A LITTLE BIT OF COURAGE

A Little Bit of Courage

A special doll carries a universal message of courage to two sides of a savage and relentless war.

Jamie Lee McKenna galloped home from school with news that threatened to burst from her lips even before she flung open the front door of the simple brown house on Laramie Street. Resisting the urge to shout, she made her way toward the kitchen where she could see her parents’ outlines at the kitchen table. Reaching the doorway, her steps slowed, words dying on the tip of her tongue. The air in the familiar kitchen seemed palpable; her whole body reacted to it even before her mind could question, and the whisper of a shudder slithered up her spine. Her mother, who sat head lowered, face covered by her hands, murmured softly to her husband, "So, when do you leave?" She looked straight into his eyes.

"A week from Tuesday," he answered, reaching for her hand.

"How can we say this to the kids again?" she asked in a choked voice.

"Say what?" Jamie asked, stepping timidly into the room. A tickle of fear now danced in her brain. Her mother looked up abruptly. "Daddy, what?" she asked again, her throat tightening. Her father sat silently for longer than she could bear. “WHAT?”

“Your father's been called back,” her mother answered flatly. Jamie gulped back a sound resembling a moan, but it escaped again in a strangled howl.

“Daddy!" She shrieked, "You promised! You said never again!”

"I don't have any choice, baby," her father said, putting his arms around her. "I believed then, I could make that promise" was all he could say. She pushed him away hard and ran from the room, slamming the front door so hard the wood splintered around the bottom hinge.

Over the next few days, betrayal turned to fear, fear to terror, then a kind of instinct for survival turned it all to a white hot rage. She hated the National Guard. She hated America for needing a Guard. She hated the President who was the boss of the Guard, and she hated her father for joining “to keep America safe.” He wasn't supposed to go to a war, but they sent him to one. Home safe the first time, he promised never to leave her again. He had lied. Her anger grew so large, she couldn't speak. Her father was going to war, but she refused to talk to him. She was removed, seething, as her parents put the necessary arrangements in place that would see the family through until he returned from a second tour of duty in the Middle East. Ignoring the hurt in his eyes, she stalked the interior of the house like a caged tiger with a saddle full of guilt.

On Friday, Jamie's teacher called. That afternoon, it had been business as usual, but that evening, no one coaxed her to join them. Instead, her parents disappeared into the spare bedroom wishing not to be disturbed. Sullenly, she closed herself in her room, tip-toeing back occasionally, trying to make sense out of the sounds coming from behind the green door. Finally, she cried herself to sleep.

In the morning, the old surliness welled up even before she opened her eyes to find her father sitting near her bed. “Your teacher called,” he said, “to discuss the father/daughter dance next Friday. She asked if we'd been practicing our two-step,” he laughed. “She said you won the essay contest, so they will crown you class princess at the dance. Then you and I dance in a spotlight to lead off the snowball dance.” He paused. "I'm sorry I can't be there.”

A rivulet of tears began a slide down her cheek.

“I've asked Lt. Marino to take you in my place. Would that be all right?” She couldn't answer.

“He's a real smooth dancer,” he grinned. “He won't step all over your feet like I would.”

The hint of a smile threatened to break the set of her jaw.

Her mother entered as he slid a box from under her bed. Inside was a glittering gold party dress.

“Your mother made this for you,” he said. "And I made something for you too," he continued. “I wanted to give you someone to keep you company while I'm gone.”

As he spoke, his hand drew out a small handmade doll in a matching gold dress. “She comes from a long line of courageous McKenna women.”

Noting the questioning look in her eyes, her mother added, “It's a 'topsy-turvy' doll! We made it from a pattern passed down from your great-great-grandmother. See? She’s wearing your dress, and the same beautiful smile that we've been missing all week!”

Curiosity replaced reluctance on Jamie's face.

“And that's the smile I want to remember while I'm away!” her father added. "But that's not the coolest part! Turn her upside down…"

Jamie took the doll and flipped her over so the golden dress fell down over the cheery painted face. In the place where the legs should have been, there was a handsome soldier doll just like her father, standing straight and tall, dressed in an identical uniform, right down to the tiny shoulder bars and delicate buttons. He wore a loose jacket made from her dad's favorite blue/grey shirt. The scent of his familiar after-shave drifted upward.

“It's just a little bit of a doll,” he said, “But when you look at it, I want it to remind you that no matter where you are, or where I am, I will always be with you!” Jamie took the doll gently, and hugged it to her chest. Then she hugged her daddy to her chest as well. She named the doll “Courage,” and from that moment on, Courage McKenna was always with her. When the sadness and anger crept in, the doll was right there, seeming to give her just little bit of courage, enough to hold her fear at bay.

Departure day arrived with a warm wind that seemed destined to blow the mighty airplane more quickly toward its destination, whether anyone liked it or not. The family huddled together until the last boarding call sounded. With one last bear hug, Lt. McKenna turned and headed for the ramp. Almost out of sight, Jamie broke free and chased him to the door. Grabbing the back of his shirt, she pulled the doll out of her pocket and shoved it toward him.

“What's this?” he asked.

“Daddy, take her with you!” she cried. “When you look at her, you'll know I will always be with you!” He smiled gently, then tucked the little doll inside his shirt. “I will sing you both to sleep every night at 7 o'clock, Daddy!” she called after him.

Months passed, and Courage McKenna, true to her intent, served the lieutenant well. The golden party dress lost some sparkle, her face darkened with dust, but her smile never faded. The war beat him down, but the little doll reminded him of who waited at home. Turned over topsy-turvy, the little soldier reminded him of how dearly he loved his country.

Soldiers being what they are, Courage was the perfect target for good-natured ribbing by his comrades. “William 'Doll-baby' McKenna carries a doll!" they taunted, but he was a strong man, and a real man stands tall in the face of ridicule when his reasons are true... and every night at 7 o'clock, he imagined his baby girl kissing him goodnight and singing him to sleep, whether sleep came for him or not.

The war was going badly. Insurgents poured in, and squads were moved around the city to safeguard vulnerable targets. McKenna's unit was ordered to respond to an uproar at the edge of the city, and as they jumped from their vehicles to escort a group of children returning to school from a local well, a car bomb parked by the side entrance sent debris from the nearby building exploding into the street. Chaos erupted. Several children died instantly; others were grabbed by enemy soldiers and carried screaming into the desert; the rest, mortally wounded, lay amidst the debris, eyes wide, cries filling the air for mothers who were never to reach them. McKenna and two fellow soldiers, one who spoke the language of the region, crawled, broken and bloodied, from under piles of wood and concrete, and firing at close range, scrambled to their rescue. Dragging the surviving children into an opening in the side of the building, they secured their perimeter as terrorists effectively cut them off from the rest of their unit and all assistance.

For four days, as desperate citizens fled the area to escape the carnage and torture, the three wounded soldiers held off attackers as they cared for the dying children, knowing they did not have the resources to save them. The most gravely wounded, a petite dark-eyed girl screamed in agony, wailing in her native tongue for her mother, as McKenna rocked her in his arms. At last, in a panic of insufficiency, he pulled the little doll out of his shirt, and placed it in her hands. She quieted to a whimper, staring at the smiling face. He flipped the doll over topsy-turvy, and a look of curiosity washed over her pain-wracked features, as her eyes fixed on the little soldier, and alternately the girl in the golden dress. Bill's comrade translated, “Don’t be afraid. This is you with your beautiful smile, and this soldier, your father, sent me to watch over you. He wants you to know that he and I will always be with you!”

Hours later, the little girl slipped away, without a whimper or a cry, clutching the doll to her chest.

After that, one by one, the soldiers passed the little rag doll from child to child, one by one they quieted, no matter how serious their wounds. Each seemed comforted, gaining just a little bit of courage from this simple symbol they could hold in their arms. To each one, the words "I will always be with you" were the last words they understood.

Safe at home, Jamie Lee McKenna, sang them all to sleep each night at 7 o'clock.

Lt. William McKenna finally laid the last child down, then sadly, tucked the bloodstained doll into his pack and as the three soldiers stared silently at the savage results of war, their enemies moved out towards more important targets deep within the city.

Though the battle raged not far away, McKenna and his men had inherited a maze of deserted streets through which they carried the small bodies to the outside of town, burying them one by one in unmarked graves to prevent interference by insurgents. Traveling in darkness, they found their way back to the safety of their forces, where their own wounds were finally addressed. All three were returned to the states to recuperate from their injuries.

In an army hospital stateside, the family gathered. Notification came back through the ranks of an investigation into the incident that took the school. People now streamed back into the city. Iraqi parents shouted at the doors of officials to account for the children they had promised to protect in a school that existed in what seemed like another place and time. Were they alive? Were they captives? Mothers agonized over possibilities and collapsed, wailing in the streets. People cried out for answers and the army was unable to offer any. McKenna was hounded by superiors to provide names, numbers, dates of deaths, information that was impossible to provide. Pressure came from the top in an effort to promote cooperation between peace-keeping forces and representatives of the newly won city.

The three soldiers were at a loss, trying to explain to armchair generals in Washington that under fire, producing paperwork was not their highest priority. No matter, the demand for data hung ominously in the air, veiled with threats about their “conduct as officers.” Iraqi citizens demanded to know if their children were alive or dead. It was imperative to the religion for proper burial, and religion was what it was all about. Washington was pressing hard for scapegoats.

Meanwhile, Jamie, ecstatic at having her father home in any condition, was hammering him with questions about Courage. She wanted to see her doll. His letters stated she was fine, so now he could give her back. “Where is she? In your gear? In your rucksack? Where?” He wracked his brain to find excuses for not bringing forth the blood-stained doll. It was more war than he could bear for her to see. Suddenly the flicker of a solution dawned brightly in his mind. He avoided the question once more, stating that she was safe, and had given him and others courage every day, then excused himself from all visitors and called for the powers that be.

Hours later, an array of brass streamed from his hospital room in a rush to reach the nearest available form of communication with Washington, D.C. A box containing a precious cargo flanked by tight security was rushed to a waiting Humvee, which was unloaded shortly after into the air transport cargo hold of a C-130 bound for Iraq. At its destination, the airtight container was rushed to a naval hospital and opened by a gloved technician, who removed a small cloth doll wearing a stained gold dress, that flipped over topsy-turvy, to reveal a soldier in a soiled uniform covered by a reddened blue/grey jacket. The little soldier smelled faintly of Old Spice and tears.

As bloodstains trapped in the fabric were identified by their DNA, one by one, families were tested and matched, and every child who had held the little doll was named and given a burial ceremony in the city. Families were profoundly grateful and many found just a little bit of courage in this resolution.

Soon after, “Doll-baby McKenna” asked Jamie to push his wheelchair out the back door of the hospital where she steered him toward a towering magnolia, a favorite spot that did not resemble the desert in any way. Here, he recited the real story of Courage, and revealed how the precious doll was now on a special mission, to heal the hearts of families still trapped in a war they didn't want, and couldn't stop, but the secret information she carried would help them through it.

And Jamie could sing them all to sleep every night at 7 o'clock.

-© by taree Belardes 1/17/2008

For NYCMIDNIGHT 2008 SHORT STORY CHALLENGE

First Round

Competition guidelines:

Write a 2500 word or less short story within a 1week deadline.

Must write within the asigned genre: (drama)

And include somewhere within the story the assigned subject: (A doll)

At midnight, all contestants are emailed their assignments, and the race is on!

*This story has not been edited from the original submission written in one week
(5th place 2008 Short Story Comp)