12



David Mitchell stepped into the kitchen, showered and dressed in polo shirt, blue jean shorts, and tennis shoes. Sarah stood in front of the stove dressed in just her silky, blue bathrobe. She held onto the handle of a cast iron skillet while she flipped over a pancake. He looked at her, then he looked at the kitchen table. He saw a plate at his place with two pancakes, scrambled eggs, three slices of turkey bacon and two slices of toast. In front of the plate was a glass of orange juice and a coffee cup. He couldn’t remember the last time she woke up before, or much less made a big breakfast.
“What’s the occasion?” David asked her as she slipped the spatula under the pancake from the skillet and slid it onto a plate.
“I feel bad about the way I acted last night,” she scooped a spoonful of scrambled eggs onto her plate and placed a couple of slices of turkey bacon and toast on her plate.
“You remember that?” he asked as he sat at the table.
“Of course, I remember that. I’m not crazy,” she carried her plate to the table. She set the plate down and pulled back her chair to sit in it.
“I’m not saying you’re crazy, but something is off with you,” he cut a piece of pancake and stuck it into his mouth.
Sarah didn’t reply to his comment. For a few minutes, they ate in silence. Deep inside, she knew he was right. She can’t count the number of times she had been deployed since enlisted in the military when she was eighteen. However, for some reason, this return home has been different for her. She’s sleepwalking; she’s never done that before. She’s blanking out or blacking out; that’s never happened to her before. She’s having strange dreams and strange visions; it’s scaring her tremendously. She finished eating and she pushed her plate to the side. She picked up her coffee cup and slipped on her coffee.
“What happened over in Afghanistan?” David asked as he chewed on a piece of turkey bacon.
“Nothing,” she held her coffee cup close to her face like she was warming her hands.
“Sarah, honey,” he drained his orange juice and set the glass to the side. “I can’t help you unless you tell me what happened to you over there.”
“Dammit, David!” she slammed down her coffee cup onto the table. The cup broke and coffee poured out onto the table. “Why don’t you believe me?” she stood to her feet and rushed out of the kitchen.
“What was that for?” he stood to his feet and followed her out of the kitchen.
Sarah rushed down the hall and slipped into the guest bedroom. She slammed the door shut as he reached the room. He turned the doorknob, but she had locked it. He pounded on the door and demanded that she opened the door. She didn’t reply to his demand. He jerked on the doorknob and slammed his fist on the door.
“What is going on with you?” he yelled at the door.
“Leave me alone! I won’t be interrogated in my own home!” she cried out.
“Sarah, darling, I am not interrogating you. I’m just trying to understand what is going on with you,” he stopped pounding on the door. “Please, come out and talk to me.”
He placed his head against the door, trying to hear what she was doing in the room. He turned and placed his back against the door. He slowly slid down to the carpeted hall floor. He felt he was losing his wife and he didn’t know how to bring her back.
“Sarah, please, I am trying to understand. I just want to help you,” he said softly.
“I just want to be...