Chapter 8: Sons and Guns

We must learn to live together as brothers or perish together as fools. Martin Luther King Jr.


Noa opened the letter. The recognition of the handwriting brought a flood of emotion and memories into her heart and throat. She felt her heart quicken. Three weeks had passed and no word. Nothing. The stillness frightened her. She feared a trio of uniformed men would appear at her door. They would not be welcomed.


Noa’s knowledge of war was limited, and for that she was thankful. It was a subject she was uncomfortable with, yet felt passionately about. She sensed her country acted too swiftly in response to the attack on native soil, and thereby, missed an opportunity to become citizens of the world. Instead, they responded in like kind with an eye for an eye, a life for a life times the power of America, and drew a dividing line between the USA and most of the world.


As a super power their retaliation had to be bigger, more powerful. A swift and clear win. It seemed very old school to Noa. Yet, she was involved in the war in the most personal sense. Her son was there embroiled in the battle for hearts and minds while carrying a very big gun.


Noa’s heart melted at the very sight of his handwriting. She pressed the paper he rested his hand on while selecting words to convey his thoughts to her check, knowing his DNA was there from the saliva used to seal the letter before it began its two week journey to her. It was as close as she could get to him. Noa held the letter to her face and inhaled deeply. She could smell him.


Blessed or cursed with a super sense of smell and taste, Noa remember the scent of each of her children, a few choice lovers and a couple of beloved pets. They were embedded in her soul, and frequently came wafting back at the most unsuspecting moments. This was truly one of the times she received the scent as a blessing.


Jake, her baby boy, was an American specimen of raw manhood, strong beliefs, a desire to make a difference, and at seventeen, he was itching to get started.


September 11 was his calling. Still in high school, he begged Noa to let him join the Marines. Noa recalled the moment with intense pride and gut wrenching fear.


“But Mom, I’m going to do it as soon as I turn eighteen, so what difference does it make if I do it now?” Jake’s lithe six foot two frame, vibrating with energy, leaned forward and waited for Noa’s answer.


“I’m not gong to sign for something you may later regret. The world is very unsettled right now. Take some time. Wait. It’s too dangerous, and bottom line—I don’t want you to go.” Noa jutted a replica of Jake’s strong jawline toward him, and hoped against hope he would change his mind. But indecisiveness had never been Jake’s problem. He chose sports, friends and hobbies with careful consideration, and stood by them. Noa knew he would be a Marine. When you are laying a life foundation, conviction counts.


Jake stood and paced the length of the room and back, then turned and faced Noa straight on. He was so close she could feel his breathe as he spoke.


“If not me, then who? Who should go? Should somebody else’s son die protecting us, me, you, your grandchildren, my nieces and nephews?”


“I’m only asking you to wait until you’re certain it’s the right decision. Then, if that’s what you want, I won’t stand in the way of your heart’s desire.” Noa’s eyes welled with emotion. “And if you still believe this is your way to make a difference, then do it.”


“Mom, you gotta believe.”


Noa knew he was right. It was a triumphant moment of motherhood. Confirmation of a job well done. “Then be the best Marine you can be.” Noa cupped Jake’s cheeks loosely in her hands. “And I have no doubt that will be a damn good one.”


Noa wrapped each word of the letter around her heart, and then placed it on the bedside table to be read again when comfort and closeness were needed.