Tree Roots Uprooted Filing for V A Disability

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V. A. promised income.Papers stack, lost, found, scatter…Over the year, trips to the library…Libraries no longer hold book shelves. He has no access to internet. He lives in the mountains that touch Riverside (there is no river; but that's another story.) Documents are due.“Three hundred eleven pages, count them twice,” Dan says to the boy at Kinko’s.Pay for copies (machine at the public library is broken.)Boy at the counter says, “It’s cheaper to mail U S post than use Fed Ex.”“No car,” he shakes his head.Dan doesn’t explain how he lost his license driving his wife to the doctor with expired tags in an off road car.Duplicates are mailed. After three bus transfers; and five mile walk on a swollen knee, his ear rings with cicadas. He turns to locate them, but there are no funny bugs, only flies on hamburger wrappers. Carl’s Jr advertisement: support veterans aches his bad tooth. As when biting into the paper wrapper missing the burger.At the office in Long Beach in the spring, he inquires about the package. Interview it set in three months. A Veteran’s Affairs intern decides about his life.August, he’s up at 3:00 AM to make the bus again. Three chairs in the lobby. Twenty one men wait in line.In the interview room at a wooden table, a young woman with big glasses looks over her computer.“Have a seat. Please get out your two forms of I.D.”He shuffles for his California ID as she types.“There are one hundred questions. Answer promptly to get the interview closed on time.”He nods. She asks questions about his years of service, employment and familial status.“What is the one incident that you recall as being traumatic?”He thinks of hundreds jumbled together. He cannot pull one into a brief story.“There are so many.”“One please.” She says not looking at him.He summarizes Chu Lai. Operation Starlight sounds cheerful in battle history but being shot, pulling a buddy, finding him missing legs doesn’t make him smile towards the end of the tale.“Why did you not file before?”“Shame,” his answer is one word.After forty minutes she announces, “Thank you that is all.”He is dismissed. As he closes the door behind, he wonders about the men lined up in the lobby. Useless almond trees become firewood. The image uproots his emotions. Now outside, a hot rush of tears waters his cheeks.“Should have let her see…” He clears his face with his sleeve.On the walk home there is a mirror balloon, now missing the helium, caught near the bus stop. He examines it hoping for a sign. Objects foretell events for him and this is a good omen. Perhaps he passed the test. 


Tree roots photograph and poetry copyright Caroline Gerardo June 20, 2016