My Neighbor the Sniper
An anecdote of a Marine vet trying to cope
I saw him walking down the street to his house. A one-bedroom rental. I grabbed the copy of the book that he had loaned me.
“Hey. Here’s your book, David.”
“What did you think of it?”
“Brutal.”
A couple of weeks ago, I met David. A Marine vet. Recon Ranger. Four tours in Iraq and Afghanistan. They put a kabash on his request for another one. Not stable enough, they said. So he was honorably discharged.
Looking at David, I saw a young 30-year-old that DiCaprio could play in an action thriller, going down to Columbia, stalking in the jungle to take out cartel members, surviving three helicopters shot out from under him, being the only one each time to walk away.
I don’t see the shadow monsters in his outside demeanor.
Of course, I don’t see him jump up from bed each night as he is compelled to walk the perimeter of his house across the street.
“I know no one is there,” he had told me. “But I can’t help it. I have to check.”
And I don’t see him in Freshman English class at the community college, struggling to find meaning among a bunch of 18-year-olds whose struggles consist of…
