CHCH News-Jake Saw a Picnic

It was early in the morning, and a light fog still lingered amongst the trees, caressing the ground gently, a soft moist blanket. Jake stretched his arms out and then up, striving to release the sleep weariness from his bones and restore the suppleness of movement he had known in his youth. He sat on the stone and peered in the direction of the park. He was looking east, and the sky was showing the beginnings of what Martha used to call "…the ever-changing palette of God.".

A car pulled into the parking area and stopped, followed by a pickup truck. A pair of men got out of the car, two more from the truck, and they began to unload the contents of the truck bed. A bar-b-que grill, several coolers, various boxes and bags, all were taken to a picnic table under a tree. The tree was perhaps 50 yards from where Jake sat, and the men glanced in his direction but ignored him. They talked about beating the crowd, getting a good spot, when the women and children would arrive, and how cute the new girl on the assembly line was. A few risqué jokes were made, but the band of gold each of them wore seemed to project a wistful note into their conversation. Jake looked down at his hand, ringless in his lap, and thought about the ring that had adorned his finger once, the ring Martha had placed there. He couldn't seem to remember how long ago it was, but it didn't really seem important.

Jake, startled by the sound of a crow, shook himself from a reverie. He'd been lost in thought for seconds, or so it seemed. But the sun now lit the picnic grounds, and shadows of darkness lined through the light, shadows of the trees, seemingly reaching out to Jake as though the darkness sought to seize him from the sun. The women and children were there now, and the men were arguing the merits of various steak seasonings as they prepared the grill for cooking. Close to the grill was a cooler, from which the men took a cold beer from time to time.

The wives were at the picnic table, discussing plans for the summer,
while the children ran around playing games of their own making (the younger ones) or reading, talking quietly, listening to music from various portable noise makers, or just tanning (the older ones).

The trees around him shadowed Jake, and a gentle breeze sighed through the area, whispering to his mind. A young child, perhaps six or seven, separated herself from her playmates, and came to the low fence.

She looked at Jake and smiled. He smiled in return. She said, "Want to come over? There's lots of stuff to eat, and Mommy won't mind." "No", he replied, "Thank you very much, but I'm not hungry, and I'd just like
to rest here a while longer." A woman's voice called out from the picnic table, "Jeannie get away from there! Come back here with your friends!" Jeannie waved goodbye to Jake, and he waved back as he watched her scamper back in the direction of the festivities.

Now the smell of grilling meat reached him, and he watched, detached, as the women spread a red checkered tablecloth on the picnic table and began to lay out knives, forks, and spoons. Coolers were opened, and
out came soda, potato and macaroni salad, pickles, and all sorts of other things. The men were finishing cooking hot dogs and hamburgers for the children, while the steaks, already done, rested off to the side of the grill, in a position to stay hot but cook no longer.

Soon the table was piled high with goodies, and Jake watched as plates were loaded with food and adults and children sat down, either at the picnic table or at one of the folding tables the men had brought and set up earlier. Most of them dug right in, but Jeannie and her mother held hands and said a prayer before starting to eat. A couple of the other children looked at the two of them oddly, not understanding what they were doing. One of the other women muttered disdainfully "She does a lot of praying, more so now that her husband got called up and went to Iraq." Jake had learned earlier that both had arrived late for the picnic, having stopped to attend church before coming out to join the group. The others had commented on it.

Now the men were getting louder, as the women started packing things up to be put back into the truck. The beer, the heat, and the meal were combining to take effect, and Jake wondered who would be driving the
various vehicles to their various destinations. They were talking about tomorrow's fishing trip, to a small lake rumored to be loaded down with hungry bass. It seemed there weekend was all planned, Jake thought.
Saturday doing lawn work, Sunday spent on the picnic, and Monday spent at the lake, fishing.

Jake sighed. Somehow, he felt left out, not a part of it all. Even though he knew none of the picnickers (with the exception of Jeannie), he wished he could somehow be more a part of their lives. Jeannie and her mother walked in his direction, and stopped at the fence. They both looked over toward Jake, but said nothing. Finally Jeannie's mom turned and spoke to her daughter. "Maybe we'll come back here tomorrow, just the two of us." They walked away, toward an old sedan, after thanking their hosts, and got in and drove away. The rest of the group soon followed, and a long afternoon silence prevailed, as the park area deepened in the hues of twilight. Jake knew it was time for him to go, too.

He stood up, and chuckled to himself as his left arm slid off his lap and came to rest on the ground. He kept forgetting to grab it when he stood up. "Well", he thought, "No matter." He knew where he was returning to the arm would be firmly attached. He turned and looked at the stone he'd been sitting on all day. At its base, was the remnant of an old rose, dried petals gone, the hardened stem all that was left. There was also a tattered rag, attached to a stick, its colors bleached nearly white by countless days of sunshine. The red had faded almost to obscurity, and the blue had faded to the point where the stars were nearly invisible. "Well", he thought, "with the books, the movies, and the dedication of the Memorial, perhaps someone would drop by tomorrow and put a new flag down." He read the inscription on the stone. "Jake Saunders. Born May 13, 1924, Middleton Ohio. Died June 6, 1944, Normandy, France ." He allowed himself to slip into the ground, into the box.

He paused a moment, among his bones and the ragged remnants of his uniform, and then rose, whole, healthy, and young, moving upward toward where Martha was waiting for him, and where a host of buddies remembered throughout eternity what so many of those below had forgotten.

AFTERWARD:

"When we turn our backs on those who fought and died for our country, when we forget them and their sacrifices, we run the risk of forgetting their ideals, their beliefs, and their gift. The gift of freedom."

NOTE: Copyright 05/30/04 by Dave Hoffman

Use granted to all who identify author.

Beneficium accipere libertatem est vendere.