Wild Turkeys in Their Service

In the morning, Henry looks out into the foggy dawn to find a flock of wild turkeys walking through the mist. With another kind of creature, horses, bears, or moose, there would be a mythic quality, but he can't feel that way about these animals. More than anything he realizes, he feels a little protective. They are awkward creatures that are also delicious, and come hunting season, young people will be out in the field blasting away at them. He walks outside with his cup of coffee and stands on his porch and finds that his neighbor Dave is there too, doing the same thing. Since Henry's son joined the army, Dave is kind of always there.

Dave points his coffee cup at the birds. "Too bad we can't bag one now."

Henry makes a mouth noise that is non-commital enough to end the conversation, but he knows he's not that lucky. "Is your boy still in Korea?"

"Yes, he is."

"You thank him for his service for me, all right?"

Dave does this every month or two, and something about it makes Henry want to punch him in the face, which he might have done when he was young. Instead he says, "All right."

"Wonder what it's like?"

"What's that?"

"Your son's watching the DMZ, right? I wonder what it's like."

"Completely boring and terrifying at the same time."

Something about the way Henry has said this makes Dave turn around and stare at him. "Did you serve? I didn't know you served."

Henry wants to tell him no. He doesn't want to be thanked or saluted or whatever the hell Dave is going to do. He doesn't want to be invited over for the 4th of July or Veteran's Day. He doesn't want a muted conversation on 9/11 or on Pearl Harbor Day. What he wants from Dave is a companionable silence. He wants to say no, but something inside him makes him say, "Yes."

"Well then," Dave starts in.

"Please don't thank me for my service."

And that shuts Dave down, who turns back to the wild turkeys finding food, tending to their own survival before someone like Dave blasts them in the fall. Henry has hunted, knows what it is, and why Dave thinks it needs to be done. Henry certainly eats meat. Still the idea of it right here and now makes him angry. Henry says, "My father served too, fought in WWII."

"Yeah."

"When he got back home, he shot himself because of it. We don't thank each other for our service in my family."

"All right," Dave says and he descends into an awkward silence, which is companionable enough for Henry. The turkeys wander into the road and then out, but no one drives over them or fires at them. Eventually Dave goes into his house, and Henry hopes he stays there, but he knows Dave is going to find some way to be annoying eventually. For now though, he's got the whole outside world to himself and the unending anxiety thinking about his boy and his service on the other side of the Pacific.