Wallace Home – Opelika, Alabama – 21:00 Central Standard Time
Pulling into his parent’s driveway, the beams from Jim’s headlights flashed over a navy-blue Chevy K-5 blazer parked behind his parent’s cars. Stopping behind the blazer, he leaned to his left, looking for his brother’s Jeep; it was not in front of his parent’s vehicles. Maybe his brother had purchased another vehicle.
Switching off the headlights, his eyes were drawn to the Christmas tree lights flashing in the living room window. A smile spread on his face as he imagined the Christmas candles his mom would surely have lit, filling the house with the scent of the season.
A wave of nostalgia swept over him.
Wiping a single tear from his cheek, Jim climbed from his Chevy Silverado, closed the door, and hefted an Army duffle bag from the bed of the truck. A rustle sounded in the azaleas, lining the front of the house, as he rounded the front of his truck. He knelt down and clapped his hands.
A black form emerged from the shrubbery and hobbled toward him.
“Hey old girl,” Jim said, holding his hands out to, Prissy, the gray-faced black Labrador Retriever.
The fourteen year-old ambled into his arms and repeatedly licked his face.
“I sure have missed you,” Jim said.
“Have you missed me?” came a familiar voice from the front porch.
“You know I have, Momma,” Jim said, standing and walking toward the front steps.
“Where have you been?” Jean Wallace asked, hugging Jim.
“Drill.”
“Drill?” Jean said, placing her hands on Jim’s shoulders and creating enough distance to look him in the eyes.
“Yes, Momma, drill.”
“They give you ample notice for drill… you didn’t get that. Come in out of the cold,” she said, leaving her left hand on Jim’s shoulder while gesturing with her right for him to enter the house.
“Momma, it ain’t cold here,” he said, entering the house.
“Thanks for confirming you weren’t at drill.”
“How was Germany?” came a male voice from the far side of the living room.
“Ronnie,” Jim said, dropping the duffle bag and moving toward his cousin now rising from a recliner in front of the fireplace.
“Is it OK to hug you?” Ronnie asked, holding his arms open.
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Maybe you got beat up in Germany.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jim said, clasping his arms around Ronnie and lifting him into the air.
“Now I know you were in Germany.”
“No you don’t,” Jim said as he shook him in the air.
“Put me down.”
“OK.”
“You’re like a big kid sometimes,” Ronnie said, straightening his shirt.
“When did you come ashore?”
“Been in since the first of the month, but you’re not getting off that easy.”
“What do you mean?”
“Tell me about Germany.”
“I’m hungry,” Jim said, turning and walking toward the kitchen.
“Whatcha got to eat, Momma?” Jim said to his mother, who was sitting at the kitchen table reading her Bible.
“Meatloaf, butterbeans, and corn bread,” she said, not removing her eyes from her reading.
“In the oven?”
“Yeah.”
Jim opened the oven and began pulling the food out.
“Ummm, this smells good.”
“So tell me about Germany,” Ronnie said, taking a seat at the kitchen table. “How many of those Serbians did you kill?”
“I wasn’t in Germany.”
“Then where were you, son?”
Jim turned to find his mother still reading her Bible.
“Momma, you know better than ask these questions.”
“I know,” she said, turning a page, “but it’s fun aggravating you.”
“What does the Bible say about provoking your child to wrath?”
“I’m not provoking you to wrath, but if you’re ill, get you a glass of milk and go to bed.”
“Yeah, little, boy,” Ronnie said with a smile. “Take your grumpy butt to bed.”
“I’m not grumpy,” Jim said as he began placing food on his plate. “I’m just hungry.”
“They don’t have food in Germany?” Jean asked, closing her Bible and standing.
“Momma.”
“Good night, son,” she said, kissing him on the cheek. “I’m glad the Lord brought you home safely.”
“Good night, Momma,” Jim said, watching his mother disappear into the dark hallway leading to the bedrooms.
“So, if you weren’t in Germany, are you the one responsible for letting Liam Cavanaugh get away in Belgium?”
Jim cast a short glare at Ronnie before lifting his plate and joining Ronnie at the table.
“Pascagoula ain’t Naples, is it?” Jim said before shoveling some meatloaf into his mouth.
“Not even close.”
“No, Mississippi ain’t quite Italy.”
“And my new commander is a S.O.B.”
“Momma doesn’t even like the use of that in her house.”
“It’s just letters.”
“She’d say it’s the spirit of the letters.”
“Thank you, Jim,” Jean said from the opposite end of the house.
“Wow,” Ronnie whispered
“She hasn’t lost a step.”
“Anyways, it fits him.”
“Sometimes you have to manage up.”
“Not ever going to work with this guy.”
“Sounds like we need to talk outside,” Jim said, standing and walking toward the living room.
“You got some Copenhagen?” Jim asked as Ronnie climbed into the passenger seat of the truck.
“You don’t?”
“Didn’t have time. Close the door.”
“You think she can hear out here?”
“I don’t think, I know. Now close the door.”
Ronnie closed the door as Jim started the truck.
“Why are you starting the truck?”
“Background noise. You got some Copenhagen?”
Yeah,” Ronnie said, fishing a can of snuff from his right back pocket.
“Thanks,” Jim said, taking the can of snuff. “Now tell me about this S.O.B.”
“He doesn’t like having a sailor with extra duties.”
“What extra duties?” Jim said and began popping the can of snuff.
“NIS duties.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Back up to the beginning.”
Ronnie took a deep breath while Jim packed the snuff between his lower gum and lip.
“OK, about year ago, I was home and went to a party at Johnny’s house.”
“And you smoked dope, came back to duty, and got popped on a whiz quiz?” Jim said with disgust.
“Yeah,” Ronnie said, looking down at his hands.
“So you’re narcing for NIS and your commander doesn’t like it?”
“Yeah.”
“You remember that conversation we had at the Kowaliga bridge?”
“Jim, you act like I don’t know I screwed up.”
“My bad, my bad. So you don’t think you can get out of his dog house?”
“No.”
“Come on. How are your ratings?”
“Top scores.”
“Your PT tests.”
“Maxed them.”
“You volunteering for extra training?”
“Yes, I’m doing all the things I can to make myself look like a superb sailor.”
“I don’t like it.”
“Join the club.”
“How much longer?”
“My enlistment is up in about eight months.”
“There’s your light at the end of the tunnel.”
“Feels like an eternity.”
“It’ll be over before you know it, just be safe… but you already know that.”
“I do.”
“And stay out of trouble.”
“Trying my best.”
Jean Wallace appeared in the front door. Jim climbed from the truck.
“What is it, Momma?”
“Ronald called. He said the Navy just called him and ordered Ronnie back to base tomorrow.”
Jim turned to look at Ronnie.
“See what I mean?” Ronnie said. “Freaking Christmas Eve.”
“Some commanders suck. Just do what you need to do to come out safely on the other side.”
Judgement Call Table of Contents
Judgment Call – JW Harrelson
1st Edition, 2017
Copyright © 2017 by Jim Wallace Enterprises, LLC.
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