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Isn't it just the bitterest kind of irony? That he, Eddie, the one Mrs. Peterson always chastised for being a lefty, ends up losing that very arm. Jesus, maybe he should've just gone and done like his brother, marrying his high school sweetheart at 16 and popping out kids he couldn't afford.
Billy was the only one in the army who truly got him anyway. The only one who understood just because his drawl was slow didn't mean *he* was slow. He can't help but recall when they were both lying in the hospital, and Billy tried to lighten the mood for them both by saying, "Hey, how 'bout I swap you my left arm for your right?" Eddie was taken aback by his cheerfulness. Billy just laughed it off, "Well, it ain't like my dick got blasted off too," joking in that dark way of his.
The click and flare of a bulky cigarette lighter in the therapist's waiting room jolted Eddie from his thoughts, reminding him of-
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*A child's cry brought him right back into the jungle. His commander was busy torching an unruly village- one they were supposed to have emptied of innocents. Except there was a child trapped under a wooden board, flames licking up the left side of her body. The girl's eyes flicked toward him, seeking help – enemy or not, he was still an adult, and adults help, right?**He couldn't, though, so he just stood there paralyzed like a fool. Billy came up from behind and clapped him congenially on the shoulder.* "Nothing like tragedy in the morning, eh?" *Billy quipped hollowly, his eyes blank. Eddie brushed him off, feeling nauseated, and stumbled off to the side to vomit.* "Oh, don't get Negative Nancy on me. They were gonna grow up to be commies anyways," *Billy sneered with a roll of his eyes.**Rain began pelting their helmets, but it was too late for the little girl. One side of her face was charred; her other eye stared blankly. Eddie was sure he could see the calls of hellfire in that eye, but then again, he was already in hell, wasn't he? He wondered, then, if he hadn't been blown up too when Bob went and stepped on that toe popper.*
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Lying there in the field hospital, his left arm gone, was when Eddie realized he hadn't died with Bob. The pain had been too real, too sharp- the kind that made him want to crawl right back into the safety of his mother's womb. Now, with a hangover throbbing in his head, he felt nauseous again.
He just wanted to get this over with because physical therapy is next- the one that always made him feel like a fucking cripple. He might not have been like Billy, beating the shit out of his physical therapist because a balloon popped, but for Eddie, the little girl's ghost lingered. Eddie may have detested the thought of being mentally probed, but his greater fear was ending up a drunk and destitute, and he was already halfway there.
The soft call of his name broke him out of his reverie, making his head swivel sharply towards the voice. He knew when he saw them, the person who was going to tinker in his head, that he was completely and utterly fucked.
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