An IED On the Yellow Brick Road

A Novel By John Cory, Reader Supported News

01 October 12

 

asked Marc if I could plug my Kindle book about veterans here at RSN and he kindly agreed.

Over the past few months I have been corresponding with many veterans about veteran issues and my new Kindle Book, An IED on the Yellow Brick Road.

Young veterans talk about how people shake their hand and say, "Thanks for your service." And then move on as though that bumper sticker patriotism were more than sufficient. Older veterans feel an overwhelming forgetfulness and abandonment, a sort of non-existence in a world that embraces amnesia when it comes to war. Wounded veterans from all the generations of war often express frustration at feeling warehoused, made to jump through hoops for benefits, or worse, being left on the streets because waiting lists are so long or support programs are overwhelmed and underfunded. And female veterans find themselves with all of the above plus a system that has failed to deal with their rape and sexual trauma by their fellow soldiers.

A veteran sent me this article on how a single unidentified GOP senator has blocked the cost of living increase for veterans. There is always money for war but not enough for the survivors of war.

A young woman veteran sent me this article at the Huffington Post about the failure of the military to deal with rape.

And through all of this, there is a group that is also forgotten, or at least not always acknowledged enough, and those are the families, spouses, and caregivers of our veterans.

An IED on the Yellow Brick Road is a play in novella form that touches on all of these issues in a night of often humorous and emotional confrontation between the generations of war about what it means to be a veteran.

The setting for the play was inspired by my wonderful friend Christopher Gaynor and his photo exhibit, "Home of Record: One Soldier's Story," at the Vashon-Maury Island Museum near Seattle.

The book began in the whispers of the night with a question: What if the Scarecrow, the Tin Man, and the Cowardly Lion were veterans lost on the Yellow Brick Road home from war?

So I gathered these characters together one night in a room much like Chris's "Home of Record" exhibit and let them loose.

There is anger, as when James shouts: "You can't keep sending me to war over and over again and then claim I'm the one addicted to war."

There is the biting humor of a homeless Didj as she explains how she survives by flying the sign and panhandling: "I may be nuts but I'm not crazy. People want to feel good, and if you help them feel good and make them feel like a patriot to boot, well hell, you don't go hungry for long in this country."

Or the poignant question posed by Reid, who is a caregiver, when he asks: "Ain't I a veteran too?"

And the finality of abandonment in the words of Coop as he quietly notes: "They saved Private Ryan but left me to die slow and easy and invisible."

It is a simple story of lost souls having to help one another find hope and peace as they travel the Yellow Brick Road home from war together.

My thanks to Marc and RSN for allowing me this opportunity and to all of you readers for your time and support.

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Excerpt from An IED on the Yellow Brick Road: A Novel by John Cory

The Walking Wounded...

oop waves James over to the leather chairs as he sits down and props his feet up on the coffee table.

James sits and loosens his tie just a little.

"What kind of work you do?" Coop asks.

"I specialize in looking for work," James chuckles.

"Tough market," Coop says.

"Well, at least they're nice and recognize what I did. Like the guy today who shook my hand, and said: 'Thank you for your service.'"

"Thank you for your service? What are you, his goddamned waiter for fuck-sakes?"

"He was trying to be patriotic and supportive."

"They're always patriotic and supportive as long as it's you and not them."

"Embrace the suck," James says.

"Don't mean nothin'," Coop says.

Reid enters and hands them their beers. He turns to James.

"I've just fixed a light fare, some cold cuts and veggies. Do you like spicy mustard, regular mustard, or plain mayonnaise?"

"Spicy mustard please."

Reid heads back to the kitchen as Coop hollers after him.

"Don't worry about me! A little mold or a buttered dust bunny will be fine, thanks!"

"Okay, I'll check under the fridge then." Reid yells back from the kitchen.

"Don't pay any attention to him," Coop says to James.

They both take a swig of beer as Coop nods over his shoulder in the direction Didj went.

"What do you think about her? She's a bundle of problems on legs, huh?"

"Acts like a walkie-talkie," James says.

"Walkie-talkie?"

"Walking wounded. Said she's had her Go-Bag since the war so I figure she was in Iraq, maybe Afghanistan and got blown up or something," James says. "Maybe TBI, traumatic brain injury. Seen a lot of guys like that."

"Haven't we all," Coop says.

The two men lift their beer bottles in toast at each other as they take a big swig of beer.

"Bet your mom is happy you're home."

"I suppose. She can't stop hovering over me," James says. "I mean, it was my third tour, not like it was the first time ever."

"Hover and smother, that's what moms do," Coop says. "She's probably relieved that three was the charm and now you're out."

James shrugs. There's something lurking underneath that shrug.

"What about your dad?" Coop asks.

James chuckles. "He can't stop hauling me down to his bowling league or favorite bar and letting everybody know I'm a real veteran. And then everybody buys us a round so then I gotta tell a war story, you know, to pay for the free drinks and he gets all puffed up and his friends all pat him on the back like he was the real veteran, not me."

"You make that sound like a bad thing," Coop says.

"It's not that," James says. "It's just, they're a bunch of civilians. They don't know shit about being a soldier or combat."

Coop nods and lets the moment linger. "You afraid of being a civilian?"

James stiffens. "I'm not afraid. I just don't trust civilians."

"Civilians are everywhere, what other choice do you have?"

"I'm thinking about re-enlisting," James says.

A long pause passes.

"Sometimes I think I'm not cut out to be a civilian. You know? Some guys aren't," James says. "Buddy of mine went Blackwater six months after he got out. Couldn't stand the civilian world. Now he's making $10k a month using his military skills. I can't even get a warehouse job. At least the Army is simple. Someone's always got your back and all you have to focus on is the mission. You know where you belong."

Reid enters with fresh food and fresh beer. He sets it all on the coffee table with a glare at Coop. "Don't be so rude, get your feet off the table."

"Geez, I was just relaxing," Coop says.

"That's not relaxing, that's slouching," Reid says.

"Okay dad, I'll be good from now on," Coop says.

Reid sticks his tongue out at Coop.

James shakes his head with a little snicker. "You're not a people person, are you?"

"I swore off people a long time ago," Coop says.

Didj bounces into the room from the hallway, Go-Bag in one hand and dirty clothes under her arm. She is all wet hair and freshly showered energy.

"Where's the laundry room?"

Reid takes the bundle from Didj and maneuvers her to the couch. "I'll take care of it, you sit down and eat something."

"Are you sure? I know how to do laundry," Didj says.

"No worries, I've got it," Reid insists. "Sit. Eat. Relax."

"That beer looks good," Didj says.

"You think you should be drinking after everything you've been through?" Reid is concerned.

"Oh hell, I always drink after I've passed out!"

Reid shakes his head and exits with the laundry bundle.

Didj sits. Props her Go-Bag tight against her leg and the couch.

"Nobody's going to steal your bag," James teases.

"Got that right," Didj shoots back.

Didj grabs a handful of sandwich, takes a huge bite, chews fast and swallows with a big swig of beer. She takes another huge bite and short chews with a beer chaser, followed by a loud burp.

"Good chow," Didj says.

Coop and James watch in amusement as she digs in.

"You mentioned the war and the VA. You a vet?" Coop asks.

"Only half-assed according to the VA, but yeah, I did time in the Sandbox, two tours. And now I'm just trying to survive."

"How do you survive if you don't know where you live?" Coop asks.

"That's two questions, isn't it? Where do I live? And how do I survive?" Didj replies.

"Oh, this ought to be good," James says as he passes fresh beer to everyone.

"Did I already say I don't like you?" Didj says.

"Oh yeah, loud and clear. Five by five," James says.

"Let her talk," Coop says.

"Roger that," James says.

"Sometimes I stay at the Mission down in Pioneer Square when they have an opening and I know a couple of people up around the University District that let me couch surf in their dorm or apartment. I have to stay on the move for now cause I don't have a place of my own yet and I try not to overstay my welcome or be a bother, see, and then I met this nice lady on the ferry a couple weeks back and she let me stay in her guest house here on Vaseline Island -"

"Vashon," Coop corrects her.

"What?"

"Vashon Island," Coop says.

"You said Vaseline Island," James says.

"Did not."

"Whatever," James says.

"Keep going," Coops says.

"Where was I? Oh yeah, so I met this nice lady and that's where I was going only I lost my sticky notes stuff with her address and then all these trees and houses kinda look alike and I got all confused and that's when I came here."

"Why here?" Coop asks.

"I saw that extra building you got out there and figured that might be a guest house and maybe you were the place I'd been before and if not then maybe you'd let me crash out there."

"So, you're homeless," James says.

"I'm not homeless! I'm just residentially challenged."

"What about your family?" Coop asks.

"It was just me and my dad and he passed away two years ago. Took sick and lost his job and the house and everything. My brain don't function good and I couldn't keep a job, let alone a house, so - all gone."

"What about the VA? Don't they have housing facilities for women vets?" Coop asks.

"Oh sure. And waiting lists to go with them. Just like compensation benefits. I mean, the VA says fill out this form and that form and wait. How long, I ask. Ninety days, they say. That was like seventeen months ago. Still no disability. And female housing is really backed up. They tell you right up front it will be six to nine months, so don't hold your breath."

Didj lets out a giant championship quality belch of a burp.

James nearly chokes on his beer.

"Goddamn, woman, that was awesome!"

Reid has been standing at the kitchen entrance listening and breaks out in laughter as he brings fresh beer and chips for everyone. "Have some more fuel for the fire," he says.

"What do you do for food and money?" Coop asks.

"Mostly fly-the-sign," Didj says.

"Fly? What?" Coop and James speak in unison.

Didj unzips her Go-Bag and retrieves a folded piece of cardboard.

She moves behind the couch and faces them as she unfolds and holds up her sign.

"Fly the sign. See?"

The sign reads: Veteran Will Work for Peace-Meal.

James shakes his head and points at the sign. "You spelled it wrong. It should be P-I-E-C-E."

Didj beams with a huge smile and points back at him.

"See! Someone almost always stops me and says that, and you know what I say back? I say, No sir or No ma'am - I'm working for a little Peace of mind and a Meal to go with it. And you know what? They laugh at me and end up giving me a couple a bucks or buying me a burger. Makes them feel good and patriotic."

"You are nuts," James says.

Coop laughs.

"I may be nuts, but I'm not crazy. People want to feel good and if you help them feel good and make them feel like a patriot to boot, well hell, you don't go hungry for long in this country."

Coop raises his beer in toast to Didj. "Let's hear it for ingenuity and good old-fashioned American guilt."

"Support the troops!" Didj toasts back.

"Hooah!" James confirms.