NBA Dramatique, Prelude 11

Miller drove along the old country road for some time, passing fields of corn for miles. He was concerned for his friend. It had become increasingly difficult to make contact and, when his friend bothered to answer the phone, the conversations were brief and dismissive. Miller knew it wasn’t a personal thing. His friend carried a lot on his shoulders, and it had been many years since he had received anything resembling commendation for doing so. Miller felt in some way slightly responsible for that, but his window of opportunity to do anything about that had passed. Like his friend, Miller’s age had taken him off the battlefield.

Eventually, he saw the small old-fashioned diner along the side of the road. He slowed the car and turned into the loose-gravel parking lot. Miller parked beside the car that he recognized as belonging to his friend and stepped out of his own vehicle. The day was clear and sunny, and the sunlight reflected brightly off of the chrome and glass surfaces of the diner’s exterior, causing Miller to squint and shield his eyes with his hand. He walked toward the door of the restaurant and went inside.

Sitting alone in a booth at the far end of the diner, back turned to the door, was Miller’s friend: the Legend. He had been larger than life as an infantry man, leading on the field like no other. Now he just looked large, thought Miller, laughing to himself. He walked over and rested his hand on his friend’s shoulder for a moment. “Glad I finally caught up to you.” He sat down in the booth across from his friend.

The Legend looked at Miller with mild irritation, and let it pass. He looked back down into the cup of coffee that rested on the table in front of him. Silence passed between the men for several moments, one staring steadfastly into his coffee and the other staring at his friend. Miller finally broke the routine by turning his head to the right to gaze out the window at the road. “You shouldn’t put so much of this on yourself.”

“It’s not that so much anymore.” The Legend continued looking into his mug and stirred the coffee with a spoon. “It used to be that. I used to feel that. I felt it a lot when I was a fighter. When I was on the field, I felt like it was up to me. I had plenty of help, but I knew it was up to me to get ‘em all into gear. When I was a general, I felt it. If I couldn’t teach the men how to win, I was failing at my job. But I’m not in the trenches anymore. I don’t fight the battles. I’m a politician. I don’t feel like it’s my fault anymore if they don’t know how to fight. I feel like it’s theirs.”

“Well, something’s got to you. It’s all over your face. You aren’t talking to anyone. People don’t know what you’re doing. It’s concerning.”

“You want the truth? I’m starting to think that maybe I just don’t care anymore. They don’t care. They go out and half-ass it and grumble under their breath and just get beat. They don’t care. And if they don’t, why should I?”

Miller sighed. The waitress approached and asked if he wanted anything. “I’ll take a glass of milk and a cup of coffee. Mmmmmaaand a slice of the sweet potato pie.” The waitress scribbled and left. “No. You care. If you didn’t, you’d just walk away. There’s some part of you that still thinks you can make a difference in some way.”

“In war, in any contest, there’s only one winner. Everyone else loses. There’s no real difference between losing first and losing last.”

Miller sighed. “Look…I wish things had gone differently when I was still in uniform. We just couldn’t get over the hump. I take a lot of the blame for that. I’m gone, Jermaine left without becoming the leader you needed in my absence, and you’re stuck. I get it. But you’ve got young guys who believe in you and believe in the war. Guys who have seen a few tours of duty and know what they’re doing. Don’t give up on them.”

The Legend looked at Miller and shook his head. He threw a few dollars onto the table as he stood up and then pulled his keys from his pocket. He said nothing.

“What are you doing?” Miller asked his friend.

“I have to prepare an army” he said. But in his head, the sentence was “I have to prepare an army to die.”