1
Seattle, Autumn 2021
Mitch watched the I-5 traffic stream by like duty-bound ants marching in neat columns on their way to another conquest. He had wanted to open the window, covered with many months of dirt and grime, but it would have taken a half-dozen requisitions and just as many months before the maintenance department would have tended to it. He didn’t care about gaining a better view of the endless procession of late afternoon commuters; he was hoping to get a better view of the sun setting over the Olympic Mountains from the vantage point of the eleventh floor doctor’s office downtown.
Whether it was from an office building or from the decks of a ferry plying the waters of Puget Sound, it didn’t matter to him. Simply seeing the sun wash over the evergreens once again eased his anxiety faster than the strongest pharmaceutical he’d ever been prescribed. And over the course of the past few years, he’d been prescribed more pills for more reasons than he cared to count. But he wasn’t concerned about any of that now. He was focused on finally getting home.
At times, he questioned the life-altering choices he had made or the ghosts he had been avoiding for so long. At times, he even wondered why they had that much power over his better judgement, or if, in the end, he had avoided them at all.
It had been many years since he had last visited Seattle. The city seemed so foreign to him now. The places he enjoyed on his rare visits: a University District music store he had loved for their extensive inventory of compact discs, a Pioneer Square sports bar within walking distance of the football stadium, and a waterfront seafood restaurant he had listed among his favorite places, were all long gone. Except for the Space Needle, the skyline was not how he had remembered. A decade or more of gentrification that had given birth to a collection of glittering glass-on-steel architectural masterpieces, could only distantly hide the once-vibrant intersection of First Avenue and Pike Street. No longer decorated with flower baskets filled with a colorful bounty, or teaming with hungry buskers distracting eager tourists heading toward the Pike Place Market, this, as with other downtown boulevards once bursting with a vibrance representative of all the city had been known for, now seemed soulless. Empty paper coffee cups danced across the pavement like tumbleweeds, while lifeless eyes peered from wind-tattered tents that shared the sidewalks with empty storefronts and growing mounds of trash. Save for a recollection of a few clandestine excursions, Mitch no longer had any interest in this place. He wanted to conclude his business and be on his way back to a world that was also nothing more than a distant memory: a world filled with blackberry, apple, and pumpkin pies cooling on windowsills in the warmth of a late summer morning, the Memorial Day parades led by a high school band, the volunteer fire department, and a collection of potbellied members from the local VFW, and the potpourri of Fourth of July barbecues, sack races, and firework displays lighting up the skies over a Rockwell-esque Friday Harbor. It was a place he had wrapped around his insecurities as if it were a goose-down comforter used to keep warm during a snow-driven winter storm, and it was the place he had avoided. Maybe going back and facing the ghosts of his past would be more painful and life-threatening than the physical wounds and emotional scars he’d sustained during his multiple tours of duty in Iraq and Afghanistan. Yet here he was, as if a few more tests and one more opinion might have produced the silver bullet that would have magically reversed every bad decision he made over the past twenty years during a self-inflicted exile.
For the tenth time in as many minutes, he glanced at his watch, then up at the wall clock for confirmation. He’s late again, he thought before becoming aware of the clock’s relentless ticking and noticing the long shadows cast upon the opposite wall. To him, those shadows resembled a life slipping away—a life he felt no more able to grasp and hold on to no more than he could grab and hold on to any one of those shadows—and it abruptly reminded him of one of the last times he saw Alex.
* * *
Iraq 2004
“Is that who I think it is?”
Mitch reflexively cringed then turned toward the sound of the familiar voice. “Alex! I mean, Captain,” he quickly corrected himself, in front of the squad of men in his charge.
“Holy cow, Mitch, what the hell! What brings you to Baghdad?”
“Besides an all-expense paid luxury vacation, courtesy of Uncle Sam?” He forced a smile, then dismissed his men before continuing. “My unit was moved over here in oh-three from Afghanistan…for the invasion. We’ve been doing a lot of probing for, you know,” he lowered his voice, “retaking Fallujah. I don’t suppose you have anything to do with planning that, sir?”
Alex surveyed his immediate surroundings before responding. “No one’s within earshot now. Even if they were, you can drop the captain and the sir nonsense.”
“I’ll take that as a yes…sir.”
“C’mon, Mitch, let’s not do this here.”
“Fair enough, Alex. You were saying.”
“I pulled a few strings to get some of the best recon units for a little fun I’ve got planned before we launch the main operation. And yes,” he winked and attempted a little levity, “I even asked for you.”
“Very funny. Let it be known that even over here, you’re trying to get me to do your heavy lifting. When are you ever gonna admit that if it wasn’t for my size, speed, and blocking ability, you would’ve never scored all those touchdowns in high school?”
“That was you?” He smirked. “I did pretty well in college without you by the way.”
“Yes, I’ve heard…constantly. No offers from the pros, huh?”
“I had more important business to attend to.” Alex patted his sidearm.
“Yes, I’m well aware of that too.”
“What, you think you’re the only patriot?”
“So, that’s what you call it!”
“Mitch, please. There’s a lot you need to know. There’s a lot we really need to discuss. Not here, though. This isn’t the time or the place.”
“I’ll give you that. So, moving right along, when did you get here?”
“I’ve been in country for about two months now.”
Mitch smiled. “That’s hardly enough time to get your utilities dirty.”
Alex ignored the dig. “Truth be told, it seems like I’ve been here forever. Anyway, I’ve been here long enough to have that kid over there waiting to do errands for me every day.” He laughed and pointed to a ten-year-old Iraqi boy waiting nervously at his tent. “Showed up one day outta nowhere and now he’s like my shadow. You’ve been up to your neck in this for how long now?”
“Since summer of oh-two. Afghanistan and now here. So, who is this kid, like your food taster or your house boy?” He studied the child with suspicion.
“Food taster?” Alex laughed. “He cleans up the tent, does my laundry…provides a little intel now and then. I pay him in MREs, which I’m sure he sells on the black market.”
“Smart little guy. Just don’t eat anything he brings you,” Mitch warned. “I don’t trust the locals.”
“You don’t trust anyone, especially me.”
“Well, it’s not as if you didn’t earn it.”
“I guess in your mind, at least until we have a chance to talk, I deserve that.”
“You do, but I’m serious about not trusting the locals, Alex. You never know who’s an insurgent or who’s been compromised.”
“Don’t worry, I checked him out. He’s a good kid.”
“Famous last words. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Well, anyway, you’re an intelligence officer, so I guess you know what you’re doing. After all, you made it through ROTC and all that other fancy training with your boyish good looks intact. I’ll bet the folks back home are proud of you as you rise through the ranks like a rocket.”
“Jealous?”
“Not one bit.” Mitch said defensively.
“Keep this to yourself…the real damage is on the inside.” Alex pointed to his head.
“I had heard that about you intel officers.”
“And look at you! Three stripes! That didn’t take you as long as I thought it would, Marine. At the rate you’re going—”
“Not me, brother. Except for burn-pit duty and having to get all those booster shots, I was happy just being a grunt. Only now I’ve got responsibilities like leading a squad on patrols. And on top of everything, I’ve got these guys who are just a couple years younger than us calling me ‘Pops,’ of all things.”
“Burn-pit duty, huh? I didn’t know they gave out Purple Hearts for sucking down toxic smoke. Does that stuff really get you stoned?”
“I almost wish it did. Sometimes that stuff made me puke up my guts like there was no tomorrow. I should’ve gotten those medals for that instead of playing dodgeball with bullets.”
“Yeah, I’m told everybody heard about that…front page of the paper back home.”
“Didn’t mean to steal your thunder.”
Again, Alex ignored the dig. “Next time you should duck and dodge a little faster.”
“Honestly, it was nothing. A couple grazed me, is all. Here...” He pointed. “Here, and over here. It’s no big deal. Anyway, how’d you hear about it?”
“It was in Jess’s last letter. She included the article. I hear you two have been corresponding.” Alex said, then looked for a reaction from Mitch. There was none.
“She wrote once. It was the first time I had heard from her since…anyway, she didn’t have much to say other than you were on your way over here. She asked if I could keep an eye out for you. It was only right that I respond. I told her I would. Nothing more.”
“That’s all anyone could expect.”
“Uh huh…by the way, how’s your little boy? Mateo, isn’t it? He must be getting big.”
“Like I said, we’ll talk…anyway, Mitch, I had already read up on your exploits.”
“You’ve been reviewing my personnel file? If I didn’t know any better, Alex, I’d say you really do have something planned and you’re gonna want me to carry it out for you.”
* * *
Doctor Lenkovich’s Office
The Present
“Did you hear me, Mitch? Mitch? Master Gunnery Sergeant Brody?”
Startled, Mitch hadn’t heard the doctor enter the room. “Sorry, doc, it’s been a long day…it’s been a long week.”
“Not a problem.” The doctor took a seat. “When I came in, you were talking to yourself. Can I ask what you were thinking about?”
“Nothing really…actually, that’s not true. I was thinking about everything you guys put me through the past couple months. Not just you or this place, but you know, all the tests, the paperwork, going through the process. I was thinking about getting out of here and finally getting back home.”
“How long has it been?”
“Far too long. I would’ve been there several weeks ago if I hadn’t been detoured to Bethesda and then Pendleton before ending up here.”
“You do know it was a suggestion to come here, right? A strong suggestion, perhaps, but it wasn’t an order. After all, your retirement came through and you were discharged. Don’t forget, you’re a civilian now, and I think it’s important for you to get established with a doc. It just makes sense, considering.”
“I know. Everybody here keeps reminding me. Did I tell you it wasn’t my choice to retire?”
“No, you didn’t. Was separating hard for you?” the doctor asked.
“Nah. I’ve had more than my share. It was time…I’m just trying to get used to it…” Mitch trailed off as the wall shadows once again stole his thoughts.
“Anyway,” Doctor Lenkovich said, “it’s just the corps’ way of taking care of one of its highly decorated heroes.”
“By forcing me out?” He snapped back as the flip of a light switch washed away the distraction. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to…anyway, I don’t think of myself as a hero.”
“Forcing you out? Come on, it’s a medical discharge. What choice did they have? Anyway, you’ll be happy to know they finally sent the rest of your medical records. You’d think that after all these years I’d be used to the red tape and inefficiency that’s inherent…I’m rambling, sorry. All those tests we ended up duplicating since you arrived here…let’s just say, in case there was any doubt…well, let’s just think of the whole thing as one more confirmation. Which is what you wanted, and what you rightfully deserved. I hope the past week with us hadn’t been an inconvenience.”
“An inconvenience?” He chuckled. “From being constantly poked and prodded, or having the unwanted attention because I’m some highly decorated…?”
“Both. Are you saying you didn’t want all that special attention?”
“Don’t get me wrong, I appreciated the above-and-beyond from you and the staff. Even got a couple of names and numbers of some very nice nurses. Even so, I’ve never been one for medals, parades, accolades, etcetera. No, not me. That was Alex’s thing. In all honesty, I hate the attention. It’s embarrassing and it makes me uncomfortable. Especially when so many others here don’t get half of what they deserve.”
Their eyes locked in an uncomfortable moment of silence.
“Luckily for you,” Doctor Lenkovich continued while jotting Alex’s name in Mitch’s chart, “there may be one more parade and then you can pack the uniforms, the medals, and hopefully the bad memories, and put them all into mothballs.”
“What?” Mitch looked confused.
“Mothballs…I guess people don’t use those anymore.”
“I know what mothballs are. What parade?” Mitch asked. “Whaddya talking about?”
“Didn’t anyone from your hometown contact you?”
“I didn’t tell anybody I was coming…well, that’s not totally true. I left a voicemail for one guy to meet me, but he knows not to say anything to anyone. So, I’m in the dark here, Doc.”
“Hold on a sec.” He skimmed through Mitch’s file. “Where’s that note? Here it is. Someone from the San Juan Island VFW post contacted the Pendleton base commander right after the news ran a story on you.”
“Recently?”
“Several weeks back. They mentioned that you were coming home and that you were being considered for the Congressional Medal. Is that true?”
“It’s news to me.”
“Anyway, they want to throw you a homecoming parade…wanted to do it the day you got back there. So, I guess that’s why this guy wanted a heads up on an exact day. I’ve got a number right here. Do you want to call them?”
“No…no, I can’t.” He shook his head. “And they can’t do anything if they don’t know when I’m coming. They don’t know I’m coming, right? You didn’t call them?”
“Why would I? It’s not my responsibility. Although if you ask me, a welcome home like that might be good for you.”
“It’s been a long twenty years, Doc, and I’m tired in more ways than one. I don’t want the attention. And before you ask, I don’t wanna talk about why, and I don’t wanna talk to the shrink about it. I’ve talked to enough shrinks. Hell, I don’t even wanna think about it.”
“Understood.” He continued to flip through the chart, stopping to review one page. “Mitch, if I may…I’m still curious. I suspect you weren’t thinking about home just now when I walked in because I overheard some of what you were saying. The duty nurse told me you had another restless night. You were talking in your sleep again. What were you really thinking about? If not home, then what? Who? Your friend?”
“My friend?”
“Alex? You’ve mentioned him a number of times.”
“Who, Alex? My friend? He wasn’t my…no, I wasn’t thinking about him.” Remembering the shadows, Mitch stared back at the wall. “Why?”
“Because I’m told you’ve had conversations with him, with this ‘Alex,’ when you’re alone, and you’ve yelled out his name in your sleep more than a few times, and…and I’m told one night it was as if you were trying to warn him about something. Mitch, I heard you mumble his name just now when I walked into the room. It’s okay to admit you were thinking about him.”
“Just as long as I don’t think he’s sitting right here?” Mitch winked and smiled at the empty chair next to him to see the doctor’s reaction.
“I did see that in your file too. It says here you’ve been told PTSD manifests in many ways. I do know from experience with other patients, any deep-seated guilt over the death of a friend can make a person believe the deceased continues to hang around. So, tell me,” the doctor looked up from the file, “has that been happening? Are you seeing him? Talking to him? You can tell me.”
“I was only joking, Doc…no, it hasn’t happened, and it never did happen, and it’s not happening now, so, I don’t know what the duty nurse thought she heard. And for the record, I was joking with the doc at Bethesda too. That was my mistake. She was one of those uptight types. I was only trying to give her a rise, lighten the mood. I can’t believe she put that in my chart.”
“A couple of times. I wouldn’t worry about it, though. If you say it didn’t happen—”
“It didn’t!”
“I’ll make a note of that. Okay, moving right along...”
“Yes, let’s. About those last few tests…you said there’s nothing new to report, right?” Mitch asked.
“Do you have anything new to report to me? Headaches the same?”
“No better, no worse.”
“Any more episodes of nausea?”
“Just the one time this past week. I think it was from the sausages. They smelled a little funny, now that I think of it. I actually thought I saw one move. Other than that, the food here is pretty decent.”
“You’re joking, of course, yes?” Lenkovich asked
“About it being pretty decent?”
“Moving on…any confusion? Memory loss?”
“No confusion. However, I do have some memories I’d like to get rid of.”
“Any visual disturbances, slurring of speech, issues with balance or muscle weakness?”
“No, no, no, and no.” Mitch said.
“Okay, then. The latest tests show everything’s the same: the blood work, the scans, your sense of humor, no changes…for now, anyway. However, if you start to notice anything different, like if you actually become funny, you let me know.”
“So…then…we’re all good, right? We’re all done then.”
“Mitch, we could do more here, you know? The rate that this thing…it’s unpredictable. There’s a procedure we can do, it’s relatively new and—”
“I know, Doc, you’ve told me already. I’m not interested, sorry.”
“Look, I can arrange—”
“Thanks, but I think we’re all done here. Trust me, I’ll continue to take all my meds as directed, I’ll call when I need refills. I’ll call you if anything changes, I promise.”
“In that case, please do me a favor? After you get home, after you get unpacked and settled in, had some time to yourself, looked up old friends, I’d like to have you come back here in a couple months and—”
He shook his head. “Not gonna happen. I’m really not interested.”
“Listen Mitch—”
“Please, Doc, I’m finished listening. It’s nothing against you. You’ve actually been the most understanding, the easiest person to work with. I just don’t wanna do any more...I can’t do any more. All my years in the Corps I’ve had people telling me how to live my life, when to get out of bed, when to eat, who and how many to kill, I’m finished with all of it. I’ve got a small farm and a small hardware store waiting for me up on San Juan Island. For far too long now, I’ve been…I’ve been dreaming about waking up to a rooster’s cry, frying up bacon and some fresh-laid eggs in a cast iron skillet for breakfast, and topping off my coffee with warm milk straight from the teat before heading in to town to help some poor do-it-yourselfer find an odd sized doohickey for his hot water heater; all the things I detested growing up, which I’ve been missing for more days than I can count. I wanna get my hair cut at Freddie’s barbershop on Spring Street, where old men in suspenders still read newspapers, smoke cigars, and solve the world’s problems over a game of checkers.”
“Sounds wonderful.”
“Wanna know what’s really wonderful? Sitting by the big stone fireplace in Jentzen’s Café on a winter afternoon, drinking Irish coffee with a hunk of hot beer bread slathered in strawberry jam. And all the while, breathing in the heavy scent of fresh cut spruce and fir draped all across the windows as snow flurries dust the sidewalks and people rush by to get their Christmas packages to the post office before closing time. Now, that’s wonderful.”
“It sounds like a wonderful life in Bedford Falls.” Doctor Lenkovich quipped in his best George Bailey imitation.
“What?”
“Bedford Falls? It’s a Wonderful Life? The movie…never mind. It sounds like a wonderful life, Mitch, and I can see I’ll have a hard time convincing you to come back here for any follow-ups.”
“I was away for a long time, a lifetime, and now time is my enemy. So, once I set foot off that ferry I am not coming back to Seattle.”
***
Excerpt from Like Driftwood on the Salish Sea by Richard I Levine. Copyright 2025 by Richard I Levine. Reproduced with permission from Richard I Levine. All rights reserved.
An evocative story laced with mystery, Turning Toward Eden weaves nostalgia with grit, sorrow with humor, and despair with faith, offering hope to anyone who has sought to belong in a world that rarely plays fair.
Cate Touryan writes fiction and creative nonfiction that reach for the story beyond the story and the beginning beyond “The End.” Her complex, realistic narratives often touch on themes of faith. While she avoids gratuitous violence and profanity, keeping any romance clean, she does not shy away from portraying the grit and beauty of real life, instead writing the truest story she can, infused with heart and humor. Her fiction will delight young adults and adults still young.
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