Leaving for War

            I stood there looking at their blank faces. They looked dumbfounded and mute. All were staring at me with wide eyes. Some of the children had tears in their eyes. My mother sat in her chair not looking at me. She only stared at the floor. The men held their pipes in their hands staring right through me as if they expected me to come home any minute. My cousins looked at me with an expression that pleaded for me not to go. As I picked up my suitcase, my mother burst into tears. It was final; I would leave them for the last time, forever. My father stood up as if to say something, but only stood there silently. I felt the atmosphere of mourning, and pain in the room.

            I stood before them in uniform, suitcase in hand, rifle and helmet by the door. Turning around slowly I could hear the shivering of crying from the women. I heard the creaking sound of the armchairs being grasped by strong hands of the men. I placed the helmet on my head. There came the rushing sound of someone running up the stairs angrily followed by wailing cries. I dare not look back at this family of mine. It would only hold myself back, chained to the house psychologically. Before my hand touched the door knob a bony finger tapped me in the back. It was a gentle touch. My body froze as though paralyzed or turned to stone. I turned around regretful of the action. Before me was our withered old housekeeper, Shiva. She was such a passionate woman who cared for us for many, many years. Shiva was very old, older than she looked, and ancient.

            I looked at her old, friendly face. She smiled at me and held out her hand. In her hand was a top piece of the fence outside. Rusty and old it was. It was part of the house for many generations until I as a child broke it off by accident. I stared at it about to take it but hesitated. She urged me to take it. Taking it I put it in my pocket. I did not face anyone only the door. Opening the door, I hesitated again and said, "good-bye". I walked out with the door shutting behind me. At the end of the sidewalk was the army truck, waiting for me to serve my country, my people. I continued toward the gate and stopped, taking the fence piece from the pocket I placed it on the grass. I did not need anything nor wanted anything to remind me of precious home. It would only kill me in combat if I had a single thought of home.