Missing The War.

The train platform was cold and snow covered with the design of a thousand fancy footprints. I sat down on that cold cement bench, and my warm breath danced out between my lips like a tea kettle. The air was brisk and windy. Men walked by in long coats and ladies strutted along with long legs and spiked heels.

I bit my bottom lip and sat up from the bench. I looked off in the distance and saw the familiar lights of the inbound train. The headlights looked like tiny little suns and the train always seemed to have a sarcastic smile to the front of it. I stood about a good two feet from the line and the train whizzed into the terminal, loud and windy as ever. Everyone crowded together, businessmen, school children, working class stiffs, and as the doors open they all squeezed into the train car.

Trailing at the back of the crowd, I finally managed to squeeze in. the train was packed, and I scoped the car for an available seat. There, towards the back of the car was a spot, “Good as any”, I said to myself. Grabbed my bag, unzipped the top of my coat and had a seat. In front of me sat a scrawny older man, with a great big mustache. His glasses were too big for his head, and he was dressed almost too warmly for winter.

His face was covered with wrinkles and his head with liver spots. His expressions as he observed others on the train seemed very sour and grumpy. Next to him sat a dark haired woman, probably about 30ish. On her way to work, obviously, because she was dressed much too classy for anything else. Her light blue eyes popped in the sunlight and she sat there,black nylons hugged her legs.

“' 'Scuse me, everyone. I'm a war veteran and ima askin if any ya'll have any spare change you can help me out wif..” The deep loud voice of a homeless man aged around 50ish. He had a scruffy gray beard and long matted hair. He walked back and fourth down the train car with a cup with change already in it and proceeded to shake it. The jingling sound of change filled the car and annoyed most. People either ignored him, gave him a dirty look or nodded there head as to signify they don't have any. They did. The homeless man looked around and made eye contact with the the old man sitting behind me.

“Pardon me sir, I was wondering if ya'll could help me out.. I'ma war veteran..” before he could finish the old man interrupted the homeless man almost right away. “Look pal, I'm a veteran as well.. I don't go braggin' about it. “Sir, I am just lookin to get myself something to eat, I haven't eaten in 2 days... It's very cold and I'm just... “Look guy, I told ya, I don't got anything for ya.” the old man interjected. He was obviously quite agitated. He pushed his larges glasses further up onto his face, as they dropped down.
“I did not mean any disrespect sir, I am... just trying to get back on my feet..” the homeless man's voice tone seem much more somber and quiet.

Only a few people in the train car seemed to notice the conversation, including me and the lady across from my seat Our eyes connected and I gave her a shoulder shrug. We both had no idea where this conversation was going. The old man was still giving the homeless man a very stern glance. I'm talking daggers, he was just boring a hole through the back of this guy's head. All of a sudden, the old man seemed to loosen his glance The homeless man was clearly upset and just generally broken.

“Nam?” The old man asked. The homeless man's expression changed almost instantly, the look on his face changed to a very sad, helpless expression.

“I bet it's been years since you've made that face.” the old man jabbed. “We lost a lot of good men in there, I mean for what?” The bearded confused homeless man started nodding his head back and fourth, he bit his lip and he was clearly in distress. “We lost more then men in that war sir..” the homeless man said very low. “Huh? Whatda mean?” the old man asked. “Mother's lost sons, father's sons, girlfriend boyfriends....” The hobo continued, almost like he's been holding all of this in for longer then he should have.

I continued to glance over as the conversation got more serious and almost like seeing two old friends catch up. They clearly didn't know each other, but the way they exchanged glances , that look in their eyes. They've seen things I could only imagine.

The homeless man proceeded to go on about what he lost, and how he's been looking for it ever since he left. The homeless man then made eye contact with me, as I was clearly listening in. “I couldn't been any older then this guy when I got back, but I wasn't like him..” he continued to look at me. “Excuse me?” I asked him, I had no idea if he was about to insult me, or excuse me of being ungrateful. “
“The way you sit there in your seat, the way you look out the window.., You haven't given up on the world yet.”I was unsure of what to say, I was just wondering to myself if this was going to escalate.

The older man with glasses sighed then turn his head from the homeless man to me. Looked me straight in the eyes and stated to speak. “I think what my pal here is trying to say is that he realizes that you're still fighting for something. All those years ago, we fought for freedom, fought to free the world of terror. We fought, a lot of good men died but that war is over.” The train rolled to a stop, and the homeless man pulled a hood over his head and walked out the doors, glanced over to me and the old man and nodded.

I eventually got off the train and carried on with my day. It's been years since that train ride, and I think I've finally made sense of what actually had happened. That sad, broken homeless man, he never finished that war, he was still in it. He had seen and experienced terrible and unmistakable things. He found solace in another 'War Buddy', he hadn't connected to someone since the war. For some reason, he saw something inside of me. He seen the way I carried myself and probably saw what he wished he had. A Chance.

Killing a man, seeing others die right in front of you, makes you old really damn quick. I realized that I may never actually fight in any sort of war, but the past is the past. It'll haunt you, tear you apart, consume you. You just gotta keep your head up and look toward the next day. Victory can arrive in all types of forms, you just have to keep fighting the good fight.

January 18, 2009