Soft beeps murmed from the corner of the makeshift bedroom. A nurse attached a blood pressure cuff around the Sergeant's arm as a physical therapist slowly raised her paitient's right leg with a pulley.
"I see it's time for the Lilliputians to move Gulliver today," said the Sergeant's mother cheerfully as she came in from the kitchen[1].
The Sergeant's large hand fell from the bed to dangle. I brushed my head under his unresponsive hand and licked it, his skin tasted a little bitter due to the fact that his mother had applied his favorite collagne to his wrist.
The nurse smiled down at me as she turned towards the mother. "Your son sure is my best smelling patient yet,"[2] the nurse smiled and took off the blood pressure cuff.
The Sergeant's mother walked over to her son's bed. She brushed his hair away from his unresponsive eyes. The physical therapist began to raise the Sergeant's other leg with a pulley.
A bead of saliva glistened in the morning sunlight as it slipped from the Sergeant's lips. His mother made a tsk sound and pulled a clear tube from the wall.
"Don't worry. Mommy's here, do you need some suction?"[3] His mother asked, water welled up to the rim of her eyelashes. She let out a breath as she suctioned the saliva. I leaned against her legs for support.
[1] Actual quote from page 3 of resource: Winerip, Michael. "Holding On to Hope.(Long Island Weekly Desk)(PARENTING)." The New York Times 157.54216 (Feb 10, 2008): 1(L). The New York Times. Gale. Lesley University. 15 Feb. 2008
[2] Actual quote from page 4 of resource: Winerip, Michael. "Holding On to Hope.(Long Island Weekly Desk)(PARENTING)." The New York Times 157.54216 (Feb 10, 2008): 1(L). The New York Times. Gale. Lesley University. 15 Feb. 2008
[3] Actual quote from page 5 of resource: Winerip, Michael. "Holding On to Hope.(Long Island Weekly Desk)(PARENTING)." The New York Times 157.54216 (Feb 10, 2008): 1(L). The New York Times. Gale. Lesley University. 15 Feb. 2008
* * * *
"She's coming home," he said and smirked at me. I watched him fluff up the pillows and put on new sheets. It smelled like fresh laundry.
He asked, "you know what that means?" I looked at him, my tongue lolling happily as I panted in the warm summer air in the house.
He moved over to the CD player and pressed the button. Sleeping sounds of her came from the stereo, including her snoring. "She kills me with that snoring, but god help me, I recorded her last time she was home, just so I could hear her sleep next to me sometimes."
He came over to me and placed his hands on my face and scratched behind my ears. "I'm just happy she'll be home, snoring and all."[1]
[1] Vinette based on a letter read in resource: Carroll, Andrew. (2006). Operation homecoming: Iraq, Afghanistan, and the home front, in the words of U.S. troops and their families. New York: Random House: Chapter: Home
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