Ghost Images
By Valerie Bruce
© 12/14/2009 by Valerie Bruce
Smashwords edition
Dedication: In memory of Thomas H. Bruce. I miss you every day, Grandpa.
As the plane touches down I begin to grow nervous. It has been over fifty years since I was here last and most would prefer to forget the past or deny it existed in the first place. I can’t forget. I refuse to forget.
I shuffle off the plane, followed closely by my granddaughter and great grandson. We make our way to the baggage claim and then to the long wait at Customs. It helps somewhat that we speak the language and we finally step out into the sunlight to where Otto and his family are waiting for us. For Otto and I, it is a bittersweet reunion. The younger two of our little party stay up to combat the seven hour jet lag as best they can. Being the old man that I am, I need a nap.
I wake and hear the language of my childhood. I didn’t really understand all those years ago at sixteen why my father had changed our last name and moved us away from the place we were living. But by the time I was drafted at eighteen, I understood all too well. I was one of the lucky ones or unlucky if you looked at it another way. I got into the medical corps rather than infantry or anything else. Some of the things I saw still haunt my dreams to this day.
We had a wonderful dinner at one of the local restaurants and came back for brandy and at least for Otto, smokes. The younger set retires early, leaving the old men to their drinks and conversation.