Along the lower reaches of the Snohomish River lies a cluster of homes. Not even enough to call a village.
The people living there are poor. Mostly they rely on what they can earn from the forest or the river; Salmon (in season), shell fish (in season) kelp (in season), The forest yields mushrooms and florist greens (in season).
Although not Indian, their children went to the nearby reservation as the nearest non-Indian school was fifteen miles away. When the boys were old enough, they joined the military, usually the Army.
Tom Goodnight joined the Army in 2003, right out of High School. He was sent to basic, then on to a Stryker Brigade at Fort Lewis. A year later, they deployed to Iraq. He was inside a vehicle hit by an explosive hidden in the road, suffering a concussion. Nothing more.
Three weeks later, on foot patrol, he was blown into a drainage ditch by another explosion. This time, he had more than a concussion.
He was flown to Germany, then on to Bethesda Naval Hospital in Maryland. The doctors repaired the torn arm, removed the damaged fingers.
During rehabilitation at Fort Lewis, he met Shirley. Willowy, long brown hair, delicate features. A volunteer in the ReHab unit.
She became his guide, leading him through the exercises to re-establish equilibrium. Nearby when Rehab Specialists helped him relearn the use of arm and fingers, she became his focus. She became his reason to continue.
The exercise was hard. Much worse than any PT the Army had put him through. Not physically, mentally. Every time he slacked, she leaned in,"When you're healthy, I'm going to Fuck your brains out."
Day after day, he worked, feeling strength return to his arm, dexterity to the remaining fingers.
Finally, he was told his discharge was near. When he returned to the Rehab unit the next day, there was no sign of Shirley. He asked what had happened with her, no one knew.
Sadly, he waited for the papers to be completed. Took forms where told, stood in lines as directed.
