Florida has not always been as it is today. Back when I lived there in the early nineteen sixties, it was much less urban. Native Floridians still thrived, while today you probably would need to search through a plethora of tourists to find someone who actually holds residence there. I would not know much about Florida’s current state because today I now live up north in New Hampshire. I enjoy the mountains; they stray far away from everything, especially the pancake-like surface of Florida. I can live here in peace and quiet as I forget about the past. Few people live near my cabin, thus I do not need to worry about people asking me about where I came from. My past contains darkness and I swore that I would never speak of it; however, as I reach an old age I feel that it is best I explain it in case anyone out there cares. Perhaps a psychologist might find this anecdote interesting, yet I warn you, it is not a tale for the faint of heart. It all happened in October of the year 1962.

I lived in Florida and thought it was the most beautiful place in the world. I made suburb of Fort Lauderdale my abode to embrace the family life with my wife, Ellen and my tow kids, Willy and Emma. Our house stood at a decent size, for I was making a fair living. Tall, fresh and white, it rested beside a lake and was surrounded by palm trees. Today a palm tree represents something eloquent or special, but these palm trees had not such tangible value. They simply grew as trees of enigmatic beauty which grazed our yard. It was a perfect home for a thriving family, at this time everything seemed limpid.

The early sixties appeared as the best years of my life for two reasons. Number one was that I loved being a father, and there was no better family than my own. The second reason is that it was the first time that life seemed to be going well. I grew up in Chicago during the Depression. My father got in deep with the wrong people to earn some extra money one night and eventually got himself shot. I never found out the exact reason why “five bullet holes punctured his chest”, as the homicide told my mother, but for the rest of my childhood she had to support me by herself. My scanty childhood went on and we barely got by until the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor and the war started. I knew that a draft was coming for the army, so instead of waiting I enlisted myself immediately. While this may appear as an action similar to giving a burglar your money so he doesn't steal it, I had logic behind it all. I always had a fear of boats and did not want to risk being in the navy. I don’t do well in situations where there is nowhere to run or hide; it begins with me feeling irascible and then trepidation always takes over. Through the early forties, I became involved in some minor battles and come 1945, I was put in Okinawa. I hope that no one will ever need to see the horrors that I saw there. I hope that no one will ever need to do what I did there.

Either way, I returned home when my service was up. I went to college in Chicago with my G.I. bill and then got a job in the place furthest from the windy city possible; Florida. I lived and worked in Miami for a while before I met Ellen. Her fervent soul and vivacious attitude made this war hero feel like a fool in love. We married a few years later and then Willy arrived, followed by Emma. We bought the house and everything seemed faultless. I was thirty seven and far from my childhood and the war; however, I had only forgotten as much of the war as I could force out of my brain or repress in my soul. Certain thoughts never vanish.

The situation all started long before 1962. Today we all know it as the Cold War, but if you were alive back then, and you had fought in World War II, you wouldn't have believed a war was going on. Calling it a war nearly came off as an insult to people, like me. As we all probably know, the Cold War revolved around the question of Capitalism verses Communism. The U.S. supported Capitalism and the Soviet Union was all for Communism. Of course I could go on, heck people have written entire books on the matter, but the rest is irrelevant to my story. While many Americans lived with constant paranoia or intense nationalism, I strayed from the crowd and kept out of the chaos as much as possible; I for one felt happy just to be alive and not under attack.

Something snapped once the United States ally, Cuba, turned to Communism under the rule of a man named Fidel Castro. I don’t exactly know how it all erupted, but eventually we invaded Cuba in something called the Bay of Pigs invasion; however, the Soviets were there waiting for us. We felt humiliated right off of the boats. In defense for their allies, the Soviet Union placed missiles in Cuba in case the United States decided to make another attack on Cuba. This became a threat when the American government found out that these missiles already had their noses pointed at the United States. Once the situation seeped into the American people it caused panic; if panic is not tamed, it does not takes long to turn to madness and make one do things they can’t forget or forgive themselves for doing. That’s where my story begins, at the Cuban Missile Crisis in 1962.

I had just arrived home to the house in Florida. Ellen cooked dinner while Willy and Emma worked on their homework. I gave my wife a hug as I hung up my hat and coat.

“Evening Ellen,” I said fervently, “I’m starving.”

“Lasagna will be ready shortly, Ed,” she responded with equal enthusiasm. Such is the thing about our marriage; we could be enthusiastic about answering the simplest of questions or carrying out the most traditional of deeds. Ellen and I were deeply in love, and at the time I believed that nothing would ever tear us apart.
We went through the routine actions of asking each other how our days were. Ding! The oven went off as she hollered to the kids for dinner. They both rushed downstairs feeling famished. I gave each of my kids a hug as we sat down and said grace.

“Amen,” I said to top it off and we all dug into our food. My wife had outstanding cooking skills, and I had never denied a home cooked meal from her. Over dinner we talked as much as we could, but it seemed like everybody’s day went exponentially normal. Once the conversation went quiet enough to call it awkward, Willy reached for the radio which we kept in our kitchen. Normally we would not let him turn it on during dinner, but for some reason we did not seem to care that night. Besides, the night seemed far too ordinary as it was.

He turned it on and static before jazz music began to fill our ears. It soothed us all and we stayed on the channel as we continued to wolf down the delicious lasagna my wife had made that night. Before we knew it our plates looked clean and our stomachs felt full, but we remained at the dinner table in silence, listening to the calm swing of trumpets. Our house had a very relaxing atmosphere; you could easily get caught up in its freshness. The Florida heat and lack of air conditioning at the time caused the windows to remain open at all times, letting in a cool, outdoor breeze. The fresh water from the lake adjacent to our home created a wonderful fragrance like nothing that could ever be found in a can or bottle. When the house was first bought, we thought that we would spend afternoons swimming in this lake, but this dream was quickly demolished by the sight of a family of alligators living in it. Still the house was always fresh and we almost all fell asleep at that dinner table to the comforting jazz music. Only a commercial woke us all up from daydreaming.

“I better start the dishes,” said Ellen, collecting all of our plates.

“I have a little work I've got to do,” I said, lazily rising from my seat.

“I have some more homework,” said Emma as she rushed off.

“I have nothing to do,” shrugged Willy, “Is it okay if I keep listening to the radio? I promise I’ll keep it down.”

“Sure,” I said in a very accepting voice, “In fact, keep it at this volume. It can’t hurt to have some music in the house.”

His blue eyes lit up as the jazz music came back and I took my briefcase into my office. I sat down at my desk and started to open up some files. The beat of the music softly flowed through the door and I could hear it as I worked. The jazz was no longer calm, but it was still nice to listen to. The beat had picked up and I was greatly tapping my foot to it as I looked over my work.

Eventually, the music overthrew my work and I was focusing more on the jazz than my own music. One of the more pleasant things about growing up in Chicago was the fact that I lived in an apartment above a jazz club. Ever since I was brought home from the hospital as an infant, the music was playing in my ears. My feet tapped louder and louder to the rhythm. I had never heard the song before, but I could just feel where it was going. The song neared the end as the music grew louder and louder. I knew that the big finish was coming soon. The finish when the drums go faster than your heart and every instrument in the bad lets out the same note. It was coming soon and I could not wait. The instruments kept going. Higher, higher, higher and then it just cut off.

I waited thinking it was a dramatic pause for the big finish, but then I heard a voice over the radio. I could not hear what it was saying through the closed door of my office, but it was clear that the music was not going to return.

“That’s rather cheap,’ I thought in a rather grumpy mood, “Either the song screwed me over or the station did; but never will I be able to hear what that last note is, unless the song ever comes on again.”

I sat back in my chair, now in a little bit of a worse mood. I just wanted this commercial to be over so I could listen to a little more of the music. I picked up my files and started reading them when Willy rushed through the door with the radio in his hand.

“Can you knock first?” I said, for knocking was one of the rules of the house.

He ignored my question and then rushed towards me, pushing the radio into my face, “Dad,” he cried, “We’re in trouble. The music was just playing and then this came on.”

He cranked up the volume and I could hear the voice talking very clearly through a little static. “The United States is obviously concerned for its people. We will do whatever is necessary to end this crisis. War may not be the best words to use, but we cannot ignore them,” it said. At the sound of this I turned it off.

I took away the radio and grabbed Willy by the arms, “Listen to me,” I hissed, not angry and him but nevertheless angry, “You shouldn't listen to that stuff. The United States is not going to waste a bullet on those Soviets.” I knew this was a lie, but I doubted that what was going on over the radio was anything serious.

“What’s going on Ed?” Ellen said to me as she wobbled into the room, “I heard a shout.”

“Nothing,” I said, “Willy just got a little ear in with the government.”

Ellen rolled her eyes, as she often did in situations where the kids got involved in things they were too young to understand. She knelt before Willy and said, “Listen, America is not getting in a fight with anyone. We are safe, you are safe and no matter what happens up in Washington, you will always remain safe here with your family.”

Willy gave her a long hug and then they released, “I’m going to bed,” he said. Ellen nodded as he walked upstairs and then she turned towards me.

“Well that was exciting,” I shrugged, “Kid doesn't know what’s going on right now, then again he doesn't understand how powerful America is.”

“Well, do you think that it is true, Ed?” She asked.

“What? That we are under attack?” I laugh, “We are always under attack. If you've listened to the radio in the last couple of years you can’t listen to a single thing without some government bigwig coming along and giving you an explanation about how close we are to Nuclear War. It’s typical.”

“I don’t know,” said Ellen, “I was listening to the radio upstairs and I heard that the Soviet Union had missiles in Cuba.”

“Of course they did,” I laughed again, “Ever since Bay of Pigs, Cuba is basically the Soviet Union’s puppet. There’s nothing to worry about because nothing is going on, just Capitalism verses Communism. It will never end.”

She rolled her eyes again, “Whatever you want to tell yourself,” she said with an annoyed laugh.

“I only tell myself the truth,” I grunted and returned to my work.

“I’m going to bed,” she said and then stumbled upstairs.

“I’ll be up for a while,” I yelled up the stairs and then finally got into my work, because this fine Florida night happened to be Friday, I did not need to go to work tomorrow. I stayed up until about eleven doing work until I was completely exhausted. At that time I tiptoed up the stairs, careful not to wake my family, changed into my pajamas and then crawled into bed with my already asleep wife. It was silent and peaceful. Then my eyes shut and they began.

“Timmy, Timmy, please wake up,” I was crying

“You've done enough already Private,” a vague voice said as my body was pulled back.

“No, no, NOOOOOOOOO,” I cried as I was pulled away. The grip kept getting tighter and tighter. I was being pulled away by someone. Then the explosions started. They surrounded me and then one came up right from below my feet. The motion, the heat, the screaming, it all came up at once and then when I was staring death in the face, I could smell bacon.

My eyes shot open. Sunlight was coming through my bedroom window and I was still lying in bed. I was in a cold sweat and I was looking straight up at the ceiling. The thought of setting my alarm did not occur last night when I exhaustively climbed into bed. I stumbled out of bed and jumped into the shower. I let the warm water wash off the cold swat I was in.

“Another nightmare,” I thought with a little bit of a laugh, “That’s the first one I've had since college.”

I dried myself off, threw on some casual clothes and went downstairs. The smell of bacon and eggs were filling the room. Ellen was working away at the stove as the kids munched on their breakfast.

“Good morning everyone,” I said in good spirits.

“Good morning Dad,” my kids returned through mouths of bacon.

I walked into the kitchen and gave Ellen a kiss on the cheek, “How are you this morning?”

“I’m alright,” she said and then lowered her voice, “How about you, Ed?”

“Me? I feel better than ever,” I said while stretching out my back.

“You didn't seem to sleep well,” She said.

I just shrugged as if it was not big deal. I didn't want to get into my dreams.

“Who’s Timmy?” she asked.

“Timmy?” I said nervously, “Timmy who?”

“You know who it is. You were screaming his name all last night,” she said.

“He was a friend from the War,” I quibbled, “I’m sure I've mentioned him before.”

“I don’t recall,” she said, “What happened to him?”

“He… uh… he died in action,” I said and then poured myself a glass of orange juice.

Her jaw dropped and she covered her mouth with both of her hands. She had always known that I knew people who had died in the War, but it never seemed to come up in conversation. In fact, besides me telling her that I was in the war when we first met, I don’t think I have told her a single thing about it. The idea was completely oblivious in our marriage and I intended to keep it that way.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said and gave me a hug.

“It’s all in the past,” I said, “There’s no need to dwell on what I've been through.”

I thought I saw a tear fall down her face, but she wiped it off quickly and then slid some eggs onto a plate for me, “Eat,” she demanded, “but there’s something that I need to talk to you about later.”

I ate her delicious eggs, wondering what it might be that she yearned to talk to me about. Obviously it was something of serious concern, otherwise she would have just blurted it out the moment I entered the kitchen. I could also tell that it was something that she didn't want the kids to hear; otherwise she would not have lowered her voice. I ate quickly and then shoved my place into the sink. Ellen washed the dishes. Anxious with the kids in the room, we kept making strange eye contact with each other. My eyes pleaded to find out the mystery, but her eyes kept on telling me to wait. Once she was done drying, she gave me a signal wither eyes to follow her out of the kitchen. We walked up the stairs to the second floor of our house and then into the bedroom.

“What’s going on?” I asked once she had closed the door.

She walked over to the bed and reached under her pillow to pull out the Miami Herald from that day. She handed it over to me.

My eyes took one look at the headline and suddenly they widened. It could not be, but the photos were the proof. Right above a giant political cartoon of John F. Kennedy surrounded by missiles, the headline read, “SOVIET UNION PLACES MISSILES IN CUBA POINTED AT THE UNITED STATES”

I looked up at Ellen who was awaiting a reaction.

“Our fears have come true,” I said softly.

“What are we going to do?” she asked.

“Don’t tell the kids,” I ordered, “They’ll be scared to death.”

“I agree, but what about us?” she asked, “We are sitting ducks in the state that is closest to where these missiles are.”

“Have faith in the United States government,” I said, “We haven’t lost yet.”

“But we've never fought someone like the Soviet Union,” she replied.

I was running out of excuses, eventually I just said in a much sterner voice than before, “Don’t worry about it; we are not going to die in a nuclear war.”

She rolled her eyes as she always did when she was annoyed, “Just consider it,” she said and left the room. She was not mad, but very cold towards the subject. I sat back in the bed, switched on the lamp and read the paper. The more I read about what was going on in Cuba, the more I tried to resist the truth. It seemed almost too clear that the Soviets would bomb us.

Eventually, I just threw the paper aside and began to daydream; however, every thought I had lead to a nuclear explosion in my backyard that was yet to come. Then the yet to come explosions turned to explosions from the past.

“I gotta save them,” I yell in my thoughts

“Son, it’s too late,” Said the voice of my past general

“I can save them, I can save all of them,” I yell and the gunshots begin to fire. Those gunshots then turn to knocks and I am struck back into my room where I am lying on my bed with the newspaper at my side. I push the paper under my pillow and yell to the door, “Come in,” and Emma walks in.

“Mom wanted me to tell you that she is going on some errands,” she said in her adorable voice.

“Oh,” I said shakily while staring into her precious blue eyes beneath her black hair. My thoughts came back. Suddenly I started to see fire spreading behind her as she is vaporized into pieces. I jumped off of the bed and took a step towards her as she released a little, high pitched scream. Everything calmed down back to an original state. She stood there startled, but unharmed.

“What’s wrong, Dad?” she asked.

“Nothing,” I responded as a lie and then opened up my arms for a hug. She slowly but surely came into them, “You know that I love you.”

“I know it, I love you too,” she said as a warm, wholesome feeling rushed through my body.

I did not feel human exactly as I stood there hugging my daughter. My thoughts could not remain tangent, but I felt as if my children were in great danger.

“Where is Willy?” I asked.

“He’s downstairs,” she said.

“I’m going to go and see him,” I said and then slowly with my eyes unfocused rose from the bed and went downstairs to see him. When I entered the kitchen he was not there, but I saw him outside on the deck. I went out there to see him. Our deck was high off the ground because our first floor was basically built one story above the ground. Wooden beams supported the entire house and a total of ten steps lead up to our front door. The house was built in this peculiar fashion because we lived in the Everglades, or at least in a very swampy area just outside of it, and when it was built the water in the lake which our deck overlooked rose much higher due to floods. Our house stood high up to avoid getting drowned by marshy water.

I walked over to the edge of the deck and rested my hand on Willy’s shoulder. He jumped at the touch, but then turned around to realize who it really was, “Oh it’s you,” he said and then resumed looking down off of the edge.

“What are you looking at?” I asked.

“The alligators,” he said and pointed straight down. Just below the deck, in the lake was the family of alligators who settled in the lake long before we moved in. That day they seemed extremely feisty. Usually they just lied around like stones and swam, eating up sneaks and fish. We never bothered them and they never bothered us; however they were acting a little strange on this occasion. They were snapping at each other. They could have been doing it playfully, or they could have been doing it because they had a problem with each other despite the fact they usually seemed to get along with each other fairly well.

I hugged my son from the side. He was ten years old and too old for me to carry him, but I remembered his baby days as if they were yesterday. I could once hold him in one hand safely, but at the age of ten I would probably drop him. Still hugging him, I looked down at the alligators snapping away at each other. If man executed such violent behavior, it would be psychotic and sick beyond belief. It would be hell, and war is hell. I’d know. If you ever want to see the animal instincts of the human species, go into a battle. Men trying to kill each other, doing everything in their power to kill another group of people; the idea sickens me. I’d know because I've seen it. I’d also know because I've done it, but I swore to never do it again. Never again would I kill someone and never again would I let someone die. I could not name all of the people who were blown up while I was dragged away. Timmy was just one, he was my closest friend, but I also needed to stand and watch as thousands of others were killed and there was nothing I could do about it. I will never let another being I care about die without doing everything in my power to save them. Never!

“Dad,” squealed Willy. Then I realized that my grip was so tight around him that he couldn't breathe and his face was turning blue. I released and he breathed the color back into his face.

“Nice seeing you son,” I said and slowly walked back inside. I felt as if my house was not a home; I didn't feel as if I lived in the present. The war kept flashing up all over the place and I could not find a way to stop it. I stumbled into the kitchen and swung open my liquor cabinet. We only broke out the hard stuff when we hosted parties and such, but never had I drank a glass alone. I picked up the first bottle of whiskey that I could find and ran upstairs to my bedroom with a glass.

“I’m not feeling well,” I called down to my kids, “I think I’m going to lie down.”

I put myself in my room with the lights off and uncapped the bottle. I completely disregarded the glass and took a giant swig of its bitter flavor straight from the bottle and then lied down in my bed. The visions circled all around me; the explosions, the screams, the gunshots and the pain. I took another giant gulp from the bottle. I didn't even like the taste of alcohol, but I could not survive as a sober man on that day. I drank nearly half the bottle and puked four times until I fell asleep and the thoughts went away. I found myself struck into a state of darkness.

I was awoken the next morning with a slap on the head. My eyes shot open and instantly I could feel a hangover coming on. My head felt light and my stomach felt twisted. Ellen sat on the edge of the bed wearing fancy clothes, staring at me with a furious look.

“Hey honey,” I said trying to sound innocent.

She slapped my head again, “Do you realize what kind of day I had yesterday. I came home from my errands to the kids telling me that you were locked up in the room, which means they were unattended. Then I come up here to find you sleeping like a baby in a pool of vomit and liquor. I had to clean you up and the entire room and try to explain to the kids what was going on,” she scolded.

I sat up on the bed and rubbed my eyes as the sunlight hit them, “Wow,” I said and made a little pre-puke burp.

“Don’t you dare,” she warned, foreseeing my possible regurgitation.

I swallowed it back down, “Sorry,” I said and then repeated it in a more sincere way, “Sorry, Ellen, I just couldn't take it. I started seeing things and I had to get away. Panic struck my heart and I looked to the most immediate solution.”

“This is not a solution, it is just another problem,” she said, “The kids told me that they heard you yelling things about the war. I know that you don’t want to talk about it and I won’t make you, but don’t try to release it all and leave your family in the dark. Also, we are all panicking right now. You just need to find some way to deal with it, a healthy way to deal with it. We are going to church and you are welcome to come if you clean yourself up.”

I rose out of bed, changed my clothes and prepared for church. Ellen was right; I had to find a healthy way to deal with what was going on. These nightmares were something that I shouldn't have brought other people into. I was ready to take on this situation the right way.

After we were all ready for church, we piled into the car and took the several mile journey via station wagon through rural swamp roads into town, where a small white chapel stood. We parked along the road and we all walked up to the doors, I tugged on the handle, but it was locked. It was then that I noticed the sign on the door, it read “MASS CANCELED: CLEANING THE PEWS”.

“Cleaning the pews?” I said doubtfully.

“I wonder what Father Nicholas is hiding from us,” said Ellen.

“Why don’t I ask him?” I said, “You can go back to the car and I’ll knock on his door.”

My family listened and piled back into our car and I went up to the priest’s house which stood next to the Chapel. I knocked on the door and after a couple minutes of pattering noise inside, the door opened a crack to reveal the blue eye of Father Nicholas.

“Father, it is me, Ed,” I said openly.

“Ed,” he said enthusiastically and swung the door wide open to reveal his full priest attire of white collar, black robes and a messy excess of white hair.

“Hey, my family and I were wondering why mass is canceled” I said

“Oh,” he said a bit awkwardly, “Oh… well you see the pews are being cleaned.”

“Honestly, Father,” I said with a laugh.

“All right,” he hissed, lowering his voice, “Mass is canceled in light of the circumstances.”

“Oh,” I said, knowing what he was talking about immediately. Neither of us needed an explanation.

“May God be with us all until it is figured out,” he said, “Give my blessings to Ellen and the children for me,” he shut the door and our conversation ended. Even those who believed in God the most couldn't help but fear the worst. I turned around, got in the car and drove back home.

Over the next week and a half, I threw myself into my work. Every day, I would leave for the office early, arrive at my desk and take minimal breaks to talk about what was going on. I would avoid all terms of media. I listened to my wife for the most part when it came to her pep talk regarding alcohol, but I did bring a small flask of whiskey to work every day in case the voices came up. The only unfortunate occurrence was that my children found out about the national situation. They explained that other kids from school had told them and neither Ellen nor I could lie to them about something so serious; however, while we told the truth, we put heavy emphasis on the belief that they would not be under attack and would always be safe with us. They were worried for a couple of days, but eventually calmed down. Children can be so prosperously hopeful, yet painfully naïve at the same time.

I only had one rather psychotic phase during the entire week. It occurred at the dinner table while we ate steak when Willy tried to turn on the radio. As soon as his hand withdrew from the power button and the static hit my eardrums, I picked up my steak knife and plunged its tip into the radio’s speaker while caused a rather painful sound and then silence. I did not assess the implications of my action, as long as I would not need to hear whatever was going on, I found them necessary and effective. This action not only broke the table, but it also dented the table. While I may have seemed oblivious, I completely freaked out my family. The only thing which restrained me from feeling horrible as I looked at their fear struck faces was the knowledge that whatever came out of the radio would be ten times more upsetting that watching the man of your house have a minor “episode”. Ellen was the only one brave enough in the house to watch the TV in our living room in case any good news arose pertaining to the end of this crisis, but she never reported anything back to me or the children. This meant that nothing positive had happened.

Everyone was stressed out, but we were not “freaked out” until the twelfth day of this conflict. It had gotten so out of hand that the school was closed so the kids were at home all day. Also, my office closed so we would be able to spend time with our families in case war broke out. These extreme predictions and overconfident talks of war made me go a little insane, for lack of a better word. All day the screams shouted in the back of my head. My wife would always need to say things twice because I started living in this psychological world of mine more than the real world built up around me. I knew that I could not go back to drinking booze, because that only made things worse and ruined whatever credibility I had in myself as a good husband and father. I also knew that sleep it off was not an option, because the voices would not let me do something so calm, and if they did the voices would only greet me a hundred fold in my dreams where I held even less control over my thoughts.

It a scorching day hit Florida on that twelfth day and there no breeze could be felt. We did not have air condition at the time and the situation made everyone rather tense, especially the ones living within my head. When the voices got loud enough, I would start to sweat. Soon the voices were so loud that I decided to take a risk, while the kids played in the backyard, I clicked on the TV and watched a little news. They were talking about everything related to the crisis, which just made it worse. They talked about how we were thirty seconds from nuclear war, how nuclear war will affect the United States and how a nuclear war between the U.S. and the Soviets would basically be an Armageddon. The sweat came on even thicker now and I promptly turned off the television. The voices and spirits screamed at me to save them. I had to go to the one place where I could get rid of the sweat, feel cool and drown out the voices; the shower.

I ran upstairs, stripped down and hopped in putting the water at the coolest level possible. I soaked in it with my eyes closed, feeling relaxed with the voices gone. Then I opened my eyes and looked at the spout. Water was pouring out of it in little drops. It was almost like little bullets coming out of a gun barrel, the voices came back and the image grew clearer. It no longer did water fall on me, now bullets penetrated my face. Blood splattered everywhere and then I hit the tile floor of the shower with my eyes closed, struck into another dream, but at this point I could not tell the difference. I stood in a room with all of the people who I saw die in the war; every single one of them along with my general who was the only one in the room that did not die in action. Each person stared me directly in the eye with an expressionless, stoned look on their face. Guilt filled my body as their faces seemed to decay the longer I stared into the eyes. Eventually, my general approached me

“Why did you pull me away from them?” I asked through tears, “I could have saved them.”

“Then why didn't you?” He asked.

“It was too late,” I said with a croaking voice.

“It’s always too late, unless you do something before the terror starts,” he said.

A tear dripped out of the corner of my eye and slid down my cheek.

“Don’t cry soldier,” he ordered sternly, “You may have let die every single man in this room. You can let them haunt you forever or you can do something about it.”

“What?” I begged, “What can I do?”

“Save someone else,” said my general, “Save your family. They are all you have. Save them from certain death before it is too late and they join this room.”

Before I could respond my eyes shot open and I was sitting on the floor in the shower. The voices had gone silent because at that time they were unneeded, I was about to redeem myself.

I got out of the shower and went about my day in a casual fashion, waiting for dinner. We ate lamb chops that night. Willy and Emma kept going over the “Duck and cover” routine that they learned in school in case of a nuclear attack.

“Would you kids stop?” Ellen said with an obviously forced laugh, “We don’t need to know that stuff because nothing is going to happen.”

“But that’s not what my teacher said,” Emma shot back.

“I don’t care what she said, listen to what I’m saying,” Ellen rebounded, “Ed, can you help me here? Can you remind the kids how safe they are/”

I looked up from my meal and shook my head, “Anything’s possible,” I said, “They should know it in case it happens.”

Ellen just looked back with her jaw dropped as I took in another couple bites of lamb.

“I need some air,” I said and then walked outside on to our deck leaving Ellen and the kids baffled. I paced over the wooden floor several times. I knew that I would need to save my family, but where would we go. All of America was hostage and we would be put under attack before we could stow away to safety within a different country. I looked off the edge and down into the lake; the alligators were at it again. The family snapped at each other continuously beside the water, but the father did most of the snapping at his mate and their two children. It seemed so sick, but what if he was doing that to save them. What if he knew that there was some sort of alligator eating fish in the water and the family defied him. He would have the right to snap at them for trying to go in the water in that case, because it was for a greater cause; it was for their own good. Voluntary death seems more pleasant than awaiting certain vaporization in fear. Then I realized what I had to do. I went back inside where Ellen stood over the sink, vigorously scrubbing the dishes.

“Are you okay?” She asked me in a tremendously angry voice.

“I’m alright,” I replied in a disembodied way.

“I feel like I don’t even know you,” she said without making eye contact, “Who says that in front of their kids? You were a great father, what happened?”

“I’m not a great father,” I confessed without emotion, “A great father would be able to do something.”

“No one can change the world,” Ellen said.

“But they can save a life,” I responded and went over to the knife rack in the kitchen, I took out the sharpest knife in it, “I’m going to take this.”

I could see in Ellen's eyes before I left that she was too stricken by fear and shocked to do anything as I walked upstairs and locked myself in the room. A few minutes later I could hear her gathering up the kids. Then I heard the television turn on. Muffled news could be heard in the background as I sharpened the knife for two hours in the dark solitude of Ellen and my bedroom, then I opened my door and started to walk downstairs.

I stumbled into the living room where Ellen sat on the sofa watching the news and the kids huddled in a corner with frightened expressions. I slipped my knife into my pocket to avoid seeming like an immediate threat. As soon as I made eye contact with Ellen she gasped and joined the kids in the corner as the TV continued playing.

“It’s time to go,” I said with a strange smile spread across my face.

“Where?” asked Ellen.

“Far away from here, to a safe place; a happy place where everyone sings with joy all the time and fear does not exist. A little piece of heaven for all of us,” I said and then unintentionally broke out into joyful singing and dancing around the room for a brief moment until I quickly snapped back into a state of seriousness and my eyes locked onto my family.

“We aren't leaving here,” Ellen demanded.

“I thought you might say that,” I said and withdrew my knife. At that point Ellen, Emma and Willy screamed. I took one step forward and then Ellen stood up, withdrew her own knife and sliced the skin on my hand. I went down to the floor in pain; she was two steps ahead of me. I would never expect her to do something so violent and despite the pain and extreme circumstances, I found myself slightly impressed. While I lay on the ground holding my butchered hand, they all trampled over me and out of the corner; however, I quickly got up, passed them and blocked off the door, then I began chasing them. I chased them up the stairs and into the bedroom. They were cornered.

“I know it might not sound great now,” I said in a dark, sensitive tone, “But once you get there you will find it amazing. Your death will be beautiful there. Right now we are just waiting for it in fear, there you get to embrace life worry free, but there’s only one way you can get there,” I lunged at them with the knife. They all ducked, but I still got a scratch on Ellen’s cheek. I went driving into a wall and then they all escaped back downstairs. I looked out the window to see that they already made their way outside, gathering in the car beneath the moonlight.

Rushing, I slipped down the stairs and out the door to confront them. They still sat in the car, not going anywhere. When I caught up, they all seemed frightened beyond belief to see me. I leaned in through the open window next to the driver’s seat where Ellen sat, her cheek gushing with blood.
“Oh, is the car not starting,” I gave a little laugh, “I’m sorry but I may have done a little work on it earlier this week without telling you. It doesn't matter though because where we are going, you cannot get there by car and it is a one way trip.” I lunged through the window, but Ellen pulled up the glass just in time to get me stuck for a moment and they all escaped through the other side. They ran back into the house and I followed. By the time I arrived inside it looked deserted, it became a game of hide and seek.

Not single sound entered my ears besides the TV which still played with the news in the den. I checked every room in the house and while I did so, I cut every phone wire so they could not call for help, but even after I had searched for a couple of hours, I could not find any trace of them.

“Come out,” I snickered as I searched, “Otherwise I can’t help you. Ellen, if you really love me, you will come out. Emma I know you said you loved me, now let me see that pretty little face again. Willy, you won’t be safe unless I protect you. Come out everybody. I love you.”

Every once in a while I would throw a piece of furniture to frighten them, but they did not come out. Every ten minutes or so I would take a lap around the outside of the house to make sure they did not run off, and they never did. All the while, a wide smile stretched from ear to ear over my face. Certainly no door was opened after I entered the house. Dawn had nearly come when I finally noticed something peculiar; the door to the deck was ajar. I slowly pulled it open and went outside to find my family cowering under the deck table. I lifted the table off of them and threw it off the balcony, it splashed into the lake below. They stood up, but had now where to go; they were cornered at the edge of the deck.

“Please don’t hurt us, Dad,” the kids cried.

“I just want to save you,” I said and reached out to hug them, “Sometimes you need to go through the rain to see a rainbow, and what a rainbow this will be. Who would like to be first?”

They all shivered as Ellen held them closer, ensuring that I would not lay a finger on them.

“How about you darling?” I asked reaching for her, but then she stuck her knife into my hand. The pain made a dramatic second appearance, but I would not let it fool me again, “What about you Emma?” I asked and reached for her.

“Don’t touch her,” Ellen yelled and made her grip as tight as possible.

“Just leaves you then,” I said as I tried to pick up Willy, but Ellen kept her firm grip. We fought over Willy as he cried though all of the tugs and pulls. I dropped my knife in efforts to get a better grip of Willy and Emma picked it up. Not knowing what to do, she slid my other hand and then I let that hand go of Willy, but the change in my grip caused Ellen to trip backwards and release Willy towards me, but I only had one hand to use, which lacked the strength to hold his entire body.

I tumbled back and forwards until I was leaning over the deck and my grip was too loose to hold him. He fell right down into the lake and then the alligators surrounded him. For the first time since we moved here we bothered the vicious reptiles, and thus they reacted in the worst way possible.
The gators got closer and closer until they covered Willy and began to tear and wrestle with his infinitesimal body. The swampy green water soon turned into a murky red soup with the blood, brains and guts of my son; there was nothing to do as Emma and Ellen cried and screamed.

“This is what you want?” I though “Isn't he in a better place now?”

Just then I heard the commentator on the TV from inside say “A resolution has been made. The Soviet Union has agreed with President Kennedy. We will never invade Cuba again and they will take out their missiles. The panic is over!”

“The panic is over,” I let those words linger on my mind for a while. All of this, everything, it was for nothing. My only son was now dead and it was completely and utterly my fault. I turned back to Ellen and Emma who were beyond words in fear and anger at me. Then I tossed my knife aside and sunk down to the floor.

“Oh God what have I done?” I screamed and cried into my hands, “I didn't want this. Now he’s dead, my son is dead and it’s my entire fault because of those voices. Curse them. In the end there was nothing to even save him from.”

I sat there crying for several minutes before senses kicked in, eventually I would be caught for what I did. Ellen was a wonderful woman and had loved me everyday up to that point, but she was not going to let something like a death of her son slide and pretend it was all an accident. She would testify against me without a second thought or doubt.

“I’m sorry,” I cried to them. I reached out to hug Emma, but Ellen pulled her back with an intense force. Words could not express her anger, “I don’t mean what I do, but it is my fault. Please forgive me.”

I don’t know what thoughts swam through their heads at that moment, but they definitely did not involve forgiveness and as terrible as I felt, could find no way to argue with them. I had committed a dirty, disgusting and pure evil crime beyond anything I had ever heard of. Now my son’s guts float in swampy waters because of my pusillanimous acts.

“You can call the cops when you get to the next phone,” I said, knowing that I had cut all of our phone wires, “I don’t care. All that I ask is that you don’t follow me. It’s what is best for both of us.”

With those words I took off, running through the swamp of Florida for days until I reached a highway and hitchhiked under a fake name with a fake past, beginning my journey towards forgetting what happened in Florida. I made it all the way up the coast line and here I am today in New Hampshire.

I haven’t spoken about those events since they happened fifty years ago. I don’t know whatever happened to my beloved wife or daughter, who would now be a full grown woman. I do not even know if they ever called the police, if they did, I have successfully hid from anybody searching for me. I have done it by adhering to my spurious story and name. I have also spent ages trying to forget. Whenever I hear any reference to the Cuban Missile Crisis I remember it for a moment, but quickly try to forget as I cloud out the voices in my head. The voices of Timmy, the men I killed in the war, the men I saw die in the war and as of that dreadful morning in October of 1962, I hear Willy pleading to resume the rest of his life. His voice always projects over the rest.

I don’t remember a lot from the war; in fact I have naturally forgotten the majority of details because during those last thirteen days in Florida, I fought my own war. My mind sent me places sicker than any battle and I did something worse than killing a thousand enemy soldiers. I killed my son thinking I was saving him.

Everyday of the last fifty years I've tried to focus on other so called joys. Every day I take a walk through the Appalachians, trying to rid myself of the guilt that I still have deep within, because as much as I avoid it, I cannot hide from the truth and the guilt still dwells within me. There is only one way to completely relieve myself of guilt, but it requires great courage to go through with it and I don’t know where it will lead me. I used to believe that it would take me to a safe place; a happy place where everyone sings with joy all the time and fear does not exist. I no longer have that same optimism.
It’s about time for my walk right now. I know where a family of bears lives in the Appalachians. I never bother them, but occasionally I will go to their habitat to ogle at their nature. They seem to get along, but lately they have been rather snappy. I think I might walk in that direction today.