“I’ll take it from here, soldier,” announced a voice behind him. Major Samuelson and a translator approached the Hum-vee. The translator said something, and the man in sunglasses pulled the muzzle of the gun back into the car without taking his eyes off Danny.
Danny stood down, sweat pouring from his body. Samuelson and the translator got into the Humvee with the armed passenger and drove off.
Just then, Danny’s relief showed up. “What the hell was that all about?”
“Oh, man,” said Danny. “Not my problem. Not anymore.”
“Okay, we’re going to try sitting up today.”
Danny opens his eyes to see Pilar, the day nurse, rearranging the tubes attached to his body. Almost everybody who works at Harborview seems to be Filipino. When they speak to each other, their soft, clipped language has a lot of Spanish in it, but even so, Danny can’t understand it.
He thinks of an old punch line: “What do you mean ‘we,’ Kemo Sabe?”
“Very funny,” says Pilar. “Okay, ready?”
“Yeah.”
She puts one hand behind his back and pushes gently, while Danny uses his arms to press up. There is some pain and pulling. He catches his breath and grimaces.
“You okay?”
“Not too bad,” he says. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
“Good. The sooner you start moving around, the sooner you can go home. Want to try standing?”
“Sure.”
Pilar fits some slippers on his dangling feet. His legs look like somebody else’s coming out from under the gown.
“You going to give me something to cover my butt?”
“As soon as you stand up, I can put a robe on you,” she says.
Danny stands. Muscles pull. Bones creak as she holds him by the waist.
“How’s that?” she asks.
“Good.”
“Can you stand by yourself? Here, hold onto the railing.” Pilar works a robe onto Danny’s shoulders.
“Well, well! Look who’s standing.” It’s Danny’s father Sam in the doorway.
“Hey,” says Danny, pleased in spite of himself.
“He’s doing great!” says the nurse. “How about if I get a wheelchair and you can visit in the lounge?”
“What do you think, Danny boy?”
“Good deal.” Danny is so pleased that he doesn’t even object to the eternal nickname.
“Here. Stand right here,” Pilar positions Danny’s father next to him, “while I get a wheelchair.”
“Have you seen Aimee today?” asks Sam.
“I think so.” Time has been elastic for Danny in the hospital. “I think she and Sirena took the kids swimming. Is today Sunday?”
“Yes.”
Pilar returns with the wheelchair and Danny’s mother. “Look who I found.”
“Aye,
“Let him sit down first,” cautions Pilar.
Even after two minutes, Danny is grateful for the rest. The nurse attaches his bags to a rolling stand and wheels him down the hall.
“Don’t cry, Mom.”
“I can’t help it.” She dabs at her eyes. “I’m just so happy to see you can stand,
Danny’s father goes straight for the television. “Let’s see if the game is on.”
“Is that all you can think about?” says his mother. “You come to visit your son, and you want to watch the game?”
“Of course not! It’s up to Danny. It’s the Final Four.”
“The game is fine, Dad.”
Danny’s father watches Florida vs. UCLA while his mother recounts what Aimee and the kids did that day. They are staying with his parents on South Plum in what had been meant as a short visit upon his return from Iraq. It isn’t a big house, and Danny figures they must all be getting on each other’s nerves by now.
“They got up and had cereal, then went out. So I’ve just been cleaning all day.”
The sound of the game on the television suddenly rises, the announcers rabid with excitement.
“Turn that thing down!” snaps Danny’s mother.
“I just want to hear the scores. I’ll turn it back down in a sec,” her husband replies.
When Danny spots Aimee and the kids coming down the hall, he breaks into a big grin. Sirena is with them.
“Daddy!” chirp the kids, running up and trying to climb in his lap.
“Careful, careful,” says his mother.
Aimee holds them back, an arm around each waist. “You can’t climb up on Daddy yet. Remember, he was hurt. Just give him a kiss.”
Just then Danny’s father turns up the volume on the TV again. “Here you are,” he says.
The TV shows a clip from the grainy video taken the night Danny was shot. Danny sees the car window slowly roll down, the stone face of the policeman. The officer has his gun out. He yells at Danny, who stumbles out of the car, struggling to comply with the policeman’s orders as he barks out commands and expletives, his voice rising higher and higher. Then he hears himself say it: “I mean you no harm.”
The officer orders him down, then up, and Danny shuts his eyes, anticipating the sound of the gun.
“Not in front of the children,” Letty hisses.
“Sorry.” His father switches the channel to a commercial. Danny’s parents continue to argue in low voices in Spanish, until his father switches off the TV and stomps out.
“Was that you, Daddy?” asks Jacob.
Danny turns his wheelchair at the sound of his son’s voice. He continues to stare at the blank television, as though the ghostly blue-white images are still on the screen.
“No,” he says, “that was somebody else who looks a lot like me, talks a lot like me, but gets shot by the police. That’s not me.”
“But you were shot. Who shot you?”
Aimee says nothing.
“Somebody,” says Danny. “Somebody who thought I was a threat.”
Eight months later, Danny is back in Iraq. For better or worse, the cop in Seattle had missed all his vital organs and he healed up as only a young guy can. Danny had gladly rejoined his company.
“Soldier,” says his lieutenant, “you need to report to the CO’s office.”
Oh shit, thinks Danny. Now what?
The commanding officer has a desk, a couple of chairs, and an air conditioner. Danny removes his helmet and feels the sweat evaporate off his head and neck.
“Have a seat,” the CO says. “We just got a call from Seattle.”
Danny sits.
“There was a shooting incident there last night.”
Danny swallows.
“Same place, same block where you were shot. The police think the officer in question was deliberately targeted.”
“What do you mean?”
“It was the cop who attacked you.”
A pain shoots up Danny’s side from his leg to his shoulder. Amboy had been cleared of all wrongdoing and put
