked down at his hands, silk
gloves. He could that we was wearing armor again, but not the same kind as his
last dream, the armor felt lighter and didn’t make that same chink-chink noise
that chain mail did when you moved around. Suddenly another man on horseback
rode several feet in front of him, decked out in full samurai armor. “Ok, I’m a
samurai now,” he thought to himself as the other samurai became to speak
loudly. The man was speaking Japanese, he knew that much, and he also knew that
he didn’t speak a lick of Japanese, but he understood every word that the
samurai was saying. He then looked behind him and realized that he was at the
front of an army of mounted samurai. The samurai speaking to them must be their
commander; he was giving a speech about crushing their enemies and tales being
written about them for centuries and their ancestors waiting for them in
paradise. Each man then drew their katanas and let out a rousing war cry.
Caught up in the fervor, he drew his own sword and let out a war cry, it was
cathartic, almost orgasmic. He could feel himself smiling under the facemask as
the army charged up a hill straight towards a rival samurai army.
Just
as the two armies were about to clash he woke up still on his couch. His heart
was pounding as if he has just got done running. The bacon had become cold and
the OJ had become warm, he would have to throw them out. He went into the
bathroom and washed his face. After drying his face he came in to the living
room and looked up at the clock and realized it was almost noon. He went down
to the parking lot; his car, an old black Crown Victoria, was parked in the
space allotted for his apartment. He got in his car and exited the parking lot.
Caroline’s office was about a half hour away, so he had some time to get some
fast food at a drive through. He didn’t like getting fast food, but he didn’t
finish his bacon and stomach was rumbling loudly.
By
the time he got to Caroline’s office, he had finished eating the burger and
fries that he had picked up and was finishing off the root beer that he had
ordered with it. The clock on his car radio said it was 12:55 pm. He was right
on time, so he parked his car and headed into the small house that had been
converted into a therapist’s office. Caroline worked with two other
psychologists in the same building. He was five feet, ten inches tall and
Caroline was just a couple of inches shorter than him in flats. She had fair
skin and brown hair that went down to the middle of her back, the only two
times that he has seen her she wore it loose with a gray pant-suit and ivory
colored blouse. She was a very attractive woman with a warm smile. She asked
him to please come sit on the couch in her office.
As
he sat there on her couch, recalling the events of last night and this morning,
she gave him her whole attention never interrupting him. At first she was
writing on her notepad but as soon as started telling her about the “waking
dreams” she put her pen down and was transfixed. It wasn’t concern that he saw
in her eyes, the look that he got from her was like the look that people get
when they see some amazing once-in-a-lifetime event occur, like they never
expected to see it but now that it is here, they don’t know what to say. When
he was done he just looked at her and waited for her to respond. After a long
moment, she finally picked her pen back up and began to write something on her
notepad. This irritated him somewhat, he needed help and it appeared that this
shrink did not have the expertise to do so. He was right, in a way.
After
a few seconds of scratching, she ripped off the corner of the paper that she
was writing on and handed it to him. As he reached for it she leaned close to
him and whispered to him as if there might be people listening, “I can’t help
you, but I know someone who can, go to this address and ask for Kassandra, tell
no one about this, go tonight.” With that he grabbed the paper and stuffed it
into his pocket. She then stood up and escorted him out of her office, “Ok, so
see you same time next week, right? You take care,” she said loud and cheerful,
as if nothing strange had happened.
Once
he left the office and sat in his car he pulled the note out from his jeans
pocket. The paper did, in fact, have an address in it. Whatever this was,
whoever this Kassanrdra lady is, he deeply hoped that she had answers for him,
he don’t what he would do if she doesn’t. From there he drove around the city
for a while, slowly heading towards the part of town that the address that
Caroline had given him was in. He stopped for a little while at a park and just
sat on a bench and listened to the sounds around him: a few children running
and playing, the birds nearby on the ground tapping at the ground with their
beaks as they attempted to pick up seeds that had been left there. He noticed a
deli just down the street from the park and decided to go get a sandwich. After
the sandwich he got back in his car and started heading towards the address on
the paper.
Once
he got there is already past 7pm, the sun had gone down. “Go tonight,” is what
Caroline had told him, “ask for Kassandra.” He was parked in a normal looking
neighborhood across the street from the house that sat at the aforementioned
address. It was a rather normal looking house, one might say plain. The yard
was small and kept with a single oak tree in the middle of it. The house was
brick and one story. He really did not know what he was expecting, especially
since Caroline gave him no other details besides the name and the address.
Eventually he exited his car and started walking up to the house, constantly
looking left, right, up and down, keeping his eyes open for anything that might
give away a trap or ambush. He made it all the way up to the front door without
incident. He took a deep breath and lifted his hand to knock.
Before
he had a chance to knock the door swung open and in front of him stood perhaps
the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She seemed a gypsy, long black locks
of hair that seemed to go where they pleased, olive toned skin and dark eyes. Right
above her eyes, centered on her forehead was a blue crescent moon, he wasn’t
sure if it was painted on or a tattoo. She wore a black spaghetti strapped stop
and an airy blue skirt. She quickly examined him and smirked “Well, she didn’t
say you were handsome.”
“Excuse
me?” was all he could think to say.
“Come
in,” she commanded, “I am Kassandra and I may have the answers that you have
been looking for.”
“Yes
ma’am,” he responded as he stepped in to the house.
The
décor of the room he entered was very colorful with scarves and tapestries
seeming to hang from everywhere, he imagined that this is what a gypsy cart
would have looked like back in the day. She took her seat at a round table that
had a table cloth colored like a clear night sky, complete with little stars
and moons. In the center of the cloth appeared to be an arrangement of
crystals. She motioned with a tilt of her head for him to take the seat across
from as she placed a large deck of cards in front of her. Once he sat, she
asked him to place his hands on the table in front of him with his palms facing
upward, he did so hesitantly. “Don’t worry, soldier,” she said with a smirk,
“you won’t be needing that pistol here.” He marveled for a moment at how she
might have known about his pistol, He had never told Caroline about it. She
knew he was in the military; it’s a safe assumption that he would be carrying
like so many ex-military do. She had started to shuffle the deck of cards.
“Pick a number,” she said
“Eight,”
he replied, perplexed.
“Ma’am?”
“Yes?”
“I
think it would only be proper to tell you that I don’t believe in magic or
hocus-pocus.”
She
smirked again, “That’s quite alright.”
She
started laying the cards out I front of her. After she placed a card down she
would look at it for a few seconds then place another card down. He could not
tell if there was any sort of pattern that she was placing the cards in.
After
she was done placing cards down she took a moment to examine the whole scene
that she had laid down. “So, warrior, do you believe in reincarnation?”
“To
be honest, I’ve never given it much thought.”
“Hmmm”
“What
is it?”
“These
dreams that you have been having are not dreams, they’re memories.”
“Yes
ma’am, from the when I served in Iraq, that kind of how PTSD works.”
She
looked at him with one raised eyebrow, apparently not appreciating the sarcasm
in his voice.
“No,
not just those, the dreams of ancient warriors and battles from history, the
memories that you could not possibly have. They are memories of your past
lives.”
“Excuse
me?”
She
takes a deep breath and gathers her thoughts before continuing.
“You
are soldier, correct?
“Yes
ma’am.”
“As
you have been for many lifetimes. Your soul, your essence, has traveled through
many lives, always being a warrior. The ancient Norse had a name for this, they
called them the Einherjar.”
“Eyeherherr?”
“Einherjar,
they were Odin’s chosen warriors, who died bravely in battle and were rewarded
with immortality and lived in Valhalla where they trained endlessly for the
final battle known as Ragnarok.”
“Ma’am,
I’m not a Viking.”
“But
you have had visions of being one, yes? The Einherjar are a metaphor, a symbol,
for what some believe to be special souls of reincarnate as warriors over and
over again, gaining new knowledge and experience with each battle, each death,
preparing to fight in the final battle against the forces of evil.”
“No
offense, ma’am, but this sounds like something out B-movie.”
“It’s
real, you know it, and you feel it in you.”
“So
what do I do with this? Do I have special powers? Am I destined to save the
world? Do you have a cape and some spandex for me?
“Don’t
be an ass. You are a mortal man, you can die, but you hidden within you the
knowledge and experience of lifetimes of combat, that is why you were able to
survive when so many others died.”
He
fixed her with a steel-hard gaze at her last comment, “That was not a gift, it
is a curse, many good men died over I am no one special to have survived, just
dumb luck.”
“You
know that is not true.”
“So
now what?”
“Now
you prepare.”
“Prepare
for what?”
“That
was the other things that the cards showed me, there is a reason all these
memories are starting to bubble up now. It is coming.”
“What
is coming?”
“The
end, the war that will decide the fate of the world, whether evil will rule or
goodness will flourish. That is why you and the other Einherjar are beginning
to awaken. You must gather together and prepare.”
“I
don’t know any other Einherjar.”
“Yes
you, do. Think back, you have crossed paths with several throughout your life,
people that seemed to be kindred spirits. Soon your paths will cross again, and
then you will know that the time has come. It will not be long. Your burden is sacred
and can only be carried by those who have spent thousands of years as warriors.
All of our lives are in your hands and the hands of those like you. My
blessings go with you.”
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