The Choice

“I don’t think you understand the pressure I’m under.”
“What would it take for you to feel safe?”
“Safety isn’t the issue. If I’m not in control, people die.”
“Is that what safety would feel like to you? Freedom from the fear
that people are going to get hurt on your watch?”
“It’s not just a fear.”
“Take me where you are. What are you thinking of?”
“I don’t think you want to hear this.”
“You don’t have to worry about me.”
“You won’t understand.”
“You’re right, no one can ever understand someone else
completely. But I can tell you that I was once a prisoner of war.
Whatever it is you want to tell me, I’ve probably heard—and seen—
worse.”
“In the military, it’s kill or be killed. So when I got the order, I
didn’t question it.”
“Where are you when you get this order?”
“Vietnam.”
“Are you inside? Outside?”
“In my office at the air base.”
I watched his body language as he took me into the past. I watched
his energy, his level of agitation, so that I could be attuned to any
distress that signaled we were going too far too fast. He had closed his
eyes. He seemed to be sinking into a trance.
“Are you sitting or standing?”
“I’m sitting when I get the call. But I stand up right away.”
“Who’s calling you?”
“My commanding officer.”
“What does he say?”
“That he’s putting my men on a rescue mission in the bush.”
“Why do you stand up when you hear the order?”